14. Brynn
Chapter fourteen
Brynn
I grip the armrests as Paige, oblivious to my anxiety, natters on with updates about her wedding planning through takeoff.
“My mom keeps sending me pictures of bejeweled strappy heels, like I haven’t reminded her a million times that we’re getting married on a freaking beach and I’ll be barefoot. She says she refuses to be barefoot at her only daughter’s wedding.” She huffs. “Maybe I can convince her to wear dressy rhinestone flip-flops.”
Paige and Beau are having a destination wedding after the season ends, with only their closest family and friends in attendance.
When she casually mentions that I should make sure my passport is up to date, I blurt, “Me? Are you sure?”
She waves a dismissive hand. “Of course. We want you there. You’re stuck with us, Brynn. For better or worse.”
I stretch my jean-clad legs, finally relaxing now that we’ve reached cruising altitude, and delight in the extra leg room. Leaning closer to Paige, I whisper, “I feel kinda bad about this upgrade.”
She frowns. “Don’t. Let him spoil you, girl. He makes more money than he can spend in his lifetime.”
“But—”
“Listen.” She shifts to look at me directly. “It was weird for me, too, at first. When Beau insisted on paying for every dang thing. But you’re not a jersey-chasing gold digger being frivolous with his money. A little splurge every now and then is fine.” With that, she twists forward, end of subject.
I want to argue that my situation is different. Griffin and I are not dating. I don’t know what we are, exactly. Roommates who Netflix and snuggle? Friends with forehead-kiss benefits?
We need to define our status. Soon.
When we land in Charlotte, a car service is waiting. A first for me.
Another first? This away game. And I’m a nervous wreck. Memphis has only been allotted a couple of suites, meaning both the office staff and the players’ special guests will be in attendance.
Though apprehension still lingers, Griffin has done his best to prepare me for a possible run-in with Jack.
In fact, that’s the only conversation we’ve had time for since Friday night. I saw him briefly yesterday before he left for his Saturday run-throughs and to travel with the team.
So, the big conversation? The one hanging over us like a bloated water balloon? Yeah, the anticipation has me in a chokehold.
Inside the facility, we follow the crowd of early fans through the concourse and ride escalators up several levels. We’re halfway up the final set to the suite level when a familiar voice echoes from above.
“Yoo-hoo! Moonbeam!”
My heart stumbles, and my head snaps up, my focus darting from person to person. Finally, I spot her. Leaning over the rail, my mother waves frantically. Beside her, my dad holds up one hand in greeting and uses the other to keep her from tipping over the barrier.
Instantly, my cheeks are wet with tears. I bounce the rest of the way up, wishing I could sprint up the remaining steps. Alas, the escalator is crowded, so I must wait. When I turn to Paige, assessing her blurry features from behind my tears, her eyes are shiny, but her smile is knowing .
The three of us Nelsons collide in a tear-soaked hug that lasts for a solid three minutes. My mom coos and murmurs my baby and my love in my ear, while my dad pets my hair. I continue sobbing, holding tight, soaking in their love. Yes, we talk every couple of days, and we meet weekly on Zoom, but I haven’t been held by them or smelled their familiar patchouli-infused scents since last Christmas.
I catch my breath and pull back a fraction. “What? How?”
But I already know the answer.
Mom cups my face and uses her thumbs to wipe tears from my cheeks. “Your sweetheart.”
I don’t correct her as a fresh deluge washes away any remaining traces of makeup.
She continues to mother me, freeing strands of hair that stick to my damp skin. “A wonderful young man named Seth arranged everything. I hope he works things out with his Daniel.”
Over Dad’s shoulder, Paige waits, wearing a grin. “Oh, gosh. Mom and Dad, meet my friend Paige.”
After a pair of handshakes, Mom can’t help herself. She pulls Paige in for a quick hug, too. “I love your energy.” She waves a hand in front of my friend. “Yellow aura. Joy and positivity. And you’re in love.”
“Her fiancé is the quarterback,” I pipe up, and Paige adopts a dreamy smile.
“Ah. Yes, I can always tell when a woman is in love.” She arches a brow my way, and my face flames.
