Chapter 3
Gage
Her dark hair is wound into a messy bun on the top of her head. She’s wearing a thin sweater with a wide neck that keeps slipping off one shoulder. Her slender feet, toes painted fire-engine red, are stacked on the balcony railing. And she’s sipping a glass of red wine.
I grip the underside of the kitchen island, staring at her through the open sliding door. The sound of rolling waves, barely audible, is the perfect backdrop lullaby. Cool breezes waft off the sea, filling the small apartment with a nostalgia I haven’t felt in years. It’s quiet—quieter than anything I ever experienced as a kid since my family is large and loud. But there’s a stillness, salty air and a starlit sky, that wraps around me like a memory. And having Callie be part of this vista—well, it’s top-freaking-tier.
I pour myself a glass of wine and move to the balcony. When I take the seat beside her, she glances at me.
“I don’t usually do this,” she says, swirling the contents of her glass.
I smirk. “Drink wine? Liar.”
Callie laughs lightly, the sound musical like wind chimes. “No, you’re right. I am a wine drinker, and this is delicious.” She smacks her lips appreciatively. “I meant, bunk with clients.” A slight blush works over her cheekbones. I’m not sure if it’s caused from embarrassment, the wine, or the sea breeze, but it doesn’t matter. She looks stunning all the same. “Except you, it seems,” she adds, referring to a night when the Coyotes got snowed in at a hotel in Buffalo, New York after our game.
Callie had come to the game and was leaving for the airport when all flights were cancelled. With nowhere to go, and no hotel rooms available since she had already checked out, she bunked with me. We stayed up late, playing cards, drinking wine, and talking. And I fell a little bit more for her after that night. Even though nothing happened, I wanted it to.
“I know you don’t, Calla Lily. But I don’t think that’s what this is anyway,” I admit, my voice deeper than it was a second ago.
Callie breathes out a long exhale, her eyes searching mine. I see the confusion lurking in her dark irises. I note the uncertainty that causes her to bite her bottom lip. She clears her throat and glances back to the sea. “Do you want to sign the endorsement deal or not?” Her tone is brisk, all business again.
I take a sip of wine to hide my disappointment. Callie James is the hardest working agent I know. She’s never off the clock. But she’s also the woman who stars in every happily-ever-after scenario I imagine for myself.
I’ve been wearing her down little by little, year after year. But she won’t let her guard down completely around me. Not yet.
I kick my feet up on the railing and relax back into my chair. Running a hand over the lower part of my face, I debate how to play this.
At my silence, Callie turns to look at me. There’s blatant curiosity in her gaze and I decide to be honest. Upfront. All fucking in in a way I’ve never been before.
But I don’t have anything to lose anymore. At most, I’ll play for another season. Callie may not mix business with pleasure but if I have to choose between starting a life with her and hanging in for another season, I’ll choose her hands fucking down.
Not that she knows that. Not that she’d ever even guess it.
“Can I talk to you as my—as a friend?” I amend. “Tonight, I don’t want you to be my agent, Cal. I want you to just be…you.”
Her brow furrows slightly. “But I am your agent, Gutierrez.” Her voice cracks on my last name.
“You’re more than that and you know it.” I fix her with a look and let her see the emotions that swim in my eyes. Let her know that I’m not bullshitting her or giving her one of my flirty, flippant comments.
Tonight, I’m coming clean. I’m being real. I’m manning up the way I should have a long time ago—except I knew she wouldn’t have me then. And she might not now, but I don’t have anything to lose anymore. Not with the end of my career looming.
Back then, speaking up would have been too much of a complication. And Callie is organized and tidy—she steers clear of drama. As one of a handful of women dominating the sports agency industry, she has to.
Callie rolls her lips together, watching me closely. Then, she tilts back her glass and polishes off her wine. I bend down to retrieve the bottle I sauntered out here with.
I hold it up, silently asking her if she wants more. In response, she holds her glass out to me, and I pour her a generous amount.
“Tell me,” she says finally, her voice raspy. Her eyes blacker than midnight.
“I’m thirty-eight years old.”
“I know that.”
“I should have retired a long time ago. My knee isn’t holding up the way it should. Hell, my body isn’t holding up anymore,” I admit the words aloud. The words—the truth—that guts me from the inside out. “The only thing I’ve ever known is football, Callie. And now, I can’t perform on the field the way I’m supposed to. The way I want to. And it makes every damn day feel more like a failure than a freedom.”
She sucks in a breath at my honesty.
“I’ve always wanted this endorsement deal. I’ve always wanted to work with brands that I actually like. Feel good about throwing my name behind.”
