It had been a couple of days since Christie and Joseph’s wedding, where she’d left him standing like a fool in the middle of the dance floor. And he still couldn’t stop thinking about it.
He couldn’t get that blush of hers out of his head. Or the way she’d jerked herself out of his arms as if he’d burned her. Perhaps he should have felt satisfied about that because it certainly proved that she wasn’t as unaffected by him as she liked to pretend. Except that he’d really have preferred her to hold on tighter.
Mike was still talking. Something about his contract with the club Caleb was currently playing for. Caleb tried to look like he was interested even as his mind kept insisting on circling around Jude.
She was probably busy, but now another day had passed since he’d texted her the details about the calendar and again there was nothing from her. Surely it didn’t take that long to decide whether or not to shoot a few pictures?
He needed to hassle her about it although part of him wanted her to contact him. Clearly he was going to have to get over that, though. The proposal needed to be sent to the charity by the end of the week, and if she continued to ignore him, he was going to have to get tough.
“Are you listening to me, Caleb?” Mike sounded pissed off. Unsurprising, considering Caleb had been gazing out the window for the past few minutes and not paying attention.
With an effort, Caleb tried not to think about the past, forcing his attention back to the present. “Sorry. Got my head full of this fundraising thing.”
Mike, long and lanky, dressed in a startlingly blue suit and red tie, looked pained. “Mate, I got to tell you, the fundraising thing is not what you should be thinking about right now. I want to know what your plans are when the Blues contract comes to an end after this season.”
“Isn’t that your job?”
Mike leaned forward and steepled his hands. “How can I put this delicately? You’re thirty-one. You’re not getting any younger and you’ve already got a couple of injuries under your belt. In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if next season there’ll only be a couple of clubs after your sorry ass.”
Caleb tried to ignore the burst of impatience that went through him. “That’s next season. I’ve got too many other things on my plate to worry about that now.”
“You’re seriously telling me you’re not thinking about what you’re going to do after your playing career is over?”
Caleb cursed under his breath. He didn’t like the words “career” and “over”. Logically he knew he had at most one season left before retirement, but the thought of not playing, of not having rugby in his life, was too much to think about right now. He just didn’t have time. Maybe later, when the Save a Life fundraiser was good to go.
“I’ve got plans, Mike,” he said. “Don’t you worry.”
“Plans, huh?” His agent narrowed his gaze. “You sharing these plans with me anytime?”
Sure, when he’d thought of something. Which he would. Soon. Pushing himself off the couch, he gave his agent a grin. “Nope. That’s on a need-to-know basis only.”
“And I need to know.” The other man’s gaze narrowed even more. “You haven’t got any, have you?”
Dammit. Mike knew him too well. “Oh, don’t you worry your pretty little head about it. I’ve got it covered. All you need to worry about is the next sponsorship deal.”
Mike folded his arms, a “do not screw with me” expression on his face. “You know there’s a bird that sticks its head in the sand, right? Thinks no one can see it?”
“I’m an eagle, Mike. Not an ostrich.” Caleb paused by the desk, flew his hand through the air. “I’m gonna soar.”
The other man snorted. “You’re going to crash and burn if you’re not careful, mate.”
“Why? Worried about your pay check, huh?”
A scowl appeared on Mike’s face. “You know that’s not how it is. I’m your friend.”
He was. And a good friend at that. Caleb sobered. “Yeah, I know. Look, don’t worry, okay? Whatever I do, I’m always going to need an agent. And I’ve got lots of money invested.” Or rather money that Luke had invested for him. He wasn’t going to be poor, even when his rugby career ended. “I’m not going to starve and neither will you.”
“That’s not what I’m worried about. A man needs more than just a shitload of cash, Caleb.”
Like he didn’t know that already. Rugby was all he was good at. All he knew. That and looking good for the media. And when those were gone, what else would he have? Whatever it was, he wanted more than just the crappy “Abs of Steele” tag the press had lumbered him with. What “more” was a question he just didn’t want to think about quite yet, however.