Mom, mistaking my red cheeks for embarrassment about her when, in reality, my feelings for Griffin are the culprits, places a cool hand on my cheek. “What do I always tell you?”
I roll my eyes, but I tell her what she wants to hear: her most-used motto from my childhood. “Having a weird mom builds character. ”
“That’s right.” She pats my cheek. “You, my love, are the most precious soul. And you deserve a grand love story.”
Tears fill my eyes once more, and with a peck on my cheek, Mom turns to Paige. “Lead the way, dear.”
My friend smiles and links her arm through my mom’s. “I think the suite is down here.”
As Dad and I follow, I can’t keep from looking from him to my mother and back, like they’ll disappear if I look away.
Beside me, Dad is dressed in the Hardy Nelson standard: bright-colored polo (today, a sky blue) tucked into well-pressed khakis. Tan hemp belt and sensible walking shoes. He might have a hippie soul, but his engineering roots run deep. My mother, on the other hand? She could have stepped off the pages of Free Spirit Catalog . Her breezy palazzo pants are striped in various shades of blue, and her white tunic’s pulled snug at her slim hips by a silver and turquoise concho belt. The flowy sleeves peek out from beneath a patterned vintage kimono.
She and Paige gab like a pair of old friends as we hunt for the two suites available for the visiting team. At first glance, it appears that team management fills one while family and friends of Blues’ players fill the second. Charmaine and Gina wave to us from their row as we settle into one near the back.
The Blues get off to a slow start. Beau throws a rare interception in the first quarter that makes Paige cover her eyes and mutter, “He’ll agonize over that for days.”
Greenway and Jefferson both drop passes that could’ve become scores. The suite erupts, finally, when Griffin runs in a pass at the end of the half, bringing the Blues’ deficit to only six.
When Dad leaves at halftime to find drinks, Mom digs in her regulation-sized crossbody and pulls out a small velvet pouch, the same kind she uses for crystals at her shop.
“I have a little something for you, Moonbeam. ”
When I tip the pouch over, a necklace puddles in my hand, the gold chain so dainty it’s almost weightless. In the center is a cloudy thumbnail-sized pale pink stone. It’s a raw rose quartz crystal, its shape irregular and edges jagged.
“You know what rose quartz is for.” She gently picks up the necklace and hooks the clasp at my nape.
I touch the small lumpy stone where it rests against the Blues sweatshirt that was delivered to the apartment yesterday, and Mom gives me a satisfied smile.
Our team plays much better in the second half, and this win advances their record to seven and two. Griff has another phenomenal game—at least that’s what Paige tells me; I’m still too unfamiliar with the stats—and my parents beam when they discover that he’ll have a few minutes with us before the team is hurried onto the buses.
I catch a glimpse of Jack and Shane leaving the other suite, but they’re swept up in the crowd as we exit. The pit of dread sitting like a boulder in my gut lightens for the moment, though that confrontation is imminent.
When we reach the lower level of the stadium, the walkway from the visiting team’s locker room is crowded with family, friends, and fans waiting to give the Blues a proper send-off. There’s a barricade on both sides, giving the players and coaches an unobstructed path to the chartered buses. Paige squeezes between bodies, her hand locked on to mine, guiding us to the front row.
The medical and training staff pass us first, followed by the coaches. When the players start trickling out, D’Angelo engulfs Charmaine in a bear hug, his smile so bright it makes my chest pinch. All the guys look sharp in what Griffin calls their “gameday fits,” and many of them still sport wet hair from their postgame showers.
Beau and Griffin exit the double doors together. Despite its ear-piercing volume and tone, I barely register Paige’s squeal. I’m too busy being held hostage by the intensity in Griffin’s gaze. I break our eye contact long enough to do a head-to-toe scan, checking for a limp or any hint that he may be injured. Not only does he seem unscathed, but he’s got a little extra swagger as he saunters over, wearing the same cream cable-knit sweater and brown trousers he wore yesterday when he left the apartment.
