Page 8 of Married to the Scottish Player
“Yeah! Maybe they forgot to toss your giant dude stuff!”
Dude stuff? I stare at her.
She waves her phone again. “Calling the host.”
“Great.” Fantastic.
She rolls her eyes at me, phone pressed to her ear. “Hope they tell you to pack your eucalyptus shampoo and hit the road.”
“Hope they tellyouto go back to wherever you learned to trespass.”
When she smirks, I realize she’s enjoying this far too much. Which is infuriating.
Because unfortunately for me?
I’m enjoying it too. Leaning against the counter, I cross my arms and watch intently to make sure she knows I’m listening.
“Hello, my name is Annabelle Franklin, and I booked a rental on your website last minute,” she says, voice dripping with sweetness, like she’s standing on their porch with homemade pie. “I’m currently booked at”—she pauses, walks to the counter, and grabs the printed information sheet—“Pine Hollow Road, cabin twelve. And I have a few concerns.”
I arch a brow.Concerns?
This oughta be good.
I settle in to listen.
“First of all”—she goes on and begins pacing—“the property appears to be double-booked. I arrived this afternoon, entered the door code sent to me viayourapp, and was greeted by someone else’s belongings—duffel bag, man-sized shoes, and analarmingamount of protein powder.”
She shoots me a glare and mouthsalarmingagain.
“He claims he booked through StayCation,” she continues. “Which may be true, but that doesn’t make this situation anylessinfuriating. Also, he’s shirtless and wrapped in a towel. And while I wouldloveto relocate to the resort next door, as he so kindly suggested, I unfortunately did not bring my black Amex card. So unless you’d like to comp me a room with a lake view, I’m going to need someone to sort this mess out.”
I laugh.
She holds up a finger, telling me to hush. Like she’s in charge here. “Anyway. We’d appreciate if someone could call us back immediately. This is urgent, I cannot stay with this man.” She ends the message with a polite “Um, thanks so much” and hangs up.
Then she turns to me. “Well?”
“Wellwhat?”
She tosses her phone onto the coffee table and nudges mine. “Aren’t you going to call your booking company?”
I shake my head. “Nope.”
“Why not?”
“Because now I’m emotionally invested in your meltdown, Annabelle Franklin.This is urgent,” I mock under my breath. “I cannot stay with this man.You make it sound like I’m a wanted felon.”
Her hands go to her hips. “I don’t know that you’renot.”
Arms still crossed, I study her face. “Look at me. Do I not look familiar to you?”
She squints, eyes narrowing. “Should I know you? Are you, like, TikTok famous? Oh God—please tell me you’re not one of those bodybuilding influencers.”
“What? No.Jesus.” As if.
“Because honestly, that would explain the delusional confidence.”
I sigh and drop onto the arm of the couch, elbow resting on my knee. “I’m on the football team.”
