15. Griffin
Chapter fifteen
Griffin
O nce I’ve added the fifth and final box to my newest white board puzzle for Brynn, I cap the marker and stand back to survey it. She’ll be pissed that I’m taking our little word game in a naughty direction, but I’ve turned into an adolescent horndog this week.
She’d argue that it’s my own damn fault.
And she’d be correct.
Our first kiss on Sunday night was hot and perfect and everything I’d imagined it would be. So when we finally came up for air and she looked at me and point-blank asked, in that blunt manner of hers that I love, when we were going to have sex, I panicked. I blame it on the lust haze that had fogged my brain while her lips were pressed to mine.
Did I want to jump right into bed with her that night? Uh, 100 percent.
But did I also want to prove to her—and to myself—how special this relationship is? Absolutely. The last thing I want to do is cheapen it by rushing things in the typical Racy Lacey manner.
So what did I do? I suggested we implement the three-date rule. A moratorium on sex until I’ve taken her on three dates.
God, I’m a fucking idiot .
To her credit, Brynn did try to convince me this waiting period was unnecessary. But I’ve held my ground.
The result? Last night, after an Italian dinner and hot-and-heavy couch make-out session, I googled whether it was possible for a man to die of blue balls.
Brynn’s response? “At least they’ll match your uniform.”
So far, we’ve gone out twice. Monday night’s foray into the best of Memphis barbeque, complete with a sausage and cheese plate starter, of course. And last night’s romantic Italian dinner. My practice schedule has been different this week due to our bye, so we’ve moved our Memphis Magic outing to today—Thursday. And we’re counting it as our third date, so that means…
Tonight, I’m fucking finally getting my hands on the woman I’ve developed a bit of an obsession with.
At the sound of footsteps on the stairs, I brace my hands on the cool granite, willing my heart rate to remain steady. She pauses at the bottom, her perfect lips lifting into a playful smile, those dark eyes alight. She’s dressed for class—professor chic—in high-waisted black-and-tan plaid pants and a fitted black turtleneck, the soft material molded to every curve I’m putting my mouth on tonight.
Every time she walks in the goddamn room, another piece of my heart becomes hers.
I slide the steaming bowl of oatmeal across the bar, along with a mug of coffee prepared the way she likes it.
Her eyes narrow as she slides onto the stool across from me. “Starting a new puzzle, huh?”
The grin I give her is as cheeky as I can make it. “Thought the occasion called for one, so yeah.”
Blushing, she lowers her head and focuses on her breakfast. “Hmm.” She spoons a scoop of oatmeal into her mouth, and that tiny peek of her tongue heats my blood. “Someone is giddy.”
“Damn right I am.” When her smile sinks into a slow fade, my insides twist .
“You’re not, uh…you’re not rethinking tonight, are you?”
She sets her spoon inside the bowl and regards me, her lips pressed together and her expression unreadable.
My heart ticks faster the longer she’s silent.
“Griffin,” she murmurs. “I want tonight to happen. So much.”
I release a breath of relief, but it’s cut off when she continues.
“But I’m just…” Her brows draw together. “Well, you’re…you.” She waves a hand between us. “And I—I don’t want to disappoint you.”
Before her last word is released, I’m at her side, framing her beautiful face. “Baby.” I kiss her sweet lips. “Please hear this: there is no possible way you could disappoint me.”
She opens her mouth to protest, but I don’t allow it.
“ Even if you told me you wanted to wait and spend the evening doing crossword puzzles instead.”
This time when she opens her mouth to argue, I sweep in with a kiss, a deep, languid one that I hope will cast her doubts aside. I taste notes of the maple-cinnamon flavor of her breakfast, but that’s not all.
She tastes like forever.
I place her hand over the bulge growing in my thin joggers. The move causes her to suck in a breath, and those brown irises I love so much darken.
“This, professor. This is what you do to me with one kiss.” I bring my mouth to her ear and rumble, “There’s not a chance in hell I’ll be disappointed.” A quick kiss to the tip of her nose, and I pull away. “Now, finish your breakfast and get to class. I’ll see you at lunchtime.”
