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From this point on, I am only moving forward.

Chapter Fifty-Three

Calvin

My phone has been blowing up like crazy, so much so I’ve turned it on silent. There are only two people that my phone is ringing for right now.

My agent and Lettie.

I throw my suitcase on my bed and start to unpack the contents.

I arrived on Boston soil just after six this morning, and promptly went to sleep.

Usually I catch a few hours on the plane, but with the excitement on the field transitioning to the plane, I’m unsure if anyone got any rest.

I grab my sneakers from the suitcase and throw them in my closet when my phone rings.

My agent has already called twice this morning with two offers for me, and I wouldn’t be surprised if there’s another. I’m usually not very popular for promotional stuff, especially compared to my other teammates. As a center, I just do my job and go home, but once you’ve won a Super Bowl, more options tend to open up.

I grab my phone and glance at the screen, but it’s not Rick.

It’s Lettie.

My heart skips a beat as my fingers swipe the answer button on my phone.

“Hello?” I greet.

“Hey!” Her words are bright and cheerful. “Are you home?”

“Yeah, just unpacking my stuff.”

“Awesome. I’m at baggage claim now. Do you mind if I come directly there?”

“Not at all.” We hang up, and I finish putting away my suitcase at record-breaking speed, then clean more until there’s a knock at my door.

I rush to open it, not even bothering to peek through the tiny window to ensure it’s her, which it is.

Scarlett’s hair is bundled in a bird’s nest on the top of her head, her makeup smeared under her eyes as she holds the handle of her suitcase at my door.

“I don’t want to be the quarterback!” she blurts before I have the chance to properly greet her.

“Uh, what?” I scratch my head. I’m running on fumes at this point, so maybe that’s why her words aren’t calculating.

“Hey, come in and let’s sit down.” I guide her to my couch, and she plops down in the middle of it. I sit on the far end to give her some space, but she scooches closer, leaving only a few inches between us.

Okay, not a bad sign…

“You don’t want to be a quarterback?” I clarify with a question mark in my tone.

“Yes. No.” She shakes her head.

Man, I need to get some more sleep, because I’m not following. Before I can ask a clarifying question, she mutters under her breath, “Crap. I think I’m screwing this up.”

She twirls her finger through her hair. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Anything.” My reply is quick.

“If you were calling the shots, what would yours be regarding us?”