Page 24 of Endgame

What is he trying to say? He knows he’s hot, and that would typically make me even more uninterested, but why does it make my heart spin instead?

Somehow the energy has shifted. In the grocery store and between us. I stop myself on the milk aisle, having already lost my train of thought on what I need.

Probably milk.

“I highly doubt what you’re doing is gettingunder my skin.”

That’s exactly what he’s doing. Hell, he was doing it yesterday.

He shocks me as he abandons his cart and walks directly in front of me. And what a vision he is.

Casual Callaway in a grocery store is domestic and the epitome of a forbidden fantasy. His tall frame towers over the metal shelves lined in meticulous order. He looks out of place, yet never more perfectly fit. I’d like to ask him to grab something from the highest shelf slowly and let me sneak a peek at that sculpted dip in his stomach that leads to forbidden glory. His face wears exhaustion like a tired mother returning for the third time today after forgetting baby wipes once again. I know how gruesome his training schedule is, so the exhaustion is justifiable. He still looks brighter than most. Callaway knows the aisles, the placement of his favorite snacks, and conveniently the aisle to find me on.

Strangely, I can picture him here more often—even in the future sense.Callaway leaving practice at the fields after receiving a text from his gorgeous, blonde, and charismatic wife asking him to pick up milk and eggs on the way home.

He would be happy to do it too. I’m sure of it.

But it’s wrong for me to picture him that way. I’ll never have that for myself, and if I miraculously do, it’s a long way off.

I need to get out of here.

Callaway takes a step closer, putting him less than a foot in front of me now. He traces his index finger down the length of my arm, barely ghosting it enough to have contact but enough that I feel it bone deep.

Jesus Christ.

“I’ll pretend you didn’t say that. These chills covering your smooth skin tell me what I already know, Dakota.”

I’m doing my best not to seem fazed by his assertiveness, but the fight against right and wrong is beginning to blur.

“And what is it that you already know about me, Callaway?”

His smirk is mischievous and daunting. His mood has shifted drastically. I can physically feel the desire trickle from his body.

Where’s the closest exit?

But I need to hear him out.

“I know you’re hurting, and that’s why you refuse to make room for anyone in what little space you have to offer. I also know you deserve to be on the receiving end of someone’s care—to be there in every way they possibly can.Thatis what I know about you.”

How…?

He’s spot on.

I don’t want to get hurt again, and I don’t want to hurt someone else because of my hurt. It’s warped. Yet it makes sense to Callaway.

I didn’t have to explain myself.

He knows he got me there. I don’t want to continue this conversation any further. It’s an on-edge feeling when you can sense someone has spotted your vulnerabilities. Thankfully, he changes the subject.

Moving his body to frame the outer perimeter of the cart, Callaway takes a long look in, and I prepare to justify my addiction.

“So, what’s with all the cookies? Got a party or something happening?” He asks, nodding towards my lack of willpower.

I knew not bringing a list would come back to bite me in the ass. I respond truthfully.

“Nope. Cookies are my favorite food. I keep all my favorites on hand. You know, for emergency purposes.”

Strangely, he seems to understand. “My mom has an addiction to chocolate. I can relate.”

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