Page 94 of Stick With Me
“No, sorry. We can talk here.”
He unbuckles himself, shifting his tall frame to face me as much as the car allows. Then he reaches over, undoes my seat belt, and carefully turns me in his direction. “I’m not sure what’s going on. I just saw you crying through the window?—”
“Why were you outside the window?” I cut him off.
“I wasn’t peering through the window like a creeper.” He clears his throat. “I was just keeping an eye on you from the car. I was worried.”
“Okay.”
“I’m sorry,” he mutters.
“Why’re you apologizing? You were right. I’m the one who should say sorry. I probably just made everything worse.” I shake my head, unable to meet his eyes.
“You didn’t. What did he say? What upset you?” He rubs his hand up my thigh in a comforting gesture.
My breath rushes out. “I think he’s trying to get me to go back to him by threatening to sic his dad on you. He must think he can mess with your contract extension. Do you think that’s true?”
“Fuck.”
“So, you think he could?” My voice rises higher.
He moves his seat all the way back and reaches across the console, grabbing my waist and pulling me onto his lap. I go, needing the closeness as much as he does. Once I’m straddling his thighs, his hands moving up my body until they frame my face. “I don’t know, honestly. Baby, we’ll—” He’s cut off by ringing through the car’s speakers. We both glance at the console, where the caller ID reads, “Mike Greenburg.”
I try to slide back into my seat, but Ryan stops me, holding me close. He tucks my head into the curve of his neck, and I breathe in his scent, pine and citrus. His lips skim the crown of my head before he sighs and clicks accept on the incoming call.
“Hi, Logan speaking.”
I can’t help the huff of laughter that escapes at the sound of Ryan’s “phone voice.” It’s much too formal and polite, like he’s having tea with his grandmother.
“Hi, Ryan, it’s Mike. Do you have a minute to talk?” His agent’s voice fills the car.
“Sure, what’s up?” Ryan looks down at me, watching for my reaction, while he anxiously taps his fingers on the armrest.
“Logan, I have some good news.”
“Oh, yeah?” The tempo of his tapping picks up.
“I have an offer for you… I’m just not sure it’s the one you want.”
“Let’s hear it.” His movements stop, and I can tell he’s trying to keep the emotion out of his voice.
“The Saints haven’t shut me down yet, so there’s still hope. They just keep telling me they’re working on it. So, no Saints offer yet, but I have an unofficial one for you from New Jersey. They’re offering a nice bump in salary too, $4.5 million annually for a five-year contract. Of course, this is all talk for now; you know they can’t officially offer until you’re a free agent,” he explains.
New Jersey?
My first thought is what that’d mean for us, but I quickly shake it from my mind. I can’t think of that now. Ryan and I will work it out, no matter where he plays. The important thing is him continuing the career he’s worked so hard for. And it sounds like his agent thinks the offer from New Jersey is a good one. One he should consider.
“Keep me posted if you hear anything from the Saints,” Ryan says, failing to hide his frustration.
“Ryan, I really think you should consider this offer. If the Saints offer, it’s not going to be anywhere near as good as this one.”
“I know. Talk soon, Mike.”
Silence fills the car as he ends the call. “What are we going to do?”
Ryan slumps back into the seat. “Hopefully Knolls is exaggerating; it wouldn’t be the first time. We just have to hope the Saints want to keep me.”
I hate the defeat in his voice, and I want to reassure him. “If you have to go to New J?—”
