Callum Hot Lips Whitaker: I’ve already got one in the queue.
I can’t rememberthe last time I was invited to a guy’s place to do anything. Probably Kyle Seller after I did that wholePrincess Bride‘As You Wish’ bit, and he invited me to his place for drinks… Rosalie would not let me go. She said he was scummy. So, it’s probably for the best. Kyle Seller and I did not last long.
I follow my GPS to the Lakeview Apartments. Cal said he’d meet me out front. There’s a closed gate into the parking lot, but tall, dark, and blue-eyed Callum stands just outside the gate waiting for me.
My heart leaps like a tiny ballerina, and I remind that dancing heartbreaker that Cal and I arejustfriends. That he likes someone else, and I agreed to friendship and nothing more.
I pull up to my smiling, wavingfriend,and he runs around the car, climbing into the passenger side of my Honda.
“Hey,” he says, not even breathless. Granted, it was a short run, but still, the man is fit. He closes the door behind him and leans out the window, typing in a code for the gate. As it opens he peers around my car. “Whoa. Roll-up windows. How old is this car?”
“Old. It also will not die. Which is exactly why I love it. Where do I park?”
“This way,” he says, and I can’t help but notice his grin. Callum is smiling like a kid.
“You seem happy. Like really happy.”
“I’m just excited. I haven’t watched a movie in a while, and—” He runs a hand through his hair and smirks. “Honestly, I haven’t had a friend over in a while.”
“The guys don’t come visit?”
His thick brows lift. “The guys all live here.”
“Here?” I peer up at the three-story building, Lake Tesoro just behind it. It’s nice—really nice. Like, upscale.
“Most of them. Will Baxter—our team owner—owns this building too. It’s for the team. Most of us live here. It’s actually in our contract. A couple guys are married and are allowed to live outside of Lakeview. Devon’s wife really wanted a backyard for their daughter. They live just a few miles away. I’m not sure Sarah wanted to raise their little girl in a building filled with sweaty soccer players either.”
A laugh titters from my throat. Why ever not? I’d live here in an instant. “That’s… understandable.”
“Yeah, it is. Baxter’s good to us. A lot of teams require specific housing. But Lakeview is a nice place. Baxter’s made sure we have it good. I heard he helped Devon and his family find a nice place too. We aren’t paid like the majors, but we are the best-paid minors in our league. Baxter takes care of us. I’m pretty sure no one leaves the Red Tails voluntarily.”
“How do I become one?”
A low, gravelly laugh rumbles in Callum’s chest. “Well, how are you at soccer?”
I pull into an empty space and peer at him, grinning with all my teeth. “Uh… not great. But I really did enjoy watching your game.”
“Hey!” A muffled cry sounds from outside the car. “FRANNY!”
I peer out the window to one of Cal’s teammates—Lucca. I send him a small wave and scoop my hair behindone ear. He doesn’t care that he’s shirtless and outside, he happily waves back.
“So, you’re telling me this apartment building is filled with shirtless soccer-playing men?”
A crease forms between Callum’s eyes. “I’m guessing most have shirts on. Lucca is a little obsessed with himself. He’d walk around naked if we’d let him.”
I laugh. Jumping beans have come to life in my stomach. I’m nervous. And anxious. I have a friend who is a professional athlete and we’re going to hang out at his place and watch a movie. That’s a scenario even my imagination never thought to dream up.
Callum’s apartment is on level one, Apartment #102—so we only see one more of his teammates before safely entering his home. The lights are dim, but I peer about the open floor plan, brown leather couch with wooden shelves in front of it. There’s a round wooden table in the kitchen area and dark cupboards lining the back wall.
“Wow. You likewood.”
Callum laughs. “I like natural and dark. Baxter even let me stain the cupboards.”
“Nice.” I step onto the hard floors and breathe in the cedar and musk that fills this great room. There’s a blue rug beneath the couch and a coffee table in the living room. The shelves the couch faces are filled with framed photos, vinyl records, and a couple trophies. “Wait,” I say. “Where’s your TV?” I turn about the room again—kitchen to the left, living room to the right. But no television in sight.
“Oh.” He swallows. “It’s in my bedroom. I don’t watch a lot of TV. In fact, I might fall asleep during the movie—just an FYI.”
“Did you lure me to your house to get me into your bedroom, Callum Whitaker?”
