“Point taken, beautiful. What was this great big realization?”
“You’re from the same town as Collateral Damage, right?”
He groans. “Yeah. I wondered when someone would make the connection.”
“You don’t like their music or them?”
“It’s not that.” He picks up a pebble and flicks it between his fingers. “I think their music is cool, and while I don’t know them personally, they’re sound. The whole town is super proud of them.”
“Then why the face?”
“If girls at school discover I grew up near Dillon O’Donoghue and my nana knows their family, what do you think will happen?”
“Oh, I see your point.”
“It’s why I avoid mentioning exactly where I’m from. I don’t wanna be hassled for autographs or pestered to share their address—things I would never do.”
“I get it, and I won’t say anything to anyone. I was just curious if you knew the band.”
“They live in L.A. most of the time, so they are usually only in town a couple of times a year. Dillon has sons close in age to me, and they came to watch a few of our football games when I was younger and playing for the local team. Seeing Dillon and Jamie on the sidelines was a real thrill for us back then, but they were cool, seemed just like normal guys.”
“You’ll be the next famous person to come from Kilcoole.”
“I don’t know about that,” he says, tossing the pebble away.
“You must have thought about it though. The fame that comes with playing professionally.”
“Not really. I don’t care about stuff like that. I just want to play football, and if it happens for me, I’ll figure the rest out then.”
“I saw that movie about Vivien, Reeve, and Dillon. It showed the seedier side of being a celebrity. I’m not sure I’d ever want that kind of spotlight on me.”
“I watched it too, and they had a lot to deal with for sure.”
“Cal!” Erin calls out. “You’ve got to come in. We’re having so much fun!”
“Yeah, you too, Azz. Come on.”
“I don’t have my bathing suit,” I call out.
“Swim in your bra and knickers,” Callan says, and I look around, my mouth falling open when I discover him bare-chested with his fingers resting on the waistband of his jeans.
“What are you doing?” I blurt.
“Going swimming.” He drops his jeans, standing before me in just his boxers, and I forget how to breathe, how to speak. Broad shoulders lead to toned pecs, a six-pack, and tapered hips.His body is a work of art, a showpiece of the hours he spends in the gym and on the soccer field. “Keep looking at me like that, and we’re gonna have problems.” His deep gravelly voice curves around my body like a sensual caress, and desire tightens in my lower belly. When Callan adjusts himself in his boxers, I finally look away.
“Maybe a little warning next time,” I rasp, sitting on my hands so he doesn’t see how badly I’m trembling.
“Where’s the fun in that?” He smirks, sitting back down to remove his socks.
He has no idea how much he’s torturing me right now.
“Your turn,” he adds, and I shake my head.
“Hell no. I’m not getting in there.”
“Come on, beautiful.” His fingers trace the shape of my face. “Come swim with me.”
“You just want to see me in my bra and underwear.”