The moment he sets his leather duffel at his feet, his arms are around me and he’s exhaling a satisfied sigh I feel down to my toes. “You look good in Memphis blue, professor.” He doesn’t let go as he greets my parents. “Hey, I’m Griffin. So glad y’all could make it.” I’m jostled a bit as he lifts one arm from my back. “Hardy.” A pause as he shakes Dad’s hand. “Celeste.”
“Thanks for arranging this for us.” My dad clears his throat, and I’m released from Griffin’s embrace. “We’ve loved visiting with our Moonbeam for a bit.”
“Oh, yes, love. Thank you so much.” Mom sniffles and gives him a hero-worshipping smile that makes my heart swell.
Griffin rubs his beard. “Loved doing it for y’all. Let me—or Moonbeam”—he gives me a flirty smirk—“know when y’all want to catch a game. We’ll get you set up. And you’re welcome to visit us in Memphis any time.”
Mom shoots me a look. She didn’t miss the way he said us , either.
Paige introduces my parents to Beau quickly, but then they’re gone, and the four of us are in our own bubble again. Dad small-talks with Griff while Mom rummages in her purse. As for me, I indulge in this moment, committing every detail to memory.
“Aha, found it.” Mom holds up another velvet pouch and jiggles it. “I brought you a little something, Griffin.”
He takes the pouch and empties two smooth, glossy stones into his broad palm.
“This one…” Mom holds up the green stone. “This is green aventurine. Its properties provide good luck and protection. ”
“Can always use both of those.” He nods at the one left in his palm, his expression open, genuinely interested. “And the pink one?”
With a smirk, she peers at the matching pink stone hanging around my neck. “That, my dear, is rose quartz.” She places the aventurine back in his palm. “It’s known as the love stone.”
Throat bobbing, he zeroes in on me, his expression so heated I melt a little under it. “Gonna take real good care of that one, then.”
He’s careful as he returns the stones to the pouch. Then he zips it in a side pocket of his duffel. “Thank you, Celeste. I’ll treasure them.”
She leans over the barrier to hug him, and when she pulls away, she winks at me, a gesture I interpret as you’ll treasure him, too.
The players around us dole out goodbye hugs and begin pulling away from their loved ones, then head out to the buses. In my periphery, Beau kisses Paige, and then he stops beside Griffin. “Good to meet you folks,” he says to my parents. With a smack to his friend’s bicep, he says, “See you on the bus,” and then he’s gone.
My throat burns as sadness courses through me. I don’t relish having to say goodbye to my parents, or even Griffin, even though I’ll see him again in a matter of hours. This bonding time has meant everything to me.
“Load up, boys!” a deep voice bellows from outside.
“I’ve gotta head out.” Griffin hefts his bag and holds out his hand to my dad. “So good to meet y’all. I’ll try to ambush more Nelson family Zooms in the future.”
Chuckling, Dad clasps his hand and gives it a shake. “The more the merrier. Thank you again for today.”
Griffin nods and moves in to hug my mom again, but before he can pull her in, she grasps his forearm. “Listen,” she says, her voice full of concern. “Before you go, I have to ask: do you know about the pillow trick? ”
“Mother.” Mortification swamps me. Please tell me she did not ask him that.
“What?” she asks, her expression one of pure innocence. “I’m just trying to make sure my baby girl is satisfied in the bedroom.”
Oh God . If the concrete beneath my feet could split open and swallow me, I’d be forever grateful. Cold sweat drips down my spine as I scan our surroundings. I’m relieved at least a modicum that the people around us seem too busy with their own goodbyes to pay us any mind.
But Griffin is unfazed. With an arm around her, he says, “Celeste. I do know about the pillow trick. Rest assured, your Moonbeam will be well taken care of.”
She pats his chest. “Good.”
Holy hell. My face flames with the heat of ten-thousand suns, along with the rest of me. I push the sleeves of my sweatshirt up in an effort to cool my overheated skin.
Once he’s released my mother, Griffin erases the distance between us and nudges my chin up, his touch anchoring me. “Hey.” Lips tipped up, he studies me, probably taking in my still-pink skin, and reverence lights up his irises, making them glow oh so blue. He slips the hand from my chin around my jaw, then tucks my hair behind my ear and clasps the side of my neck. “See you at home.”