My painful erection and I make it to the shower, but I refuse to jerk off. I turn the dial and let the tepid water sluice over my tense muscles and overheated skin.
A good, cold twenty minutes later, I get dressed, my stomach fizzy and my body light. I do my best to pass the time until Brynn gets home: studying film on my iPad, alphabetizing my record collection, sorting through a couple of boxes of football memorabilia and merch that’s stored in the extra room upstairs. I even grab a handful of mini dragons from my hidden stash and hide them around the apartment. But nothing holds my attention for long.
Impatient, I drop onto the couch and check the time. Still an hour until she’s through with class. Which means it’s lunchtime in Georgia. I pull up the contact I’m looking for and make the call.
He answers on the third ring.
“Racy Lacey. What’s shakin’ in the middle of a Thursday?”
“Dell.” I greet my friend and former teammate. “God, it’s good to hear your voice. You got a few minutes?”
“You caught me in the middle of my lunch break, but you know I’d make time for you regardless. You’re having a heck of a season. How’s Memphis treatin’ ya?”
“It’s great,” I gush a little, knowing this man gets it. “Love having my family here for every game. Couldn’t ask for a better organization or coaching staff.” Minus one Cockburn, but I’m not wasting time on him. “How’re things with you and the hellcat?”
He chuckles. “Can’t complain. She’s something else.”
The unmistakable happiness in his voice makes me smile. Cordell and his girlfriend, Mel—or “hellcat,” because she’s a feisty thing—have been dating for a couple of months. Thank fuck. It took them far too long to figure out their will-they-or-won’t-they shit. I had a front-row seat for their shenanigans this summer when he talked my depressed ass into helping him run his high school’s football camp. After five minutes in the company of the two of them, it was clear they had undeniable chemistry, even though they fought it like hell—especially Mel.
“That she is. Happy for y’all, Dell.”
“Thanks, bro.”
“The reason I’m calling is kinda related, I guess. You remember what Big Mike used to preach to us about women? ”
Another laugh crackles over the line. “Big Mike Grimstead. I haven’t thought about him in a minute.”
The guy was a veteran offensive tackle for the Tors when Cordell and I played together. He was a legend, a guy every player on the team looked up to, and he often shared nuggets of wisdom in his big, booming voice.
Cordell’s sigh is wistful. “Sure haven’t forgotten his advice, though. Especially about women.” He lowers his already deep voice to imitate Big Mike’s bass. “Boys, here’s how you know she’s the one…when she’s your very best friend…”
“But you also want to fuck her six ways to Sunday,” I finish. Our laughter is low and nostalgic. Then I clear my throat. “Not to be too nosy, but…is that who Mel is for you?”
His answer comes with zero hesitation. “Yeah. Definitely.”
I rough a hand down my face, scratching at my beard. There’s a hushed timbre to my voice when I admit the truth to my friend of over a decade. “I think I’ve found her.”
He’s silent for a beat. But there’s no denying the smile in his voice when he says, “Someone’s managed to tame Racy Lacey? I wanna hear all about her. She’s gotta be a one-in-a-million kind of girl.”
“Dell, she’s more like a once-in-a-lifetime kind of woman.” With a smile, I sink into the cushions, prop my feet on the coffee table, and tell my buddy about the woman who’s captured my heart.
“No tour of Memphis Magic would be complete without a stop here.”
Brynn peers through the windshield, then cuts her eyes over and chews on the corner of her bottom lip .
“Hey.” I slip my hand beneath the fall of her thick hair and give her neck a gentle squeeze. “He’s not here today. I checked. And my sources are reliable.”
She bobs her head, but she doesn’t release her lip.
“We’re going to run into him eventually, you know.”
She sighs. “I know we will—”
“But you don’t want it to be today.”
Eyes softening, she leans into my touch. “I also don’t want to be scared to come here. This place is special to you.”
My left hand clenches the steering wheel. I haven’t seen the texts the jackass sent her, didn’t want to push her to share them, but if she’s this worried about facing him, they must’ve been rough.
