Page 57 of Her Game Plan

I lean down and blow a raspberry on his chest. “I don’t think that will help with my quest to win this company very much.”

“You’re already crushing it. I can see how hard you’re working, and based on the questions you were asking me the other day, you’ve basically gotten your head wrapped around the business side of things. Which is impressive, considering the season is just starting.”

I’m not so sure I’d agree with him. There is still so much I have to learn, and I feel like I’m being run over by a busload of information every day. But he doesn’t need to see the insecure side of me. That’s not what fake boyfriends are for.

Apparently, fake boyfriends are for real orgasms.

“Thank you for noticing my awesomeness.” I flip a strand of hair over my shoulder.

“You are awesome,” he agrees before kissing a spot below my collarbone. He glances at the clock before dropping his head back in a groan. “Fuck, as much as I want to be inside you, I have to get to sleep.”

“You’re totally the player who’s never broken curfew before, aren’t you?” I laugh.

“I’ve broken curfew before.” He rolls me off him and heads to the bathroom.

I wait until the toilet flushes before following him in. I pull my toothbrush out, and he silently offers me his toothpaste. It’s domestic. And kind of nice.

When I climb back into bed with him a few minutes later, face completely clean and bladder empty, I’m suddenly self-conscious. I don’t know if I’m allowed to cuddle into him. Should I build a pillow wall, even though he said it was unnecessary? Even after all we did. Should I lie down in my place and say goodnight?

“Come here, Princess.” Callan pats his chest. “I was promised cuddling.”

I slide next to him, snuggling up to his side.

Callan fingers the fabric of my new, black-and-gold chemise. “I like this.”

My gaze fully focused on the spot at my hip where he’s playing with the fabric, I tell him, “It’s for good luck tomorrow.”

He chuckles. “It might be too distracting to be good luck for me.”

“Should I change?”

“Never. You’re perfect exactly the way you are.” He starts stroking my hair again, and I lift my leg to twine with his.

When his breath starts to even out, I ask him the question that’s been on my mind since the dinner with my family, “Can I meet your grandma?”

Chapter 22

Callan

“So, your grandma moved here with you when you got traded from Florida?” Charlotte asks almost three weeks later when we’re finally able to visit Nan. We tried to make it happen last week, but she had two meetings that ran late. After I waited for over thirty minutes, she ended up telling me to go without her. Now that the season is in full swing, we’ve barely been able to spend any time together.

“She did.”

Charlotte twirls her earring. “And she’s the one you lived with growing up?”

I nod slowly, not sure how much truth to give her. “Yeah. On and off when I was little, but when I turned eight, I moved in with her for good.” It’s a truth that still burns.

I can tell she wants to ask more, and that she, like most people who grew up in stable homes, has no idea how to broach the subject of why a kid would end up living with their grandmother. It’s an expression I’ve seen hundreds of times.

“Oh. I see.”

We sit in silence for a moment, the part of me who avoids telling anyone about my parents or my grandma happy to let the conversation die. But I’ve already decided to trust Charlotte by agreeing to bring her to meet Nan, so maybe I should trust her with the rest of it.

Or maybe I should stop saying yes to questions asked by beautiful women as we lie entangled on the bed.

Not that that’s why I said yes. As much as I want to pretend that it’s my post-dry-humping brain’s fault, the truth is that I trust Charlotte. More than almost everyone else. So, I reach over and lightly grip her thigh through her bright pink pants. “Come on, Princess. That can’t be all the questions you have.”

She lifts my hand, lacing her fingers through mine like it’s natural. And maybe it is at this point. We’ve become much more comfortable with physical contact, always touching or holding hands when we’re together. Even when we’re at home, and it’s only the two of us.