I’d mumbled incoherently at him, eyes blurry with tiredness.
I vaguely recalled him grinning at me before pressing another kiss to my lips. “Stay here, sleep. There’s coffee and food in the kitchen.”
So I’d happily fallen asleep, but not before I’d heard him whisper, “Fuck, I wish I could get back in that bed with you.”
At least I thought I had. It was possible I’d imagined it.
Hours later, I’d woken up and pulled on Callan’s dressing robe to wander through his flat. The first thing I noted was thee-reader on his bedside table. Nosy as heck, I switched it on and discovered Callan was a reader. He had a ton of thriller, spy, and military novels on the device.
It made me smile and realize there was still so much about him I didn’t know. The penthouse was pristine. Callan seemed to like things uncluttered. The only three photographs I could find in the whole flat were framed photos of whom I suspected were his mum and stepdad. Little boy Callan stood in the middle of a good-looking bloke and a pretty dark-haired woman, and the Universal Studios Florida sign behind them told me it was taken on a family holiday. An ache scored across my chest on his behalf.
The other two photos were of his friends. One of him and Baird and John, the other of him and his team. Those sat on the sideboard in the hall.
A shelf in his walk-in wardrobe housed all his football trophies and awards. They were hidden where very few people would see them. Those were the only truly personal things I’d discovered.
Feeling guilty for looking, I did the very short walk of shame down to my flat so I could shower and get on with my day. Before heading over to my family’s for Sunday dinner, I got through some work and uncharacteristically switched the TV to the live play of Callan’s game. He’d had such little sleep, I worried about him, recalling that he said this game was a second round in the Scottish Series Cup. The fact that he was playing games in three different tournaments was pretty impressive.
He’d told me at the launch party that Caley United were doing well in the premiership. Their hope, of course, was to win, but the second goal was to avoid relegation. Relegation would see them drop out of the Pro League to the division below.
It turned out there was nothing to worry about. Callan dominated the game, and I had to wonder if maybe sex was ashot of caffeine for him. He gave no sign of lack of sleep, and if anything, he was extremely focused and determined. He was a captain out there, rallying his troops. Watching him encourage them, motivate them, power down the pitch, keeping control of the ball at such speed, I’d gotten more than a bit turned on. The crowd shouted a chant about him being faster than the Flash, and pride hit me.
I didn’t know if I was allowed to be proud of him, but I couldn’t help but be in awe.
And wish that he was coming directly home from the game to me.
But he wasn’t.
That wasn’t what we were.
And he hadn’t texted me.
So I finished up what work I could and went to my parents’ for Sunday dinner.
Callan was waiting for me when I came home, and without a word stalked across the hallway and pulled me against him for a hungry kiss.
“We won,” he growled as he finally let me up for air.
I already knew but didn’t feel it was my place to text to congratulate him. Moreover, I didn’t want him thinking I watched the game because I was pining for him. “Congrats.”
He kissed me again and then swooped me up into his arms. I let out a laugh as I grabbed onto him. I wasn’t exactly tiny. “What are you doing?”
“I want to celebrate inside you.”
Chuckling, I caressed the nape of his neck. “We can do that, but you’ll have to put me down so I can let us into my flat.”
“Give me your keys.”
Deciding not to argue, I gave him my keys and watched as he somehow got the door open with me in his arms. He marched down the hallway to my bedroom and threw me on the bed again.
“You need to stop doing that!”
His answer was to come down on top of me and kiss me until I couldn’t think or speak, and that was me for the rest of the night. Lost in wild abandon in Callan Keen’s arms.
And just like the night before, everything else, all my worries, melted away.
It was bloody magnificent.
A few days later, I stood on the esplanade of Edinburgh Castle with Mhairi, the Social Queens content creator and photographer, my mum, and her agent and editor who’d flown up from London. They were in town for other business stuff and were meeting with Mum about her upcoming book release, so I decided to tag along for the social media promo I was shooting for the book.