I lean across the truck for a kiss. “C’mon, professor. There’s someone important waiting for us.”
At the front grill of the truck, we thread our fingers together. I can’t go more than a couple of minutes without touching her now that we’ve left the strictly friends zone.
We enter the stadium through the entrance I use every week. And waiting right where he said he’d be, at the end of the corridor, is the stadium staff’s most devoted, tenured employee.
“Mr. Gus. Good to see you.” I shake the gentleman’s wrinkled, papery hand and hug Brynn to my side. “This is my special guest.”
She reaches for his hand. “I’m Brynn.”
His white whiskered cheeks spring up as he welcomes her. “Hello there. Gus Torino.” A twinkle of mischief shines in his eyes as he leans my way. “You’ve outkicked your coverage with this one, Mr. Lacey.”
I huff a laugh. “Don’t I know it. And it’s Griffin,” I remind him for the dozenth time.
Mr. Gus pushes up his glasses, then sweeps a hand to one side. “Shall we? ”
As we follow his shuffling gait down the hall, I give Brynn some context. “Mr. Gus has been working at the Blues’ stadium since it opened. He’s been giving tours here for over twenty years.”
“Started as a custodian the year it opened,” he calls over his stooped shoulder. “Mr. Russell personally tapped me to give tours a few years later. I remember when this one was a young whippersnapper.”
Brynn’s eyes widen. “He remembers you?”
“Hard to forget those Lacey boys,” Gus chortles, the sound echoing off the cinderblock walls. “They came several years in a row, like clockwork. This one,” he thumbs over his shoulder, “always came with a list of questions.”
I rest an arm along her shoulders, my chest tightening when Brynn reaches up and grips my fingers. “We got to choose how to spend our birthdays as kids. Whether we wanted a sleepover or a party or special outing. I chose the stadium tour three years in a row. And then Tucker copied me for an additional three years.” I affectionately roll my eyes.
“You probably have my talking points memorized,” Gus jokes.
He leads us throughout the facility, making stops in a couple of the high-end suites, the press box, and both locker rooms. He answers every one of Brynn’s questions and gives us time to explore. When we reach the Blues’ locker room, he steps out to give us a few minutes of privacy, and I make a mental note to bring him a bottle of his favorite whiskey.
“So this is where Racy Lacey suits up.” Brynn wags her brows and lowers to the bench at my locker. The sight of her sitting below the nameplate with my last name and jersey number makes my hands ache with the need to touch her.
I brace my arms against the wooden sides and angle into her. “Every time I came here as a kid, I’d imagine what it would be like to have my name on one of these.”
Dark lashes fluttering, she smiles up at me. “And? ”
“It’s even better than I dreamed it would be.”
Not just playing for this team, but being here with her. Like this.
Gus clears his throat from the hall, a subtle cue that it’s time to move on, and we join him. “One more stop on this ride.”
He leads us down the concrete path to the place where my team rallies before every home game. Where we wait in anticipation to be announced over the PA and then charge the field as the stadium erupts.
“This is where I leave you two lovebirds.” He dips in a bow, the wisps of his thinning hair tousled by the breeze from the end of the ramp. “Brynn, lovely to meet you.”
She plants a peck on his cheek that delights the old man.
“Mr. Lacey, enjoy your days off. And don’t let this one get away.”
“That’s the plan, Gus. Thank you for everything.”
With his hands tucked into the pockets of his navy cardigan, he shuffles back toward the main walkway.
An icy chill blasts down the shadowed corridor, so I pull the sides of Brynn’s wool coat together and button it up. “It’ll be warmer in the sunshine.” I head toward the field, and when her shoes scuff the concrete floor behind me, I slip my hand behind my back and wiggle my fingers. Her warm skin presses against mine, and we step out into the November sunshine.
The brightness of the late afternoon sun makes the grass on the empty field look especially green. There’s not a soul in sight as we make our way across one of the end zones, painted navy with the team name in light blue. I lead her all the way to the image of King on the fifty-yard line, then rotate to face her.
“Wow.” Her brown eyes are large as she takes in our surroundings. “This is what you see every week.”
