Page 3 of The Way Home

“Thank you, thank you,” he said, giving a small nod.

“We’re chuffed to have you! The last AT was a fucking prick,” Dillion added.

She was tall, nearly his height, with dark hair pulled back into a tight bun. Considering her reputation as a smack-talker on the pitch, Hawthorne was surprisingly friendly and welcoming. All the women were, actually.

She shouted something else to her teammate, but Caleb couldn’t make it out. Apparently, alcohol made her Geordie accent even worse.

“Alright, Hawthorne, why don’t we find you a seat?” Caleb steadied her with a firm grip on her waist—the woman was literallyallmuscle—and steered her to the table with her teammates. She grunted as he eased her into the booth and propped her against the cushioned back.

He took the seat across from her, intentionally leaving some space between him and the players.

Unfortunately for Caleb, he was horrible with names and felt bad that he couldn’t remember everyone’s. Then again, it had only been three days.

Less than a week, and he already liked this team more than any men’s team he’d worked for.

“Y’alright there, Caleb?” one of the girls asked. He hadn’t realized he’d been staring deeply into his drink.

“Yeah, I’m great. Still kind of jetlagged, I think.”

“Do you miss it? The States, I mean. I’d sure miss my family.”

A tight ball of dread curled behind Caleb’s ribs as he smeared some condensation around on the rim of his Notting Hill Nectar.

“I miss my sister a lot.”

It was true; he missed Tay a ton. The rest of his family, he didn’t miss one bit.

“Where are you living?” a player with bright red hair and freckles chimed in. Sally—he was ninety percent sure that was her name.

“Here in Soho at the moment,” he replied. “But I got a short-term rental. I didn’t really know what I was doing when I moved, so I figured I would check out the area for a bit.” Caleb sipped his drink. Goddam, it was sweet. But at least the glass was pretty. “So if you have any recommendations…”

“I live in Soho, too! Over on Bond Street.” Sally said with a grin. “I love it. Lived here for almost three years now.”

“That’s because there’s like a million gay clubs,” a player with dark brown hair chimed in, sipping her beer. “Soho is our gay capital of London. It’s a fun time, but probably not where you’ll find yourself a wifey.” Her eyes trailed down Caleb’s body and back up, before turning to her teammate. “Except you, Sal. You willabsolutelyfind yourself a wifey.”

Sally snorted into her cocktail. “Hasn’t happened yet.” She leaned across the table toward Caleb, waving a hand at the brunette. “Ignore Angie. Soho is awesome, even if you’re not gay.”

Caleb nodded and took another sugary sip.

Why do you think I chose it?

Something about his appearance always made everyone assume that he was straight. His sister said it was because he dressed like a washed-up professional basketball player.

It didn’t matter much to him what people thought.

He had no issues picking up men. Back home, there weren’t very many gay clubs to frequent, not that he probably would anyway, but there were dating apps, and those worked just fine. With the move and all, though, he was in a bit of a dry spell, and getting laid tonight didn’t sound like a terrible idea—

“Excuse me?” A woman approached the table shyly, wearing a Chelsea sweatshirt. “Are you Dillion Hawthorne?”

“Ye’ that’s me!” Dillion slurred with a smile.

“Oh my God.” The woman’s eyes went wide. “I’m sorry, I’m ahuge Chelsea fan. I know this is so annoying, but I just had to say hello.”

“Hullo!” Dillion said loudly, knocking over a drink.

Sally quickly stood from the booth and held out her hand. “Hi there. What’s your name?”

“Uh, Ellie.”