Meant To Be (The Callahans #4) - Monica Murphy Page 0,64

need him.

It takes him about five minutes to notice me. He’s concentrating on throwing that ball, his expression intense, his brows lowered. He throws it again and again, and when he’s knocked to the ground by one of his own players playing defense, I jump to my feet with a gasp, hoping he’s not hurt.

Eli gets back up with no obvious issues. He even yells, “Can’t take me down, motherfucker!” to the guy who just tackled him.

Typical Eli. I can’t help but smile.

When he finally does notice me, his eyes go wide and he rests his hands on his hips, studying me. I offer up a little wave, my heart rate starts to increase as he makes his way over to me.

“Are you really here? Or are you a figment of my imagination?” he calls to me.

I stand, anxious for him to get closer. “I’m really here.”

He jogs toward me and yanks me into his arms. I cling to him, resting my cheek against his chest. I can feel his hammering heart, smell his woodsy scent. He’s damp from the rain and he feels like heaven and I swear to God, I will be so mad at myself if I start crying.

“Not that I’m unhappy to see you, but what are you doing here? I thought you had practice.” He runs his hands up and down my back, as if he can sense I need comfort.

“It’s a long story,” I say, my voice muffled by his T-shirt.

He slips his fingers around the side of my neck, pulling me away slightly so he can look into my eyes. “You all right?”

His voice is low and his eyes are full of concern. I can feel my lower lip tremble, and I bite down on it. Hard. “Not really.”

“Practice is almost over—”

“Bennett! Get your ass back on the field!” a booming voice yells. I assume it’s his coach.

Eli swiftly glances over his shoulder, before returning his attention to me. “Practice is almost over. Just—give me fifteen minutes. Don’t sit out in the rain. Go to your car and wait for me. Where are you parked?”

“Right next to your car,” I tell him with a faint smile. The relief I feel at being in his presence is absolutely staggering.

“Go wait for me where it’s dry. I’ll join you as soon as I can. Okay?” I nod, and he dips down to lightly press my mouth with his. “See ya in a few.”

He turns and jogs back across the field. I stay where he left me, too captivated by the easy way he moves. He claims football doesn’t consume him, but I don’t know. He’s a natural athlete. He’s really good at what he does. Maybe not as good as Jake, but he’s definitely a solid A-tier quarterback.

And I’m the lucky girl who gets to say that #1 QB belongs to me.

Eighteen

Eli

“Who’s the skirt?” Coach Weston asks me when I return to the sideline.

I wipe the rain from my face, then wipe my hand on the side of my shorts. “That’s my girlfriend, coach.”

I can’t believe he called her a skirt. Who the fuck says that? What era is he from anyway? Sounds like something out of the eighties. Or maybe even older.

I don’t know. Before 2000 is all history to me.

“You actually have a girlfriend, Bennett?” Coach’s eyebrows shoot up toward his non-existent hairline.

“He’s fucking Jake Callahan’s sister,” one of my asshole teammates yells.

Glancing behind me, I scan their faces, searching for the one dumbass who said that. They all look equally innocent—or equally guilty.

Annoying fucks.

“Is this true? You’re dating Callahan’s sister?” Coach hesitates for only a moment, his eyes buggin’ out. “Drew Callahan’s daughter?”

He sounds downright flabbergasted.

“Yeah,” I say irritably. “I am. Is that a problem?”

“Hell no, son. You might want to try to get some intel? Find out their secrets? Get a gander at their playbooks somehow?” Coach asks hopefully.

There is no way in hell I’d even contemplate doing something like that. It would put my relationship with Ava—hell with her entire family—in jeopardy.

Nope. No can do.

I make a hissing sound, like I’m full of disappointment. “Afraid I can’t help you there, coach.”

“Damn. It was worth a shot.” He shakes his head. “You’re playing with fire, dating that girl. She’s the enemy.”

I am so fuckin’ tired of all this rivalry, enemy talk. It’s bullshit.

“I’m in love with her,” I say firmly. “So no. She’s not the enemy.” I turn to face the rest of my team, letting my irritation show. “Let’s play,