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Thirty-One

The seat warmers in Callum’s car are roasting my behind, but ever since my accident, I like a toasty bum. I had fun tonight—as soon as I got over my nerves. Ebony was nice. Alice was nice. The guys were so welcoming.

“They were all so… nice ,” I say—and it might be the third time I’ve said as much.

“You don’t say?” A laugh rumbles in Callum’s chest as he takes the exit for the highway back to Reno.

“I’ve never met an entire soccer team before, okay? They were?—”

“Nice,” he says with a muffled laugh. “I bet they were. They are a superstitious bunch of loons. They are all sure you’ve changed my game.”

“But you’re not?” I ask, looking at him. I’m not offended. I just want to know. I’m going to his games, we’re spending time together—all for a purpose. Superstitious or not, it was his idea.

Callum glances at me, and I truly attempt to not be hypnotized by those blue eyes. Rosalie scolds me in my head when I fail. “I just know that since I met you?—”

“You mean since you Grease 2 kissed me outside the karaoke bar?—”

He clears his throat, his eyes blinking with a nervous twitch. “Yes. Since then, I have played differently. I’m more relaxed. Somehow, your diversions have me less worried and more focused—without overcomplicating it all.”

I want to point out that it’s not superstitious then, but fact. Me, my “diversions,” and my game day kisses are lucky. But I don’t. Instead, I ask a question that’s popped into my brain more than once. “Simone didn’t give you game day kisses?”

Callum glances over at me, but only for a second. “Simone was a distraction—that’s for sure. But one that did not help my game.”

“What’s been off, then?” I ask—as if I’m someone who might know anything about the game of soccer.

“It’s tricky,” he says. “I’m not even sure.” But it feels like he knows more than he’s letting on. Callum stirs in his driver’s seat. “Zev says I lost it when I started dating Simone.”

“Did you?”

He rolls his neck. “The timeline matches.” He swallows and peeks at me once more. “Don’t get me wrong, Fran. I’m glad we’re friends. And I’m glad you’re coming to my games. But the idea of one person being toxic to my game and another being lucky doesn’t appeal to me.”

I scrunch my forehead in thought.

“I want to be in control of my game. No one else.”

“That makes sense.” And it does. He isn’t trying to get out of being around me.

He wants control of his own fate. I can understand that.

So, I say what seems right, what’s probably true.

“I think you are in control. I think you’re the superstitious one.

You don’t need me, and you don’t need a lack of Simone.

Or maybe you do. From what I’ve heard, you should never ever see that girl again. ” Okay—obvious, much.

Callum smirks, twisting his right hand over the wheel. “I don’t plan to.”

“But either way, Callum, it’s your game. It’s up to you how it goes. And maybe hanging out with me has eased you up a bit. But that just means you need to ease up. You could do that with me or Zev or Lucca?—”

“Are you suggesting I kiss Lucca Cruz before every game? Not happening.”

I laugh, biting my inner cheek while my heart flutters at remembering our kiss earlier today. “I’m not suggesting that.”

“Whew. That would be a hard pass.”

“I’m just saying, maybe it’s not who you’re with, but that you’re with someone who likes you for you. Someone who’s good to you.”

He gives a small, curt nod, a tight but true grin playing on his lips. “And you like me for me?”

“I do. I’m not trying to get out of being your friend.” My heart pounds, “I have greatly enjoyed being your friend.” I gulp and stop short of saying any more.

“That’s a relief. I never want to be a burden to you, Fran.” Callum’s grin widens, and I can’t help but smile back.

“No burden. In fact, I don’t even mind kissing you before your games.”

He chuckles. “I appreciate your sacrifice.”

“You know,” I say, bravery filling me up, “this is probably your sign that you do need love in your life.”

“Fran,” he moans .

“I’m just saying. This whole situation is a pretty strong sign. You need love, Callum Whitaker—just not Simone.”

“It’s not a sign.”

“It could be.”

“My love life is non-existent. As you know. And that’s the way I like it.” He glances at me as if to backtrack. “Because while we’re dating, we aren’t really pursuing anything. I think it’s okay to acknowledge that some people aren’t meant to fall in love.”

Holy mackerel —he’s in more trouble than I thought.

“Not meant to fall in love?”

“Not everyone does.”

I can’t deny what he says. My mother certainly never fell in love, and I can’t begin to tell you about my father’s love life. But all I know is that my mother never lived a fulfilled day in her life. Callum can’t have that future. I won’t allow it.

“But everyone should.”

“Fran—” He groans again.

“What if you went on the perfect date?”

“Perfect doesn’t exist.”

Oof. That’s what Lester told me—and I agreed. And yet, here I am, pushing for perfection. I can’t help it. It’s for Callum.

“The most romantic, most life-altering night of your life? What then?”

“That won’t happen. Contentedly not dating over here, remember?”

I slump in my seat, thinking about climbing over walls, planting flowers, and eating chocolate chip ice cream with Callum. Could it have gotten any better?

I doubt it .

Callum has to be wrong. Because while he isn’t pursuing , he is indeed dating . He may be looking for a lucky charm and trying to help me get a male perspective. But either way—we are dating. And I’d like to think it’s bringing joy into his life.