I scan the stadium, trying to imagine the view through her eyes: rows upon rows of empty navy seats climbing sky-high, stark white yard lines and hash marks, massive Jumbotrons on either end, Hound Town —a fan section—that dominates one end zone.
Compounded by the roar of the fans, the scrutiny of the media, the expectations, the celebrity, the pressure? It can be overwhelming. And that’s the last thing I want her to be as we figure this out.
“Brynn.” I squeeze her hands, garnering her full attention.
When those dark depths are locked on me, they’re focused. Trusting.
Fuck.
I’m in deep.
I swallow and fill my lungs. Exhale. Push down my nerves like I do on game day.
“This is my life.” I pop a shoulder. “It’s crazy and big and loud. Much like this place on Sundays.”
The dawn of a smile graces her lips.
“But I’d like to share it with you, if you’re willing to put up with all this.”
She surveys the field again, then zeroes in on me.
“You know this game demands a lot,” I say, ignoring the way my heart rate picks up. “And dating a professional athlete comes with a heap of bullshit.” I pull her hands to my chest and hold them against my heart, hoping she can tell that it’s thrumming with optimism. Then I say the words I’ve been keeping like a secret for weeks: “Just be mine. We’ll figure out the rest as we go.”
Eyes glittering, she bobs her head and gives me a smile so brilliant it rivals the fucking sun. She launches herself at me and twines her arms around my neck, sealing the deal with a scorching kiss. As she rains sweet kisses down all over my beard and lips, a laugh breaks free from my chest.
“Can we order in tonight?” Her voice is breathless as I lower her to the turf.
“Whatever you want, professor. ”
“I want this. I want you .” She gives me a thorough once-over, the look causing my dick to sit up and pay attention.
“Fuck. Let’s go.” I hoist her over my non-surgically-repaired shoulder, pulling a squeal from her, and cart her off the field.
By the time we’re home, the last of the sun’s rays are losing their hold in the sky. As we trudge upstairs, I do my best to ignore the zing of anticipation between us.
Once we’re inside and we’ve removed our coats, Brynn pulls up the food delivery app and waves her phone my way. “Let’s order Chinese.”
“Sounds good, baby.”
With her elbows on the bar in the kitchen, she taps on her phone. The position puts her delectable ass on display, making it impossible to fight the urge to grab a fistful of it and fold my body over hers. I brace my forearms on the counter, caging her between them, and press into her, my hardening cock resting against the swell of her ass, then pull her hair off her neck. Nuzzling into the fabric of her turtleneck, I give her a light bite in the space where her neck and shoulder meet.
“Griff.”
She arches her back, which only helps my dick become better acquainted with her ass. If only these damn clothes weren’t separating them.
I grind against her, placing love bites to her shoulder and neck through the fabric of her shirt, until one heavy jerk of my hips makes her gasp.
She pushes off the counter and twists in the space between my body and the bar. With her hands splayed on my abs, she pushes up for a kiss. “The food’s been picked up at the restaurant. I’m going to change really quick. Do you mind going down to get it?”
I nip at her bottom lip, then pull back. “Nope.”
“’Kay.” After one more kiss that leaves us panting, she pats my chest and ducks under my arms. Then she scurries up the stairs .
Head hung, I smooth a hand over my hair. “Fuck.” I’m so goddamn revved up I might not make it through Mongolian beef and fried rice.
With one deep breath after another, I pace the length of the apartment, giving myself a take-it-slow pep talk. I want nothing more than to make this night perfect for Brynn. Once I’ve reined in a modicum of control, I do a little prep work to set the mood. I turn on a Teskey Brothers record, volume set low and turn off all but the two lamps in the living room. Then I rummage in a kitchen drawer for the lighter to set flames to Brynn’s favorite candles. I’m finishing up my preparations in the bedroom when the doorbell chimes downstairs.
As I return, arms loaded, I peek inside the bag and count the containers. “Baby,” I say as I clear the top step and look up, “did you order extra egg—” My words stick in my throat at the sight before me.
Brynn Nelson, wearing nothing but my jersey.