Just ignore her.
I glanced back at her. “What?”
A frown marred her brow. “You do gethealthchecks, right?”
Was she kidding with that shite? “Not that it’s any of your business, but we get health checks at the club constantly. Now, can I have your promise you will not befriend anyone I bring over? In fact, can I have your promise we will ignore each other from now on?”
Beth considered it. “Nope to the former, yes to the latter. I’m not going to ignore other people because they made the epically bad decision to either be your friend or sleep with you.”
“You’re a pain in my fucking arse.”
At my biting tone, Beth narrowed her eyes. “I hope she”—she gestured to the gate my one-night stand disappeared out of—“gave you a venereal disease.”
“Youarea venereal disease.”
To my shock, she beamed. “Hey!” She raised her arms in celebration. “You made a funny! Good for you.”
“I hate you.” I climbed into my Defender and ignored Beth’s little wave and sexy smirk as I drove past her.
Damn it. I’d let her get so under my skin I’d forgotten to tell her about her mail.
CHAPTER SEVEN
CALLAN
Nine years ago
The bus dropped me off ten minutes from the school. Using my phone for directions, I followed the road that seemed to go on forever and finally started to see other kids in the same uniform I now had to wear. To play football, I’d do anything. Even go to some fancy stupid private school on a scholarship where the uniform was mandatory.
The houses started to get bigger and more modern the nearer to the school I got. I tried not to stare at anyone. Tried not to look like I didn’t belong and was actually grateful we all had to wear the same clothes. Just a quick glance at the designer backpacks and iPhones told me most of these kids, unlike me, were not here on a football scholarship.
Drimwhinnie Academy was in Cramond. I had to take two buses to get here from Sighthill. The school itself was architecturally newer than I’d expected when I’d come here to discuss the scholarship. I’d had to bribe my dad with money he’d given me at Christmas to come here and sign me up to the school. He and my stepmum, Ashley, were uninterested in me. Icould live with that. I only had two more years before I was an adult and could get out on my own, anyway.
Striding through the gates, I started to feel the stares, but I ignored them. Acted like I was too good to acknowledge them. It worked at my old school, and I had to hope rich kids were programmed the same way. I followed signs for reception, wondering what my mum and stepdad would think of me being here.
They’d be proud. Really proud.
My chest tightened with pain that had dulled but never left me since I was twelve years old.
A receptionist looked up as I wandered into the office.
“Callan Keen. This is my first day.”
It was going all right, I supposed. They’d assigned a pupil called Aaron to show me around because he was on the football team too. He spoke with the poshest Scottish accent I’d ever heard. But he seemed all right. Maybe a wee bit too eager to get to know me. I didn’t want anyone to know me. I just wanted to play football. Problem was, you had to gel with your teammates. So when Aaron peppered me with questions about my life, I found myself lying. Instead of telling him I lived with my waste-of-space dad and stepmum in Sighthill, I told him I lived with my mum and stepdad in Leith. My mum had been a risk analyst at a big financial institution in the city center and my stepdad, who had raised me so he was just Dad, had been a high school maths teacher. It was the life I wished I still had, so I lied and pretended I did.
Aaron didn’t question it.
Like my old school where all my real mates were, Aaron explained that fifth and sixth year pupils shared classes, depending on what key stage they were at.
That’s how I met her.
I’d gotten to the history class early. I wasn’t really academic, but I liked history. I was good at maths because it came easy, but I was shit at subjects like English and geography. Problem was, I had to keep my grades up to keep the football scholarship. And this football scholarship was going to put me in front of professional league football teams looking for under 18s to nurture.
Taking the first seat I saw, I slumped down at the table and pulled out the iPad the head teacher had handed me. She’d warned me I wouldn’t be assigned another. Then she’d shown me where to find the digital “jotters” on the device. I tapped on the screen with the pen it came with. I’d heard some of the wealthier schools were switching to digital, but at my old school, we still used paper jotters and ink pens.
The chair next to me stayed empty as the class filled up.
“Everyone here?” the bloke standing in front of the whiteboard asked. “Right, let’s get started.”
