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Thirty-Seven

“‘You have bewitched me, body and soul…’” The words on the screen filter into my ears, slamming into me. I’m not sure how long I’ve been lying here, kissing Fran, her body flush with mine, feeling all of the things I was so sure I didn’t need in my life.

How long is this movie?

I started kissing her, and time might have stopped.

I pull away at the jolt of that line she made me quote. I’ve lost myself again.

I’m such a jerk. I’m supposed to be helping her.

And I’ve told her I’m not looking for a relationship—not now, possibly not ever.

But then, she asks one little question, and I end up kissing the girl.

It’s like I lose my head and control and all reason when Fran is too close to me.

And I can’t seem to stay away from her. You think the solution here would be easy… and yet, it’s not.

I clear my throat and say, “And that’s how you’ll know.” Another clearing. “Those are the clues.” I swallow, my nerves on edge like an anxious energizer bunny. “Just an FYI.”

“Just an FYI,” she whispers.

I nod. “I should go. I have practice tomorrow and the drive back and?—”

“But the movie—” she says.

“I’ll finish it. At home. I promise.”

“It’s almost over,” she says.

“I can stream it and watch it and get the whole great vision of it— at home .” I sit up, and before she can do the same, I am on my feet.

I have no idea how to begin apologizing for my actions. Twice now—twice I have come into her home professing I’m not interested in relationships, and twice I have ended the night with her in my arms.

How does one apologize for being an idiot?

Fran scrambles to her feet. “Okay.” She licks her lips, and like a moth to the flame, my eyes draw there. Apparently, I can’t get enough of Fran Fairchild’s lips. Apparently, I’m just going to go on being an idiot. “You’ll let me know what you thought?”

“Absolutely, I will.” This is something my brother would say to our mother when he had absolutely no intention of doing what she asked of him.

I’m not sure what it means now, in this situation.

Only that if I ever watch this film again, I will picture Fran the entire time.

I will pine for her lips on mine and long for her body to be snug against me.

I will never be able to focus on the middle, the ending, or any other part.

Sorry, Fran. I will not be turning in a movie report on this one .

In fact— crap —I’m pretty sure Fran Fairchild has bewitched me body and soul.

I stumble to her front door, and she follows after me, her teeth clamped down on that freshly kissed lip. “Are you going to call me?”

“Of course.” I would not ghost her. I’m not that guy.

We have a deal—I’m helping her. And we are, apparently, practicing all things date-related.

“Thanks for the…” I clear my throat. “Fun time.” I lean in, kiss her cheek, and then I’m gone.

Out the door, down the steps of her apartment, and out to my vehicle.

I’m not even on the highway yet when I’ve made a call.

I feel as if I’ve done something horribly and morally wrong—twice. And that’s not who I am. There is one person in the world who won’t lie to me just to ease my conscience.

“Hello, my boy,” Mom sings.

“Hey, Mom.”

“You better not be calling to say you can’t make it to my garden party. I am holding it on the day my very handsome, very famous, very lovable son said he could come.”

“I’m not that famous, Mom.”

“I’m sorry, say that again. Are you not a professional athlete? Are you not the captain of the Reno-Tesoro Red Tails? Did Mrs. Mickelson not come up to me in the grocery store and ask that you send her grandson a signed jersey?”

I keep my eyes on the road and let a breathy chuckle rumble in my chest. “I’m on a minor league team, Mom.”

“You were once in the majors. And how many boys are lucky enough to even make the minors? Callum Whitaker, I did not teach you to be ungrateful.”

“I wasn’t—” I swallow down my pride. “I’m not trying to be ungrateful. My name doesn’t carry as much weight as you think it does. That’s all.”

“It carries as much as you want it to. To every boy and girl, man and woman who loves soccer, who loves the Red Tails, it carries a lot of weight. Don’t you forget that.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Now, when do you get here? Because as I said before, cancelling is not an option.”

I rumble out another laugh. I might be delirious at this point—because I am still planning on coming, and I’m still planning on bringing Fran. “I’m not cancelling, Mom. In fact, I’m—” I cough. “I’m bringing someone.”

“Would it happen to be that girl you’ve been smooching at all your games?”

“Not all my games.”

“Oh, there was another video. You haven’t seen it? It’s all over TikTok. At least that’s what your sister says.”

I try to swallow, but all I can manage is choking on my own spittle. “I try to stay away from social media. Baxter has someone who posts for me.”

Mom balks. “My famous son. Has your girl seen it?”

