Letting out a chuckle, I walk over to the bed and join him. “Awesome. Let me see.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
IAN
Ten thousand.
Publicity is never something I've chased. I like my circle loud and fun, but small. Having ten thousand people liking a post with me in it was never on my bucket list.
Either way, I won't complain about a sports blog reposting the picture of me and Callum. We look fucking great. Mostly Callum, if I’m being real. He’s a dream, and that picture is visual proof. Hell, if “picture-perfect” wasn’t already a phrase, this shot would jumpstart it.
But a gossip magazine reposting it and dubbing us “Dugout Daddies” is something Iwillcomplain about. We’re both twenty, for god’s sake—that’s closer to infancy than Daddy age, seriously.
Home Plate Hotties, Ballpark Boyfriends—those are all viable, better, alternatives.
Switch Pitching Sweethearts, too, although I'm the only one who's bi, and I'm not about to switch my affection away from Callum.
Ha, Tent Pitchers would work.
I snicker at my own creativity, and Sabrina smacks my leg. “Oh, are you too famous to talk to us now? I see how it is.”
Grabbing my glass of water, I grip it gently with my fingertips, pretending it’s a fragile crystal vessel. “Oh yes,” I croon. “You are most decidedly correct. I, for one, am far superior to you common vagrants now that I am of elevated repute.”
Not two seconds later, I get an ice cube to the face, courtesy of Nick. Then Callum picks it up, dropping it down the back of myshirt, making me yell. He’s such a douche, but I love him anyway. Or because of it.
I am so, so gone for this man.
“How are you still making horny eyes at Callum with an ice cube in your asscrack?” Nick asks.
“Because it gives me sexy flashbacks to what we did last night,” I shoot back, knowing full well that Callum and I gorged on lasagna and passed out at ten. Nothing happened.
“Ugh, gross,” Sabrina says, screwing her face up. “Get a room.”
“Uh, excuse me, but this isourhouse.” I give Callum a wet, exaggerated kiss on the lips for effect, and he gags along with Nick and Sabrina.
Nick shakes his head and stands up. “Alright, I think it’s time for us to get ready. I’m removing you.”
Before I have time to read into that, Nick hauls me up by the arm and gives me a playful shove toward the door. I glance back at Callum for support, hoping his possessive side comes out in my defense, but all he does is laugh.
And then he pushes me. On the ass.
He’s a damn traitor, but he’s my traitor.
“Bro, I don’t think that’s your size,” Nick says, squeezing my shoulders.
“It isn’t meant to be.” Our pre-game briefing ended a lot faster than I expected, and now I’m standing over the vinyl transfer machine in the athletic center, prepping a spare team hoodie.
“Wait a second…” Nick trails off as the machine beeps, and he peers over my shoulder as I lift the heating element. “That shit’s cute, not gonna lie.”
I smile, surveying my handiwork. I’ve customized the hoodie with my last name like all the others I have. The only difference is that this one isn’t meant for me; it’s for Callum. Call meegotistical, but I dig the idea of him walking around and coming to games in my hoodie—leaving my mark on him this way is a lot more wholesome than marring his neck with a bunch of hickeys, that’s for sure.
He sure has a good neck for that, though. So soft and supple. Grr.
“Do you think he’ll like it?” I ask, snapping out of my Callum-induced daydream.
“Buddy, have you seen the way Callum looks at you when you aren’t paying attention?” It takes a while for Nick to catch himself. “Right. Anyway, that guy isobsessedwith you. He’ll love it.”
I pull out my phone to text Callum.