My lips part, but words are impossible. My heart stumbles when he inches his hand across my shoulder and down the entire length of my arm, his touch burning a path through the fabric of my sweatshirt. When he reaches my hand, he pulls it to his face and presses his lips to the inside of my wrist, holding his kiss against my pulse point long enough to make it race.
With one last smile for my parents and a wink for me, he’s striding for the doors.
I scrutinize my wrist in shock, certain his warm lips have etched a permanent brand onto my skin. Evidence I can reference in the future when the memory becomes fuzzy. But other than the blue veins pulsing beneath it, my ivory skin is unmarked.
“Well, that was hot.” Paige braces an elbow on my mom’s shoulder and fans herself.
“Right?” Mom grins. “The energy those two exude when they’re together? It’s potent. I saw glimmers of it on the video call, but in person? Mwah.” She does an obnoxious chef’s kiss gesture.
Paige nods right along like she couldn’t agree more.
“Did you see that, Har?” Now my mother drags my poor dad into her meddling. “Isn’t he the perfect match for our Moonbeam?”
My father nods, brows lowered. “An Aquarius and a Libra. A solid love match.”
I force my mouth open, ready to question how he knows Griffin’s star sign, but my mother piles on. “They’ll have no issues physically.”
Paige wags her brows at me, the traitor, as Mom carries on as if I’m not here.
“As long as they maintain good, open communication, they’ll be perfect.”
I snap my mouth shut.
Communication.
The conversation we haven’t had.
Panic rises, like an impending wave threatening to drown me. All the words we haven’t spoken, combined with the flirtation and innuendo, plus how my heart soars when he’s near. It’s all too much. As I stand stock still in the middle of a football stadium corridor, I’m totally, utterly, completely overwhelmed and overstimulated.
And soon, I’ll have to bolster enough fortitude to say goodbye to my parents without having a public meltdown.
It’s enough to make me want to curl up in the fetal position and tune out the world .
Paige, bless her, gently prods my parents toward the opposite side of the stadium, where a car should be waiting to carry us back to the airport. They all give me space as I trail behind, lost in my thoughts.
Saying goodbye to my parents at the airport is as hard as expected. After hugs and kisses and promises of calling when we land, my friend stands beside me with her arm around my shoulders, a quiet comfort as they disappear around the curve of the jetway. Then the two of us speed-walk through the concourse to make it to our own flight on time.
Our journey back to Memphis is mostly silent. Each time I’m with her, Paige only endears herself to me further. Today, she’s shown me just how intuitive she can be.
Once she and I hug and go our separate ways, Griffin’s parting line becomes a whispered refrain that accompanies my every action.
As I wait at the curb for the car service Seth arranged: See you at home.
When I fasten my seat belt and clutch my purse in my lap: See you at home.
Then as I clasp the rose quartz pendant that bounces against my chest every time we hit a pothole: See you at home.
And when I trudge up the stairs to the apartment I temporarily share with the man I’m falling in love with: See. You. At. Home.
He’s standing in the kitchen when I clear the steps, a bottle of water raised to his mouth. His duffel rests by the bar, evidence that he’s only just arrived himself. His eyes lock on mine, and I know in my marrow this moment will change everything for us.
My breath saws in and out, a little from the stair climb, and a lot from the effect his attention has on me. His expression is full of hunger and desire. Passion and fondness .
The tension between us is thick, heavy with want, but neither of us moves. Maybe he’s just as afraid as I am to take the first step. Because once that happens, we can’t go back.
But since the sweltering day I met Griffin Lacey in the middle of a gridlock, he’s coaxed bravery out of me and nurtured it. So I take a step toward him. Another. And another. Until I stand at the intersection of playing it safe and not backing down .
The man before me owns a refuse-to-yield mentality. It shows in the way he lowers the bottle to the counter without breaking eye contact. And in the way he prowls toward me, every step deliberate, until we’re so close I have to crane my neck to hold his gaze.
For a long, quiet moment, we study each other. Admire each other. There isn’t one inch of his handsome face I haven’t memorized. Suddenly, though, it’s as if I’m viewing him through a different lens. Like the face I’ve become so fond of has morphed into one I can’t live without.
