Page 67 of Her Game Plan

Or maybe I am biased, but because of that, I can see how good he is for the team.

Callan clears his throat, and I jump.

I grasp for the last threads of our conversation. “That makes complete sense. Honestly, it’s how I feel about Langford Entertainment. I love every second I spend there. Sure, it’s hard work, and I spend a lot of nights and weekends there, but it’s what gives me purpose, not what keeps me from feeling fulfilled.”

We pull into the garage, and Callan turns off the car. “Thanks for this.”

“For what?”

He turns to face me. “Making me feel better. Taking my mind off the Vegas game.”

I reach out and squeeze his forearm. “Of course. What are friends for?”

“Friends, huh?” he asks, a teasing smile playing on his lips.

I shrug nonchalantly, sliding out of the vehicle. “Something like that.”

An hour and one long, hot, solo shower later, I find Callan in his workout room, headphones on as he sits on a spin bike.

“Callan!” I wave my arms to get his attention and take in the space I almost never visit. It’s a real gym, complete with cardio machines, a squat rack, and free weights. And mirrors. Mirrors everywhere.

He pulls the headphones off, letting them hang around his neck. “Sorry. Didn’t hear you.”

Forcing my eyes away from the top of his thigh and the muscle bulging there, I ask, “What are you doing?” I know he cooled down after the game and received some treatment while we were on the plane. I may have gone and sat with him while it was happening to help keep his mind off things. I’m sure he found my rambling about the crazy items that people request on their riders highly interesting. Informative, too.

He wipes the sweat from his face with a black towel. “Trying to burn off some energy so I can sleep.”

I gape. “It’s nine thirty, and you had a massive day today. Almost fifty pass attempts and eighty-two snaps. And don’t get me started on those hits you took. What the fuck was Gunderson doing?”

Callan smiles, his legs slowing. “Wow, Princess. I appreciate that you’re in my corner, but Gunderson did his job. Their defensive end is damn good. I should’ve scrambled better.”

I pick up the lightest set of dumbbells he has and attempt to do a curl—nope. He watches me, amusement written all over his face as I scan the end to find out how heavy it is. Ten pounds should feel lighter than that, right?

“Why do you have so much energy?” I set the weights down carefully. Don’t need to drop one of those gigantic things on my toes. “I thought you’d be exhausted.”

“Post-game adrenaline is still riding me hard. This is the only way I can figure out to get rid of it.”

I nod. “That makes sense. I know it can be crazy.” I think about our time in the shower and realize I want to do it again. A lot. I glance at him over my shoulder as I wander through the space. “Though, I also know most players find a different way to take care of all that adrenaline.”

Callan’s gaze lasers in on me. “How do you happen to know that, Princess?” His voice is rough. Dangerous.

I shrug, returning to lightly run my fingers over the weights on their rack. “The only time I’ve hooked up with athletes is after games.” I wait for a snarky remark, but none comes.

I turn, and suddenly, he’s there, in front of me, his large body warm against mine as he grabs my chin lightly in his palm. “Don’t. Don’t talk about them.” He presses his lips hard against mine. Devouring, claiming. When I finally have to break the kiss and come up for air, Callan smooths his thumb over my cheek. “I’m sorry. I know you had a life before me.”

He pauses before gritting out, “And you’ll have one after me. But it makes me see fucking red.”

There’s a slutty little devil on my shoulder doing a scandalous happy dance—one that looks remarkably like a shimmy—at the thought. “Why don’t you do something about all the adrenaline, Ball Boy?”

His pupils widen at the suggestion. “Are you offering, Princess?” He leans closer, the heat from his body engulfing me as his chest rises and falls quickly. “Because we agreed, no one but us.”

I reach up and run my hand along his cheek. “I’m offering, Callan. Actually, if you want to get specific, I’m getting closer to begging. I want you to fuck me against these mirrors so I can watch those stupidly round ass cheeks clench as you thrust into me.”

His pupils flare. “Hell, yes,” he mutters before dropping a hot, open-mouthed kiss to my neck.

He continues to kiss up and down my neck as I lean into him, my stomach getting the friction from his hard ridge that my core so desperately wants. I bite my lip to keep from telling him to pick me up, to put me in the position I need.

God, yes. I love it when he plays with my nipples. I never thought callused hands would feel that good on the sensitive flesh, but he knows what he’s doing.