Page 17 of Her Game Plan

“Hey, Callan.”

I jerk back in confusion. What the hell is happening here? Did Charlotte Langford call me by my correct name?

She winces before pulling the corner of her lower lip between her teeth. “Can we talk for a minute? In private?”

Chapter 8

Callan

I nod, unable to form a coherent verbal response and start walking. This… It’s how the guys who end up with baby mama’s start. Well, maybe it’s not how the conception takes place, but in their reenactments of finding out they got someone pregnant, it almost always starts with the woman calmly asking to speak with them in private.

While I certainly wouldn’t be opposed to taking Charlotte to bed, her fiery spirit promising an experience I’d never forget, I’m also sure we never have. Because I would remember Charlotte Langford, no matter how long ago or what mental state I was in.

Which means this is something else. And I have truly no idea what that something else could be.

“This will work.” I point to the door on my right before opening it.

Charlotte steps in, her wavy hair catching the light as she takes in the space. “Is this your bedroom, Callan?”

I swear the way she says my name is a purr, and I’m so busy leaning into it that it takes me a moment to register her question. “No! I mean, yes. It is.”

She raises her right eyebrow into a peak, cocking her head. “Is this how it usually works for you? You show a woman your room, and you’re good to go?” The amusement dancing in her eyes suggests she’s not as offended as she might seem.

“No.” I shake my head. “It’s the closest room I knew would be unoccupied. I guess we could’ve opened random doors that were closer. But, as most of the rookies are still living the high life of a professional football player, you might not want to be a part of what we’d see.”

Charlotte laughs, and it’s not the tinkling sound you’d imagine from a petite woman in a light pink dress and heels. No, it’s a deep belly laugh that makes the middle of my chest tighten.

“Can we?” she asks between gulping breaths.

I stare at her. “Can we what?”

“Go around opening doors?” She flops into the leather chair in the corner of the room, the perfect spot to doom scroll for hours.

“It’s a little early in our relationship to be discussing voyeurism, isn’t it, Princess?”

A line appears between her eyebrows, and I take a perverse level of satisfaction in knowing I’ve annoyed her.

“I’d be in it for the gossip, not the arousal, Carson. Don’t you want to know what’s going on?”

I hide the smirk that wants to appear at the realization that she knows my name and has been fucking with me for the last few years. There’s something strangely enticing about it. “Nope. I know everything I want to know about the lives of the guys. I don’t want to know who or what they’re doing in random rooms or closets, particularly not the ones in my house.”

She crosses one fine-boned ankle over the other. “Don’t you at least want to know which rooms need an extra deep cleaning?”

I stare at her for a moment, wondering when, exactly, she’s going to get to whatever she wanted to talk to me about. I’m a chatter, so I’m fine to make small talk, but I still want to know. I decide to give her one final answer before forcing her to talk. “I’ve hosted this party this same weekend for the last seven years. My cleaners have me booked for a full deep clean tomorrow. Doesn’t matter if a room was never entered tonight. Tomorrow, it will be scrubbed, washed, and aired out as if it was recently a crime scene.”

Her button nose crinkles. “Ew. Now I’m thinking about blue lights in those rooms. Can you imagine the… splatter.”

“Good God, why?” I splutter. “I did not need that image in my head.”

“You’re welcome,” she replies sweetly.

I stare at her for a moment, her gaze never quite meeting mine. “How can I help you, Princess?” I lean against the door.

“You could start by not calling me Princess.”

“Well, it seems we’ve come to an impasse right off the bat. I guess I’d better…” I jerk my thumb over my shoulder, toward the door. If anyone else in my life, hell, likely in the world, had asked me to stop calling them something, I’d do it and send them some outrageous gift as an apology. Charlotte? No way am I stopping. Especially not now that I know how long she’s been fucking with me.

“No. Wait.” Her voice hardens on the second word as if she’s trying to convince herself of something. Really would be great if she could clue me in on it as well.