Page 99 of Her Game Plan

“You’ll never lose him, Nan. That man adores you. And, if it’s all right with you, I’d love to be someone who gets to spend time with you.”

Chapter 39

Callan

Charlotte isn’t home yet, and I already confirmed with her assistant that she’s not at the office. According to Beckett, she’s not at Finley’s. Addie is reffing tonight, which I only know because I downloaded an app for minor league basketball and flipped through all the games and recaps until I found her in California. Thank goodness she’s one of the very few women refs—especially with that color hair—so spotting her wasn’t that difficult once I found the right game.

But I don’t know whether that means Charlotte is at her old place by herself or if she’s somewhere else.

With someone else.

No.

Not that.

I have no idea what’s going to happen when I ask Charlotte to be with me for real, but one thing is certain in my mind: she isn’t with another man tonight.

That doesn’t mean I know where the hell she is, though.

I pace from the door to the garage to the kitchen and back again.

She’s going to show up. She is. She’s going to come home and—

I stop at the sudden noise, straining to make sure it truly is the garage door opening and not a figment of my imagination. Again.

A door slams, and the restless animal in my chest settles.

She’s home.

Charlotte walks through the door and runs into me, where I’m standing right inside. “Ooft. Hey.” She tilts her face to mine, her expression pulling into a cautious smile. It’s not the full one I want, but I’ll take it.

“I need to talk to you,” I blurt out, grabbing her hand and pulling her toward the kitchen.

She shuffles something in her other hand, her shoes clacking as she follows me. “Okay. I need to talk to you about something, too.”

“Me first,” I declare, not willing to let her try to let me out of this arrangement, or, fuck, to tell me she’s moving out.

“What…” Charlotte murmurs, pulling to a stop at the edge of the kitchen. There are over a hundred candles spread around the room, interspersed with vases of the brightest flowers I could find. I’ve also added a small, two-person table to the room, something intimate for us to sit at, rather than the huge table or the kitchen island. I’ve been planning this since poker night, and it took a few days to get everything together.

I turn and face her, the knot in my stomach loosening slightly as I take in her wide-eyed wonder and the way the candlelight reflects in her gaze. She is so beautiful.

“Do you want to sit down?”

She looks at me, a timid uncertainty in her gaze. “Maybe?”

“Come on, Princess.” I hold out my hand, and she takes it automatically.

Maybe there is still hope.

After pulling out her chair, I don’t let go of her hand as I sit down across from her. “I don’t want us to fake date anymore.”

Her face falls. “Oh. I—”

“Shit,” I cut her off. “That came out wrong.” I squeeze her fingers with mine. “Fuck. I even practiced this.” I let out a deep breath. “What I mean is, I want to date you. For real. And I know I am going to get traded, probably to fucking Minnesota, where I’ll freeze my balls off, but I can come home in the offseason. You can still be fully Team Stallions. You’ll just have to cheer for me, too. Ugh.”

“Callan, I’m—”

I let go of her hand and drop my head. “Leaving? Shit. I’m fucking this up, aren’t I? I don’t care who you cheer for. I meant that when I was thinking about what it would mean to leave Denver, I realized it wasn’t only Nan I didn’t want to leave. It’s you, too. I don’t want to be away from you. I don’t want you to move out.