I rest my sore ass on the couch. Fine by me. She can order whatever she wants, but I’ll be putting in a call and requesting a lot more cookies.
______
ME: Hey, man. Call me. I need to explain.
NICK: Can’t talk now. A kid who got picked up for possession.
NICK: I’m sorry I lost it. I don’t understand what happened.
ME: I’m not exactly sure what happened, either.
ME: You’d have stuck up for any woman who freaked out like that.
NICK: Yeah. Who is she?
ME: She’s like Ryder’s sister. I don’t know anything else.
NICK: That’s all?
ME: Ryder asked me where you were from. I told her you were from Detroit and got the impression that she didn’t love the answer. That’s it.
NICK: I’m sorry for being a dick. We good?
ME: Yeah. We’re good.
NICK: I’ll call you later.
ME: Good luck, man.
Chapter 25
RYDER
Cole jogs toward the sideline, yanking off his chin strap in frustration. I’m not sure what’s been happening, but from what Cole has taught me, no one seems to remember how to play football. They appear lost on the field, and it’s a mess.
He pulls off his helmet as a coach approaches, waving his arms and yelling at him. I wouldn’t mind getting up close and personal with the coach in his face.
Cole remains calm, gesturing to his arm and then back toward the field. He sits, ripping an iPad off the bench beside him.
I watch the clock run down from my cozy spot along the fifty-yard line with my smelly, inebriated buddies. I’m a few rows up from the guardrail and thankful for the close seat after the latest car incident.
When the game is over, Cole rips off his helmet, gripping it tight as if he might throw it, then turns toward the stands. For the first time, his eyes meet mine. They’re fierce, and it’s clear something is going on. I want to know what it is.
His shoulders rise and fall with a deep breath, his posture remaining rigid. His jaw is set, and his blue eyes are lit with an intensity I’ve not seen before. Before I have a chance to understand, he heads to the center of the field to congratulate the other team on their win. I stay put, surveying all interactions until he leaves the field.
An hour later, he strides into the waiting area, a man on a mission and heading straight for me. Before I know what he’s doing, his arm slips around my waist, and he tugs me to him.
I stiffen, completely caught off guard, but. . .okay. He’s lucky I saw him coming this time.
I hesitantly slide my arms around his back, trying to make it look natural, while the entire room takes turns peeking at us like they always do.
His mouth dips to my ear. “I have to get out of here. We need to talk.”
My body relaxes into his a little with the distraction. “Are you ok?”
His arm shifts around me, holding me tighter, his fingers gripping my waist. “Someone set me up.”
I pull back to meet his eyes, searching for clues about what exactly that means, but he doesn’t say more.
