Page 54 of Playing the Field

Like not letting her become a distraction.

But as I step into my office and sit behind my desk, all I can think about is what kind of plans she has—and why the hell it bothers me so much.

I stare at my phone like it has the answers to a question I shouldn’t even be asking.

Personal.

She didn’t elaborate. Didn’t offer anything more. And I sure as hell wasn’t going to ask.

I shouldn’t care.

We agreed not to overthink this.

But the second I put my phone down, I feel the itch under my skin.

What kind of personal plans?

I drag a hand over my jaw and exhale through my nose, forcing myself to refocus. There are a dozen things demanding my attention—contracts, sponsorships, team logistics—but none of it is what I actually want to be thinking about right now.

I should be reviewing the notes from Brandt, but instead, I’m wondering if she’s out with someone.

The thought settles like a weight in my chest, heavier than I want to admit.

I push back from my desk and stand abruptly, pacing toward the window. Below me, the training field is buzzing with movement—players running drills, coaches shouting instructions—but I barely register it.

Instead, I pull my phone back out and open my texts again, rereading the last few messages like some kind of masochist.

It’s fine.

It’s nothing.

She has a life outside of this, outside of me.

And yet, that single-word answer—personal—is still eating away at me.

My fingers hover over the keyboard for a second too long before I shake my head at myself. Jesus, Callahan, pull it together.

I pocket my phone again, resolve settling in.

She’s doing her thing.

And I have a job to do.

Whatever the hell this thing is between us—it doesn’t change that.

I turn back toward my desk, grab the scouting report for Bodhi Donovan, and force myself to focus. Because I didn’t take over this team to let myself get distracted.

Even if Anastasia Bellows is becoming the hardest distraction I’ve ever had to ignore.