Callum cuts past his defender at the last second and rises—his timing perfect. His head meets the ball, and it rockets into the top right corner of the net. A perfect goal.
The entire stadium explodes. François jumps in the air, pumping his fist and crying out in French. With a beaming smile, he high fives all the players on the bench and even pulls me into a little hug, almost knocking my phone onto the grass.
Callum lands and raises a fist, a rare grin breaking across his face as his teammates engulf him, a blur of shouts and movement as they celebrate the goal. When they peel away, Callum jogs back into position. He glances toward the bench—then directly at me. When our eyes meet, he gives methe tiniest wave, almost nothing, but my heart skipsseveralbeats regardless.
Soon after, half time begins, and I film all the players hustling back to the locker rooms, some of them talking to the camera, giving me a high five, or breaking into a silly dance—guess who that was? As for Callum, he just walks by, but he does offer me a rare, thin smile that somehow trumps Archie’s crazy moves. Between that smile and the subtle wave he gave me earlier, I’m beginning to think watching from the sidelines is officially too dangerous for me. Talk about an emotional safety hazard.
Once the players have all vanished, I head up to the VIP lounge to grab a drink before finding Fallon and Roxy waiting for me in the stands.
“Hey, you,” Roxy says with a bright smile, a hand resting on her belly. “About time. We need to talk.”
Hesitantly, I sit between them, and they pin me with an intense stare.
“What? I already told you the relationship thing was fake,” I whisper, glancing around in case someone is eavesdropping.
“Statistically speaking,” Fallon informs me with a straight face, “seventy percent of people who start a fake relationship already have feelings for each other. And ninety percent of fake relationships end in marriage.”
I sit back witha sigh. Where does she get all these numbers from?
“She’s got a point,” Roxy says, twirling one of her blonde curls around her finger. “Wade and I started as a fake couple, and I’m now married to the guy—and bearing his first child.”
“It’s not like that.” I shake my head, a flush of warmth rising to my cheeks. “We’re notfake dating. And we were a fake couple for all of five minutes. He was just helping me out.”
Fallon scrunches her nose. “Yeah, that’s the fishy part. He’s not exactly the helpful type.”
“To be fair, I didn’t really give him a choice. I kind of grabbed him and introduced him as my boyfriend,” I say, shifting in my seat.
“Hmm. Sounds familiar,” Roxy says softly.
“Still,” Fallon continues. “He didn’t have to go along with it. Trust me, Callum Murray doesn’t do anything he doesn’t want to.”
I open my mouth to argue, but thankfully, the ref’s whistle signals the start of the second half. Swallowing hard, I focus on the pitch, trying to chase Fallon’s words out of my head, but they summoned a butterfly tornado in my stomach. She’s right. Callum isn’t exactly a go-with-the-flow kind of guy. So, whydidhe help me? He could have easily called me out, then and there.
And those stats—is there any truth to them? Because if I’m really being honest with myself, I know I wouldn’t have chosen just anyone to play the role of my boyfriend. I would have never picked Archie or Finn. Maybe it was because of that kilt. Or Fergie. The man has way too many secret weapons.
Chapter 16
Callum
The locker room is bursting at the seams. Music is blasting from the speakers, and footballers are dancing and singing, jumping around to celebrate our victory. And because I’m the scorer, I get plenty of slaps on the back, on my face, and on my butt. Lucky me.
I shoulder my way toward my stall, dodging more high fives until I can finally sit down and release a long breath.
“Oh, come on, Grumpy,” Finn scolds me, hands propped on his waist. “It was a good match. You should be happy.”
“Iamhappy,” I mutter, tugging off my boots. “I just don’t express it by jumping like a lunatic and singing off-key, that’s all. But yeah, it was a good match.”
The volume of the room drops, and the entire team turns toward the entrance before erupting into another round of hollers and whistles.
I frown, twisting to see what the fuss is about, but her laugh hits me first. Millie’s striding into the locker room, filming the aftermath of our victory. For a second, I’m tempted to get up there and sing with the guys for Millie, but I quickly chase away that disturbing thought.
She walks toward our group, lowering her phone. “Sorry, just a quick post-game video. Then I’ll let you celebrate, and, um,” she says, her eyes trailing over my body, “get changed in peace.”
I nod. “That’s fine.”
She starts filming again, and Finn—of course—hams it up with a mock-serious post-match interview. Why is Millie even interviewing him? I was the scorer tonight.
Once he finishes, she thanks him and starts backing away. “I’m going to film over there, but I’ll see you later?”
