Page 117 of Bombshells
I let out a low whistle. “Dude, is this your contract extension going through?”
“Yes, we are signing today.”
“Damn,” I say as a wave of envy rolls through me. “Congratulations, man.”
“Thank you. I hope to earn it.” He turns and walks away, looking just as serious as he always does.
I finish getting dressed, while fighting off a familiar flurry of doubts. My own contract expires in six months. If I could just be a little sharper, a little more driven than I’ve already become, then maybe I’d deserve an early renewal, too.
But hell, I’ve tried. And I honestly don’t know what I’d do differently this season. This is the best version of me that there is. It’s good enough for three goals and four assists. It’s good enough for Sylvie, and all the best people in my life.
You can’t please everyone. That’s the only valuable thing my father ever taught me, I guess. At least he gave me that.
So I tuck that card into my pocket and put on my jacket. It’s time to have a nice lunch with my best girl.
Upstairs, I spot Sylvie in the lobby. Her father is there, too.
“Sorry to keep you waiting,” I say, jogging toward them.
“Oh, you’re not keeping us,” her father says. “I just met Rebecca and Bess, and I got a tour of the facilities. Nice place you got here.”
“Isn’t it? I feel lucky every time my ID works in the lock.”
Her father gives me an approving glance, and I decide that I’m not going to beat myself up over not getting an early contract extension. If I keep my head down and play well, it will happen for me.
As we head for the door, Eric jogs down the stairs from the executive suite and gives us a wave. “Afternoon everyone. How’s your head, Sylvie?”
“It’s all right,” she says.
“Glad to hear it. Bess and I got you guys a car to the restaurant. So Sylvie doesn’t have to walk.”
“Hey, thanks, man,” I say.
“No problem. Oh, and Anton?” He steps closer and draws me aside as Sylvie and her dad make their way to the door. “You got an hour for me sometime next week?”
“Sure. What for?”
“I was just told that we’re getting in a contract for you to review.”
“Me?” I say, just to be sure.
Eric cracks a grin. “Yeah, you.”
I feel so relieved that I have to put my hands on my head and blow out a long, careful breath. “Wow. Okay.”
“You’ll probably have a choice to make. Two years, or three. Something like that. We’ll have to see what’s in the package.”
“I’ll take the three-year,” I say, and take a step toward the door, where Sylvie is waiting.
Eric laughs. “You need to see the numbers first.”
“I probably don’t,” I tell him. “I’m in it for as long as they’ll have me.”
Eric shakes his head. “Go eat lunch. We’ll talk about it next week. And rest up for tonight’s game against St. Louis. It’s going to be a rough one.”
“They all are. Later!” I catch up to Sylvie and put my arm around her.
Her father opens the door, and we step out into the bright sunlight of the Brooklyn afternoon.
