Page 88 of Her Game Plan

Giving in to the temptation, I ask, “A meeting?”

Her eyes trace my body, heavy as if full of… something. “Yeah. Sponsorship stuff.”

I run my fingers through my hair. Of course. Work meeting. In her blue suit. Which is not a Charlotte date outfit. “Oh. Sure.” Another pause, as if we both know we should leave, but neither of us really wants to. “Tell Preston hi for me, and I’m sorry I couldn’t make it because of… whatever excuse you’re going to give him.”

Her smile is tight, almost sad. “Preston let me know on Sunday that he’s out.”

My stomach tightens, and I try to remind myself not to care. Even if it doesn’t work. “Oh. Sorry.” I scan her face, trying to see how she’s taking it. How she’s doing. “I know how much you wanted that deal.” I ball my hands into fists to keep myself from hugging her.

She leans in, as if wanting the same thing, before pulling back. “Things happen.”

Another moment of weighted silence between us before she finally drops her gaze from mine. “Sunday wasn’t a great day. Not that it was a great day for you, either. I mean, you had a great game, but it didn’t work out the way anyone wanted it. And then Preston called, so that was terrible, and now I’m meeting with Conrad Ferguson’s brother to see if this is something they’d be interested in because it’s fourth down and the clock is running out, and it’s time for a Hail Mary pass.”

My lips ache to kiss her, to save her from her spiraling thoughts, like I’ve done so many times before. Instead, I lean against the wall, enjoying the painful happiness from this small interaction too much to want it to end. Even though I know I’ll pay for it later, when I’m alone, and the Band-Aids I’ve managed to patch my soul up with are disintegrating once again. “Nice football reference.”

Her smile is sweet. “Despite what the world may believe, I actually know a thing or two about the game.”

“If they didn’t know it before this season, they sure do now. No one could see you on the field and not think you know what’s going on.”

“Thanks,” she says, almost shyly. Like maybe it still matters to her what I think.

I nod, and the urge to touch her, to hug her, is almost overwhelming. “Just a heads-up, I’m having the guys over for poker night tonight.”

“Thanks for letting me know.” She twirls her earring. “I’ll make sure I’m out of the way.”

Part of me wants to tell her that she doesn’t have to do that. That she’s always welcome, but the truth is, I can barely stand the potent combination of pleasure and grief rushing through my system right now. I couldn’t do it all night.

She bites her lower lip. “And I have a girls’ night at my old place—my place—tomorrow. So, I shouldn’t be in your way then, either. Honestly, if this whole sponsor thing doesn’t work out, I’ll probably be out of your hair sooner rather than later.”

Great. Perfect. Having her gone would be ideal.

Terrible.

But ideal. Probably.

Except…

“I’m sure it will go well. You’re good at this stuff.” I push off the wall and slip by her, the familiar smell of her bodywash threatening to drag me back under her spell.

One I can’t fall into. Because she’s actively working on trading me.

I know it’s her job. I know she has to do what’s best for the team, and she can’t tell me everything. But I have to do what’s best for me. The problem is, after the pain of the past few days, I’m beginning to realize being with Charlotte might be what’s best for me.

“Callan?” she calls after me.

I stop, the ball in my stomach ping-ponging. “Yeah.”

She wraps her arms around me, and I swear I feel her breathe a sigh of relief at the contact. “Thank you. For everything. I hope you know how much I… appreciate you.”

But it doesn’t feel like that’s what she wanted to say. It seems like maybe, just maybe, she wanted to say something more. Despite the warning bells going off in my head, I press a light kiss to the top of her hair. “You’re welcome, Charlotte.”

Finally, I unwrap my arms from around her, and I swear her smile is sad when I let her go. Conflicted, I escape to my room, not knowing whether I want to tell her to move out sooner or to stay forever. I shut the door behind me, forcing myself not to go back out there. She will leave. This is the same as my parents, coming back for a month or two when I was young. It’s not permanent.

I’m not made for anyone’s forevers.

In my closet, I try to force Charlotte from my mind as I slip into the Larsen jersey I bought at the auction so many months ago, my spirits lifting slightly as I think of how annoyed Beckett is going to be. It’s been a long game, waiting for him to be able to make it to a poker night with his new work gig, but I’m nothing if not patient.

Thirty minutes later, I’m setting up the food Charmaine prepared for tonight, trying very hard not to think about the family-sized bag of Nerds Clusters she set out with the chips.