Claiming Callie: Part one (4 page)

“So you’re looking for a sugar daddy?”

Callie glares at Jinny. Now she’s just being difficult. “I don’t know why you’re being so cynical. I’ll be getting paid for a service. And no,” she says before Jinny can comment, “not a sexual one. Don’t people hire companions for lonely old folks? It’s the same thing, except they won’t be old.” Callie wrinkles her nose. “Well, hopefully not too old.”

Jinny shakes her head, smirking. “Okay, whatever. If you think this will work, I suppose it’s not the worst idea I’ve ever heard of. But if it doesn’t make you some serious cash, it’s auction time.”

Callie grins and nods. “Agreed!”

It will work. It has to.

Dean blinks, his eyes returning to normal size, then steps between them. “Whoa. Wait, are you serious?” When Callie just laughs, he continues. “You can’t do this. This is crazy.”

She shrugs. “Why not?”

Dean glances from her to Jinny, and something resembling panic flickers in his blue eyes. “You’re going to let her do this?”

Jinny shrugs. “The idea isn’t half bad, actually.”

“I can’t believe you’re agreeing with her.” Dean growls and runs his hands through his hair. “I can see this backfiring. Big time.”

Jinny turns to him. “I don’t see why you care. What’s it to you?”

“Yeah, you are acting kinda weird about this. It’s not like I’m asking
you
to date a bunch of strangers for money,” Callie adds.

Dean opens and closes his mouth like a fish before he says, “You’ve been my sister’s best friend forever. I’m just looking out for you, and I can see this going very badly.”

Callie turns to Jinny, ignoring Dean’s concerns.

For the first time, having a graphic designer for a best friend is going to come in handy.

“Can you make me a website?”

“Definitely. And you should game the system. Maybe set up an online profile on some dating sites, so then we can direct them to the website.”

“Oooh. Smart,” Callie says. She leaves her closet with Jinny by her side and Dean trailing behind them.

“This will be so much fun! I think we want to go classy but playful with the site because of your age. Nothing too serious,” Jinny says.

With Jinny onboard, her plan is sounding better by the minute. She plops down at the small desk off the living room. “We need to use a good profile picture. One that’s sexy.”

“Yes, but one that doesn’t say, ‘I’ll sleep with you for a pair of Manolos.’” Jinny laughs.

“For Manolo Blahniks, I think most girls would do nearly anything.”

“Not me, but you’re probably right,” Jinny concedes.

“Well, we all know your fashion sense is hopeless.” Callie chuckles and flips open her laptop and logs on. “How much do you think I can charge?”

“I don’t know. How much do other escorts charge?”

Callie taps a finger to her lip. “I don’t know, but I want to keep it affordable. After all, I don’t have the luxury of time to build a client list. Fifty dollars an hour? What do you think?”

Jinny shrugs. “Sure. Sounds fair enough.”

Dean kicks the leg of the desk with the toe of his shoe. “I can’t believe you guys are joking around about this. I don’t like this. Not at all.”

Callie glances up at him. “We’re not joking.”

His cheeks flush, and his eyes glint with disapproval.

Why is Dean being such a buzzkill over this? Jinny is okay with it.

For the first time since she left Mr. Bucek’s office, Callie actually thinks it’s possible to pay down her debt enough by graduation.

She fixes Dean with her iciest gaze. “Stop being so overprotective. I know sometimes you act like the brother I never had, but it’s not like I’ve never dated before. This is the same thing. It’s just that I’ll be going on a lot of dates and being compensated.” She turns back to her computer. “Now, tell me, what bio will attract customers while not sounding sleazy or desperate?”

Behind her, something slams. She jumps in her seat and whips around toward the door. Dean’s basketball bounces, then rolls toward her, and when she glances around the room, he’s nowhere to be found.

What the heck is his problem?

“Brothers,” Jinny says, answering her unspoken question.

CHAPTER TWO

DEAN

Outside, the air is brisk. Snow falls in quarter-sized flakes, coating the ground of campus. But inside the stuffy gym, the temperature rises. Dean discards his warm-up pants and sweatshirt for his silky Pitt shorts and tank. Beads of sweat roll down his face and soak through his thick hair. He squares off against three players on this Saturday morning.

He dribbles. The ball pounds against the floor, then back up to his palm. When Jason tries for the ball, he does a figure eight and moves it behind the opposite leg and back again. Grinning as he stares into Jason’s eyes, he pivots and makes his move. He brushes past Jason, crosses to the other side, lifts the ball, and shoots.

The ball swishes through the net. Dean raises his hands in the air and hoots, his breath coming hard. From across the court, Emmett, his best friend, shoots him a high five. But Jason glares at him, his brown eyes turning onyx with challenge.

“Last point,” Jason says. “Whoever scores wins.”

“Fine by me.” Dean runs a hand through his sweaty hair. “How ’bout we up the stakes? Next point wins double.”

Jason raises his brows and cocks his head. “Okay. Just you and me. Winner takes one hundred bucks.”

“Let’s do it.” Dean heads to the position at the top of the court where they’ll square off. The other men drop back, giving Dean and Jason the court, since it’s their bet and their money on the line.

