Saylor laughs. “I know, Caldwell. Did you see the press conference?”
Oh. My jet-lagged brain manages to put the pieces together. “Yeah, I did.”
“Thank God. I was going to send you the link, but Beck said I should mind my own business and stay out of it.”
It’s strange, realizing Beck knows. I’m so accustomed to Otto and me being private and separate and secret.
“I can’t—I can’t believe he said that,” I tell Saylor.
“I can.” She sounds smug. “I bet Beck fifty euros he would.” Her response is the last one I expected.
I straighten in the back of the taxi. “What? Why?”
“I was pretty sure something happened between you guys in Paris. I was certain when he was acting weird about working with the Siege and I saw your name on the roster. And then I saw how he looked at you in Boston, and I knew he’d end up staying there.”
“I didn’t ask him to?—”
“You didn’t have to, Claire. And you shouldn’t have needed to. Beck didn’t ask me to move to Germany. Your priorities change when you fall in love. Mine did. So did Otto’s.”
“I can’t let him do it,” I whisper.
I doubt the driver cares about my love life, but it feels strange to be having such a personal conversation in front of a stranger. And if he’s a Kluvberg fan, he might actually care about my love life.
“I don’t think Otto is asking for permission,” Saylor tells me, sounding amused. “And my guess is, his agent is having a really busy week.”
I tap my fingers against the door. “Can you send me his address?”
“Sure. He’s not home though. Kluvberg has a charity match against Ludlin this afternoon. Beck left an hour ago.”
I sigh. If I’d stopped to think, I would have realized that on my own. Otto mentioned the charity match when he called. But I haven’t stopped to think. And now that I’m here, I wanted to talk to Otto immediately, not camp out on his doorstep until he got home.
“Is it?—”
“It’s sold out,” Saylor tells me. “But you called the right person. I’ve got connections. Let me make some calls, and I’ll get you a ticket. Do you have somewhere to stay until the game? I’m with Beck’s parents, dropping off Gigi, but I can?—”
“I have a hotel,” I say swiftly. Technically a lie, but she’s doing enough. I don’t want to impose any more than I already am.
Kluvberg is smaller than Boston, but it’s still a major city. I shouldn’t have any trouble finding a hotel at the last minute.
“Okay. I’ll be in touch soon!”
I hang up with Saylor, then start searching hotels on my phone. I was wrong; I will have trouble. It occurs to me, as I reach the second page of results with no vacancy, that it’s likely because of Otto’s match.
I finally find an available hotel, relay the address to the driver, and then relax against the seat, staring out the window at the passing scenery.
50
OTTO
I’m halfway back to the goal when I hear my name called. It’s a miracle I hear it, considering the noise level in Sieg Stadium. Every seat is occupied, and every occupant is cheering as we return for the second half of the match.
I turn to watch Beck jog toward me.
“What’s up?” I ask when he reaches me.
“One hundred twenty-four,” he tells me.
“What?”
