Page 34 of Pucking My Grumpy Roommate
Before I could respond, Coach Martinez appeared, clasping my shoulder with his meaty hand.
“Callahan, glad I caught you. The team owner’s daughter is a big fan. Mind saying hello?” It wasn’t actually a question.
“Of course, Coach,” I replied automatically.
“Good man.” He gave Dennis a look that clearly meant ‘scram,’ then leaned in closer to me.
“Remember, you’re the face of our defense, injured or not. Team’s counting on you to represent us well tonight. Lots of sponsors and donors in the room.”
“I understand.”
“Good. Owner’s table, ten minutes.” He clapped my shoulder once more before striding away.
I downed the rest of my whiskey in one burning gulp,steeling myself for an evening of forced charm and empty conversations.
My phone buzzed in my pocket. Normally, I’d ignore it during an event like this, but something—someone—made me check.
Kate
SOS. Blender exploded. Vanilla protein tsunami everywhere. Your laptop may have taken a direct hit. Hypothetically, how backed up are your training files and game footage? Asking for a friend who deeply regrets all her life choices.
Despite everything, I felt the corner of my mouth twitch upward. Quickly, I typed back:
SOS received. Step away from the electronics. Please. ETA two hours
“Are we boring you, Mr. Callahan?”
I glanced up to find Camille Wilson, a sports reporter, smiling at me. Her red dress matched her lipstick, and she stood close enough that I could smell her perfume.
“Sorry, important message,” I said politely, slipping the phone back into my pocket. “What can I do for you, Ms. Wilson?”
“Call me Camille, please.” Her smile widened as she touched my arm lightly. “I was hoping for a quick interview about your recovery timeline. Fans are desperate for updates.”
Six months ago, I might have found her attractive. Tonight, all I could think about was Kate—and whatever disaster she’d unleashed on my kitchen.
“Not much to report,” I replied, shifting away from her touch. “Following doctors’ orders, taking it day by day.”
“Surely you can give me something more...personal?” She leaned closer. “My viewers would love an exclusive insight into Austin Callahan’s private recovery journey.”
“The team releases all official updates,” I said firmly. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to meet with the owner.”
As I walked away, I fought the urge to check my phone again, mentally picturing my once-immaculate kitchen coated in sticky protein sludge.
Two excruciating hours later, I finally escaped the charity event, declining after-party drinks with teammates. All I wanted was to get home and assess the damage.
The elevator ride to my floor felt impossibly long as I braced myself, picturing sticky walls, lingering protein powder, and the fate of my laptop. I took a deep breath and opened the front door.
The kitchen looked clean. Suspiciously clean. The faint scent of vanilla protein powder still lingered, but everything appeared spotless.
But no Kate.
“Kate?” I called out, setting my keys on the entry table.
A muffled thump echoed from the guest bathroom, followed by a creative string of curses that would’ve impressed my teammates.
“One minute!” Kate’s voice was frantic. “Don’t come back here!”
Naturally, I went straight toward the bathroom.
