Total pages in book: 124
Estimated words: 119005 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 595(@200wpm)___ 476(@250wpm)___ 397(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 119005 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 595(@200wpm)___ 476(@250wpm)___ 397(@300wpm)
As for Callan, Caley United lost their match in the quarterfinals of one of their tournaments. I thought he’d be so depressed he wouldn’t want to see me after it, but it turns out losing made for an intensity in Callan that he enjoyed expelling in the bedroom. If awesome sex made him feel better, I was all for it.
I’d do anything to make him feel better after how wonderful he’d been with me. He didn’t treat me any differently now that he knew I had anxiety. No, that wasn’t true. He was, if anything, more affectionate. He did ask me how I was doing, and I could honestly say I was good. Confiding in him had lifted a massive weight from my shoulders, and it made me feel safe enough to talk to my parents about everything that had been going on with me for the past seven years. I needed to find the time to discuss it with them. The first dinner after their return from Asia wasn’t the right time, but I was definitely ready to do it.
What I wasn’t ready to do was end things with Callan.
I had a horrible feeling I was falling for him.
Which was actually pretty shit since tonight was our last night.
Callan had a game the next day, but he had Friday free. So we decided to prolong our time together and have an early dinner before one last night in his bed.
I attempted to shake off the butterflies. It wasn’t excitement. It was dread. But I didn’t want that emotion to ruin our time, so I ignored it.
There was a part of me that resented Callan a little for being able to let go, so I might have dressed out of spite. My dress had a high neckline, but it was sleeveless, bodycon tight, and the hem was a good couple of inches above my knee. Sure enough, his gaze grew low-lidded when I stepped out of my flat.
And after we got in the cab he’d ordered, I could see him out of the corner of my eye, glowering at my bare legs.
We pulled up to the bar and restaurant on Thistle Street, and Callan rounded the cab to help me out. He rested his hand on my lower back as he guided me into the crowded space. The bar ran along the back of the room, and the place was a mix of industrial accents, lots of wood, and soft lighting. People gathered around the bar while every table in the restaurant already looked full. A hostess greeted us, though, and we followed her to a table at the back with a reserved plaque on it.
The place was too noisy. We could barely hear each other. Sharing a frustrated look, we ordered food and pretty much ate in silence. As soon as we finished eating, Callan suggested we move on to another bar.
“You’re Callan Keen,” a bloke said from a table near the door as we were leaving.
“I am.” He nodded, his hand flexing on my hip as we strolled past. “Have a nice evening.”
“Shame about that match against Dundonald. Hope you kill Dingwall tomorrow!” he called after us.
Callan waved with a nod of thanks and guided me out of the pub.
“You’re so famous, Captain,” I teased as I snuggled into his side.
He put his arm around my shoulders to draw me tighter to him as we walked down the street, looking for somewhere quieter. Not that Callan could drink tonight. But I fancied a wee cocktail. “At least he was cool. Sometimes they’re right wankers.”
“They wouldn’t dare in front of me.” I slipped my arm around his waist. “My uncle taught me some judo moves, you know. And I’m not afraid to use them.”
He chuckled and pressed a kiss to my temple.
It was such a good night. Just being with Callan was so easy, and for a while we forgot what tonight was. I was a wee bit tipsy from my third cocktail and was switching to water when Callan got up from the booth we’d secured in the quieter bar. He left to use the toilet and was gone for a few minutes when two guys slid into the booth with their pints.
“Oh, I’m sorry, we’re not done with the booth. My date’s coming back,” I said politely with a toothless smile.
One of them had a thick black beard and piercing blue eyes. “He’s not your boyfriend, is he?” he asked in a posh English accent.
“He’s my date.”
“Not your boyfriend. Is he a moron?” His eyes dipped down what he could see of my body from above the table separating us.
His friend chuckled drunkenly. “Absolute idiot for not nailing you down, sweetheart.”
I grimaced and shooed them away. “Okay, fellas, time to move it along.”
“Oh, don’t be like that, darling.” The bearded bloke leaned in. “Come have a drink with me and my mates. We’ll show you a much better time.”