Page 55

“That doesn’t make me less suspicious.”

“It should.”

That gets the smile he’s been fighting, but he still doesn’t lower the sheet. “We’re finalizing player assignments for the first few events. Half these idiots signed up without putting down which dates they’re available, three put their names in the wrong column, and Sullivan somehow volunteered for two events happening at the same time.”

“That sounds like Sullivan’s problem.”

“It became my problem when he told me to figure out which one he meant.”

“And now you’re attempting to make it my problem.”

“I knew you were smart.”

I stare at him until he laughs. He still has the same irritating confidence that if he puts something in my hands, I’ll figure out what to do with it. Which is probably why I take the sheet.

Whit immediately turns and starts down the hallway.

“I was leaving.” I glance toward the front doors, then down at the schedule in my hand. “Why is this date highlighted if the event is on a Tuesday?”

Whit laughs without turning around.

“Shut up.”

“I’ve missed you too, Callie.” Whit doesn’t wait for an answer before pushing through the double doors, which is probably good because I don’t have one ready.

I’ve spent years making my absence from this place easy to explain. College was demanding; studying and the MCAT took whatever was left. At some point, coming here became something I did for Dad instead of something I did because there were people here I wanted to see. It never occurred to me that while I was busy leaving, someone here might miss me.

Whit pokes his head back through the door. “You coming?”

I look at the schedule in my hand, then at his retreating back. “Unfortunately.”

His laugh carries back to me as he leads me into a room off the players’ lounge where several tables have been pushed together beneath a wall-mounted television. Easton is sprawled sideways in one of the chairs with his legs stretched beneath the table, Tuck sits across from him with his phone in his hand, and Sullivan has somehow managed to claim two chairs despite only possessing one body. Archer is at the far end with a laptop open in front of him, glaring at the screen as if it has personally offended him. Nobody looks surprised when I walk in.

I stop just inside the doorway, waiting for someone to ask what Whit dragged me into, but Easton barely glances up before his eyes drop to the schedule in my hand.

“Oh, good. Whit got you.”

“He manipulated me.”

“I delegated,” Whit says.

Easton snorts, and the laugh that escapes me comes too easily for someone who was supposedly on her way out of the building five minutes ago. My attention catches on the community outreach schedule open on Archer’s laptop.

“You’re all doing this now?”

Sullivan lifts his head from the back of his chair. “We’re trying, but some of us are being unfairly persecuted over scheduling conflicts.”

“You signed up to visit a children’s hospital and help with a youth football clinic at the same time,” Whit grumbles.

“I contain multitudes.”

I laugh, and Sullivan points at me as if I’ve just proven his argument. “See? Callie gets it.”

“I’m laughing at you.”

“And there’s a difference.” Easton chuckles as Sullivan gives him the finger without bothering to sit up, and Whit reaches past me to tap the schedule in my hand.

“Can you check their availability on the shared calendar against the event list while I figure out why half the defensive line apparently believes October has thirty-two days?”