“She isn’t my girl.” But then, I’m guessing she hasn’t, or she would have mentioned it. Besides, she told me she’s been staying off of social media for a while—until her video with Paul calms down. “Mom, I just don’t want you to worry?—”

“Worry that my son is kissing and not dating? Because?—”

“No.” I clear my throat. I hadn’t planned to get into this, but I need to. “Fran’s coming home with me, but she’s just a friend. It’s not going to be a repeat of Simone.”

“I know that. I’m not worried about that. You won’t let that happen again. ”

“I won’t. You’re too important to me,” I tell her. “And I can’t believe I let it happen the first time around.”

“Callum, sweetheart, calm your fears. I’m not worried. I know you. You rarely make the same mistake twice.” She sighs. “So, is this the reason you are kissing but not dating? Because you’re worried about me?”

“No. Um—” I cough. “I guess we are dating. Sort of. I’m helping her with some dating… tactics , and the guys are convinced that kissing Fran before my games helps me play better.”

Mom laughs. “Well, you have scored more goals in the last few weeks than you have in months.”

“I have.”

“That isn’t because you’re kissing someone, son.”

“I know that. And yet?—”

“And yet, what?” Mom pauses. She’ll wait all day for an answer if she needs to.

“And yet, I can’t deny that hanging out with Fran seems to ease my doubts. And I play better.”

“So, who is she?”

“Just a friend,” I say, but my lips are still buzzing with that make-out session. “One I invited home for the weekend.”

“Well, good. I’m anxious to meet this friend who puts you at ease and helps you play better.” Mom huffs. “You know, the only reason you need help being put at ease is because that Simone was so tightly wound. She got in your head. She was?—”

“Toxic. Yeah, you and Zev agree in that area.”

“Aw, Zevulun. I love that boy. He agrees with me about everything. Why can’t Zev come home with you? ”

“He’s busy, Mom. The girl. I actually called with a question.”

“I am all ears, my boy.”

“Fran and I have become friends—pretty good friends?—”

“Kissing friends,” Mom says.

I clear my throat. “Well, kind of. Yes. We’re friends. I’ve told her that I’m good on my own. And yet?—”

“You’re kissing the girl.”

“Sort of.”

“Sort of? Callum Whitaker, be forthright with me. I don’t know what sort of kissing is. I know what plain old kissing is. I know what hot and bothered kissing is. But sort of kissing is not in my vocabulary.”

“Fine. Just kissing.”

“And what were the circumstances around these kissing incidents?”

“Um—” My mouth goes dry, and I’d like to take back my search for an honest reaction. Can we back up?

“Come on now. How did that first kiss come about with your friend ?”

“Well, ummm… actually, the first time I kissed her, I didn’t exactly know her.”

“Gosh, I’m just so proud. My baby is out making a name for himself while kissing strange women on the streets.”

She has no idea how accurate that sentence is.

“It wasn’t like that,” I say, which is the worst defense ever because we both know she will drag the truth out of me.

And she does. It only takes one word. “ Callum .” And I tell her about our first kiss, our second kiss, and all the kisses after. Maybe Zev is right. Maybe I am a mama’s boy.

“ Whew !” Mom sighs—so dramatic. I blame Tiff. The rest of us kids are grown and gone, and she spends all of her time with a dramatic fourteen-year-old girl. “Don’t mind me,” Mom says. “Just over here fanning myself.”

“I know where my head is. I’m completely content without another person to fill my life. I’m a grown man, not an animal. And I remind myself of that. But when I’m with Fran?—”

“You become a normal man?”

“I don’t know.”

“Son, you aren’t just friends . You are attracted to the girl. Which sure, doesn’t not match your ideal of being a lone wolf. But you are still a man.”

“I don’t want to hurt her.”

“Then don’t.”

“You make it sound so simple,” I say, my hands on the wheel of my car.

“Baby, the fact is, wolves roam in packs. And when they don’t, it’s due to trauma. We aren’t meant to be alone, Callum.”

Trauma? Can’t it just be a choice? I don’t want to be ruled by another person—especially when a person like Simone separated me in one way or another from my family, my friends, and the game I love. That’s too much control.

“Sweetheart,” Mom says. “Zev is right. You like this girl. You’re kissing her because you want to.”

“When did you talk to Zev?”

“Oh, we talk.”

I groan. “Well, it’s not like that with Fran.”

“Tell that to your hormones.”

I run a hand down my face and up my cruise control by three miles. “Well, it’s not supposed to be like that with Fran.”

“I suppose I’ll be the judge of that. See you in a few days, Callum. Love you.”