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He took the plate, smiling slightly, and headed toward the table. “Thanks.” The food smelled delicious, and the coffee smelled even better. He was in a rush to go to Shelby and apologize, but Wyatt had a point. It might be best done on a full stomach, with a belly full of caffeine. “Have you groveled before, then?”
“No.” Wyatt set the coffee down. “But I know enough men who have to know it isn’t pretty, or fun, or manly.”
“Doesn’t matter, I’ll do it anyway.” He took a bite of egg, chewed, and swallowed. “I’ll do it a million times if I have to.”
Wyatt winced, avoiding his eyes. “I’ll never understand love.”
“Yeah, me either.” He sat, eating the rest of the omelet. “Damn, this is good.”
“Thanks,” he said. “These arms are good for more than tossing a ball around.”
Eric took another bite, saying nothing.
“I’m glad you called me last night. It’s been a while since we hung out.” Wyatt perched on the edge of the counter, running his hand through his hair. His muscles were hard and large, yet he still had that slim physique most quarterbacks held on to.
Eric swallowed. “Yeah, man, it has.”
“Anyway, when you were sleeping, a bike messenger stopped by with this.” Wyatt picked up a yellow mailing envelope. “I thought it was weird, since it’s Sunday, but he said it was an important document, so I signed for it for you.”
Eric took it, staring down at the envelope with a mixture of satisfaction and dread.
Inside was his signed contract, promising the next four years of his life away to George, Wallace & Markson as a junior partner. He’d signed it the day he “met” Shelby. This was what he’d been fighting for, working toward, for years. It was his dreams coming to fruition.
He should be happy.
He was…
But he also wasn’t.
“Shit,” he muttered under his breath, setting it down.
Wyatt frowned. “What is it?”
“My contract. I made junior partner.”
“Well, hell, congrats!” He clapped Eric on the back. When Eric nodded but didn’t crack a smile, he studied him closely. “In my world, a contract is a good thing.”
“In mine, too,” Eric mumbled.
“Then why do you look like you received a death threat instead of a steady job?”
Eric stared at the envelope, not speaking, and not looking at his brother. He couldn’t right now. Instead, he stood and picked up his empty plate. “Thanks for breakfast, and for last night. I need to go talk to Shelby now, though.”
Wyatt stood, crossing his arms. “Want me to hang around, or go? We can catch the Hawks game after, if you want. I have great courtside seats.”
The old Eric would turn him down, go speak to Shelby, and then close himself off from the world. He’d meant what he said, though. He didn’t want to be that guy. He wanted to be better. “You know what? Yeah. I’d like that.”
Wyatt smiled. “Really? Awesome. I’ll wait here.” As Eric headed for the door, Wyatt called out, “And Eric?”
“Yeah?” he asked, his hand on the knob.
“Grovel. Grovel a lot. You were an ass last night.”
Eric winced. “Yeah. I will.” He walked out into the hallway, took the few steps needed to reach her door, took another few seconds to breathe deep and decide on the best course of action in handling this situation, and then knocked.
It took her five seconds to open the door.
It was the longest five seconds of his damn life.
