Page 48 of Playing the Field

Chapter Twelve

Graham

She’s watching me.

I can feel it. The way her eyes track every move I make, curiosity flickering behind those green irises as I set the eggs on the counter and pull the bacon from the fridge. I don’t look at her, but the weight of her gaze is there, a constant presence in the air between us.

I like it.

Christ, I like it too much.

“What?” I ask, grabbing a pan from the hanging rack above the island.

Anastasia smirks against the rim of her coffee mug. “Just didn’t take you for a guy who actually cooks his own breakfast. Thought maybe you had a Michelin-starred chef hiding somewhere in here.”

I snort, cracking eggs into a bowl. “I’m perfectly capable of feeding myself, Bellows.”

“Impressive.”

I smirk at her but before I can fire back, my phone vibrates on the counter. I don’t have to check to know it’s the alert I’ve been waiting for.

One glance confirms it—an email from my scout about Bodhi Donovan, the young scrum-half I’ve had my eye on. Kid’s got quick hands, sharp instincts, and plays with an edge I like. He’s been stuck in a minor league team in British Columbia, but I know talent when I see it. And he’s got it.

I set down the whisk and reach for my phone. “Make yourself useful, Bellows,” I say, already scrolling for Bodhi’s number. “Think you can handle bacon and eggs while I make a call?”

She arches a brow but slides off her stool, taking my place at the stove. “Sure. But if I burn the bacon, you only have yourself to blame.”

I shake my head, pressing the phone to my ear.

The line rings. Once. Twice. Three times.

Then—

A gruff, vaguely confused voice answers. “Who’s this?”

“Bodhi, this is Graham Callahan.” I lean against the counter, watching Anastasia crack eggs into the bowl I abandoned. “Owner of the Toronto Tigers.”

Silence.

Then—

A snort. “Yeah, okay, and I’m the king of England. Nice try, buddy.”

The line goes dead.

I blink at my phone. Did that little bastard just⁠—

A sharp laugh bubbles from Anastasia, and I glance up to find her grinning at me, spatula in hand.

“Did he just hang up on you?”

I exhale slowly, shaking my head. “He did.”

She lets out another laugh, turning back to the stove. “I like him already.”

I shake my head, tossing my phone onto the counter and crossing my arms. Either the kid has no idea what kind of opportunity he just threw away, or he’s got a sense of humor as dry as mine.

Three minutes later, my phone vibrates again.