Dean stands a couple feet in front of Jason. He bends his legs and holds his arms and hands out, his limbs limber. Ready. Waiting. He stares directly into Jason’s eyes. He’ll see the move there before anywhere else.

Jason darts left and Dean follows, covering him. Jason backs up, dribbling with ease, then slides right, but Jason meets Dean’s hard chest, a roadblock to the hoop.

From behind him, Emmett hollers. “Come on. Give us something, Jason. Prove you’re not a pussy!”

With the words echoing through the gym, Jason scurries left and elbows Dean in the gut, then spins in the opposite direction.

“Oomph.” The air whooshes out of Dean’s chest, and his hand flies to his stomach. But after only a second, he forces his feet to move. React. He spins and sprints. His long legs give him the advantage, and in three strides, he’s back beside his opponent, and just as Jason raises his hands and sets up for the three-point shot, Dean knocks the ball from his grip.

Jason curses, but Dean’s too fast for him. He dribbles toward the hoop and plants his feet. He bends, pumps his arms, and jumps to deliver his signature slam dunk, but just as his hands graze the cold rim of the hoop, Callie’s face flashes in his head. And his hands fumble the ball.

He hears Jason come up behind him and watches, in slow motion, as the ball spins on the rim, then falls off the edge, missing the net. When Dean’s feet hit the ground, Jason checks him in the ribs. Hard.

Stumbling backward, Dean groans and clutches his ribs. “Shit,” he hisses.

He squints downcourt to see Jason scramble after the ball, and all of Dean’s frustration and fury from the day before hits him like a kick to the gut.

Jason snatches the ball and comes straight at him. With the image of Callie’s every expression flickering in his mind like a slideshow, Dean plants his feet and shoves Jason in the chest, knocking him on his ass. The ball jostles from his tight grip, and with lightning-fast reflexes, Dean steals it. Turning, he raises the ball in the air and shoots. The three-pointer sails into the air and hits the backboard once before rolling across the rim and into the net to win the match.

Jason is on his feet like a shot. “What the fuck, man?” He moves in front of Dean and shoves him. “Is that how we play?”

Dean grits his teeth, his nostrils flaring with barely suppressed rage at visions of Callie on dates with rich pretty-boys like Jason. “It’s better than a check in the ribs, asshole.”

“Girls, girls, girls,” Emmett taunts as he walks toward them. “Let’s not fight. The way I see it, Dean won.” Emmett turns his smirk to Jason.

“This is bullshit,” Jason shakes his head.

Dean’s eyes flash, but Emmett just shrugs and places a hand on Dean’s chest to keep him in check.

“Maybe so, but it’s chow time, and you have a debt to settle,” Emmett says, rubbing his stomach with his free hand. “So stop being such a pansy and pony up.”

Without another word, Jason turns and stalks off the court, pounding his fist against the bleachers before he disappears into the locker room.

“Good job pissing him off. I guess he’s not buying us beer at Hemingway’s tonight,” Emmett says, referring to the off-campus hangout.

“Screw him.”

Emmett narrows his eyes, and Dean shifts on his feet, avoiding the scrutiny.

“Before you shoved him on his ass, you had murder flashing in your eyes. I thought for a second you might kill him.”

Dean shrugs and exhales a deep breath.

Get her off your mind, man.
“He plays dirty, and I’m sick of it. That’s all.”

Emmett nods. “Mm-hm.”

Okay, so maybe it’s more obvious than he thought that his annoyance at Jason is about more than the game. After all, when does Jason
not
play dirty? If you play with Jason, you know what you’re getting. He’s one of those former prep school kids who’d be going to an Ivy League school if it weren’t for a drunk driving incident prior to his freshman year. Not even his daddy had enough money to buy out the boards of Harvard after that, or so Dean’s heard. Choosing to stay here, Jason claims his attendance at Pitt is due to his desire to play for a Big East school. But Dean knows better. Jason thinks he’s above the rules—and above everyone else, for that matter. Dean’s never liked him much, but he’s a part of the team and a good ballplayer, and Dean makes it a point not to make enemies, especially when it comes to his teammates.

Dean thinks of Callie again—the way she smiled as she and Jinny discussed her newfound scheme—and he knows he has to get her off his mind or he’ll implode.

Sighing, Dean turns to him. “It’s nothing. Just this girl…”

Emmett smirks. “Trouble with the ladies, Michaels?” He smacks him on the back. “I feel for you. I’ve been in love with your sister for the past two years, but she hates me. That’s the way love rolls, I guess. Face it, love hurts, man.”

Dean glares at him. “Don’t start on my sister again. Unless you’d like me to release a little of my frustration into your face.”

Emmett raises his hands and snorts. “Whoa. No need. No need, my friend.” Emmett bends over, picks up the basketball, and twirls it on one finger while he talks. “Whatever happened to that hot chick you were seeing? The one with the short black hair and the nose piercing—Maya or something? Now, she was something. Is this about her? If not and she’s available, then maybe…”

Dean shakes his head and runs a hand through his damp hair, wishing his best friend would just shut the hell up. But before he can say anything, the door to the locker room slams open, echoing like a cannon. Jason stalks toward them and shoves a handful of crumpled bills into Dean’s hand, then jabs him in the chest. “Next week. Rematch,” he says, then pivots on his heel and leaves.