I nod. “I was considered moderate sepsis. I kept my fingers and toes, so that was good. I do have a chance of getting further infections. It made the pandemic pretty scary for me. And then there’s the kidney issue.”
“So that’s why you quit soccer.”
“Um, yeah. At that point, I was trying not to quit life.”
He reaches out, touching the scar on my chest. “Is that what this is from?”
“My catheter for dialysis. I was on it for about six months. School took a back seat for a while. I eventually finished, but not at IU. I graduated, but I missed out on all the internship opportunities you normally have that get your foot in the door for broadcasting.”
Finally telling him this is a weight off my shoulders. But it’s also scary to let him in on my secrets, to show him how vulnerable it made me.
Callaghan looks at me thoughtfully for a moment, his finger still lightly tracing my scar. Then his eyes narrow. “So, how is this my fault?”
“If you hadn’t been so cocky and charming, I wouldn’t have had to make that bet with you.”
“I’m sorry that happened. And I’m sorry I didn’t know.” He leans in until his mouth is mere inches from mine. “By the way, you lost.”
I smile. “I don’t remember what the terms of the bet were in the first place.”
His lips touch mine before he says, “I don’t either, but I’m sure I can think of some form of payment that’s acceptable to both parties.”
CALLAGHAN WON’T LETme take the bus back to Boston. He insists on flying me up with him. It’s quite an uncomfortable moment when he asks why I’m refusing and I have to tell him it’s because I can’t afford it. This is probably something I’m going to have to get used to if I’m dating a pro athlete.
Dating. Is that what this is? The mere thought of it makes my heart flutter.
“Well, I can, and that’s the last we’re having of this conversation,” he insists.
I have to clench my jaw to stop myself from blurting out something stupid like, “Are we dating?” I still cannot for the life of me figure out why I have no chill around this man. He makes me nervous and giddy and completely saps away all my self-control.
Dating. With Callaghan Entay.
I try to picture what a relationship with Callaghan would look like. He doesn’t even live in Boston. Sure, he’s only a forty-five-minute drive away, but I don’t have a car. I can’t picture myself taking the commuter rail to Foxborough to stay overnight.
Not to mention, he’s going to be busy. Super busy. Not only will the season be ramping up for the Buzzards, but he’ll have games for the National Team too. The Global Games are in July in Paris.
And now he has commercial and endorsement responsibilities on top of it.
This is probably the worst time ever to pursue a relationship. Even if he wanted to be all in—which I don’t even know if he does—there’s no way he has the time for anything past this flight landing.
I should have thought about that before I jumped into bed with him. Again.
Because I’d be lying to myself if I said this was just sex. At least not to me. Callaghan Entay cast a spell on me years ago, and I’ve never been able to break it.
But he doesn’t know that.
He didn’t promise anything.
He doesn’t know that I’m falling for him with each cocky grin and that each time he grabs my hand, my heart melts a little more.
The flight is just over an hour long, so it takes us longer to go to and from the airport than it does to actually fly. I steel myself, knowing the fairytale is ending, and I’ll probably be a distant memory for Callaghan.
I can’t let him know. He’s not at fault here. I am, for falling too hard and too fast. Again.
Once we hit land in Logan, I try to distract myself from this downward spiral by turning on my phone. Lucky for me, Ophelia has blown it up with text messages.
That’s not unusual for her.
Good. It’ll keep me from having to talk to Callaghan and from saying something totally stupid.