His deep, rough voice cuts through the silence, startling me, making my heart jump. “Before we do this, I have to know.” A heavy exhale that hollows my stomach. “I need you to be damn fucking sure this isn’t some rebound bullshit. That you’re over the jackass.”
My mind tries to tally the number of curse words in that statement, but his cedar and fresh air scent distracts me from the task.
A slow shake of my head. “It’s not a rebound,” I whisper.
He nods. “Good.” His tongue peeks out then, dampening his lips, making my core muscles clench. “Also need you to be damn sure you’re okay with how this is going to change us .”
“Wh-what do you mean?” I blink up at him, so primed to have his mouth on mine, I might punch him if he doesn’t get to the point.
“I mean, professor…” He slides a hand around my neck to my nape, the contact urging my body to throw a ticker-tape parade right here in the kitchen. Finally, he’s touching me. “If we do this, we can’t be friends anymore.”
For a second, panic surges through me, but as if he can see it, he arches a brow, making his meaning clear: this won’t sever our friendship, but it will alter it.
He grasps the roots of my hair and tugs. “So, tell me what you want, Brynn.”
What do I want?
I want to tell him that I’m glad I crashed Jack’s car into his on that fateful Sunday morning. That his friendship has freed me. Allowed me to experience things I never would’ve on my own. That he’s helped me embrace who I am as a woman. He’s made me braver and more confident than I’ve ever been.
I want to confess it all, but I settle for voicing one thought that will get me what I want most, right now: “I want to kiss the word friend right out of your mouth.”
“Thank fuck.”
He cups my cheek with his other hand, the touch a tender contradiction to the other. To where he’s still gripping my hair with a roughness that thrills me. The first press of his lips to mine is soft. We’re both gentle, hesitant, as we find our rhythm, as our lips explore and learn how to move together. The heat of his mouth and the rasp of his beard against my sensitive skin lights a spark of desire deep in my core. He teases me, capturing my top lip between his and pulling it taut. When he releases it, he leans back, breaking our connection.
I rest a hand on his chest and thrill at the frantic beating of his heart, the way it’s synced with mine. The hunger in his eyes as he stares at my freshly kissed lips makes me ravenous.
“Did you know—” I lock my arms around his neck and lift up on my toes, bringing our faces so close that our lips brush with every word. “A kiss has to be at least six seconds long to release oxytocin? ”
He nudges my nose with his, his breath fanning my cheek. “Hmm.” A peck on my jaw. The corner of my mouth. My lips. “Six seconds, you say?” He tantalizes me with another touch of his lips to mine.
“Mmm.”
“I think we can do better than six seconds, professor.”
He hefts me onto the counter, pulling a surprised whoop from me, but it’s cut off as his mouth plunders mine. There’s no hesitancy this time, just pure, unbridled passion, his kiss hot and demanding. I let my hands roam, aching to touch every part of the gorgeous man standing between my thighs. Griffin’s tongue sweeps into my mouth, tangles with mine, and retreats. Then his lips take charge.
His hands are everywhere—caressing my shoulders, my back, my hips. They’re in my hair, tilting my head for a better angle. They’re kneading my ass, pulling me so close that the hardness in his pants nestles between my thighs. The delicious friction of his beard ratchets my desire higher, so high I don’t care if it leaves my skin pink and abraded.
I’ll wear his burn proudly. A physical representation of how he ignites me. A bold statement to the universe: this man is mine.
Because this isn’t just a kiss. It’s a claiming. A wicked promise of things to come.
I stroke the short strands of his hair as he trails open-mouthed kisses along my jaw, and when he suckles the skin below my ear, the moan that escapes me makes him tighten his grip on my waist.
With a growl, he releases the sensitive spot and rests his forehead against mine. Our breaths stutter out in pants as we grant our lungs—and pulses—a reprieve.
“Brynn.” His voice is both reverent and husky.
I make soothing passes up and down his biceps, loving the freedom to touch him like this. He must revel in it, too, with the way he’s tracing a path on my thighs.
“Fuck, baby. Just… fuck .”
Racy Lacey, at a loss for words?
Never thought I’d see the day.