22. Brynn
Chapter twenty-two
Brynn
I smile at the tiny purple dragon as I fasten the lid on my travel mug. The little guy’s lucky I heard him ding against the metal interior of the cup before I placed it under the spout. He could be floating in a scalding mocha bath instead of regarding me from the countertop.
When Griffin emerges from the bedroom in his workout gear, I hold up the small plastic figure. “Look who I found hiding in my mug.”
He cocks his head and feigns shock. “Another invasion? We need Seth to call an exterminator.”
“Hmm.” I sigh when he kisses me. “Think he would come take that down for us?” I tilt my head toward the Christmas tree that mocks us from the corner of the living room. We both groaned at it yesterday, after returning from celebrating the holiday with our respective families. It was hard to spend our first Christmas apart, but I’d bought my plane ticket months ago, and Griff couldn’t miss practice this week.
We had one perfect night to give and receive—gifts and, ahem, other pleasures—and now he’s leaving. This away game is the second-to-last of the Blues’ season, and if they win, they’ll secure a spot in the wild card round of the playoffs .
“Mm, he’s still in Nashville with Daniel. But I can have him stop by when he gets back.”
“No, I’ll tackle it this weekend. While I’m missing you.”
He wraps me up and inhales against my neck, his chest inflating, holding my scent in his lungs. When he pulls away, he holds out his hand, palm up.
“Keys, professor.”
I frown down at his hand, then scrutinize his serious expression. “Huh?”
“It’s fucking freezing outside. Give me your keys so I can warm up your car.”
I roll my lips, fighting back tears. “Have you been talking to my mother?”
His brows knit together. “What?”
“Nothing.” Smashing my body to his, I hold tight. “I love you.”
“Love you, too, baby.” He presses sweet kisses to my head.
After a teary goodbye, I slide into my toasty SUV and drive to campus. With one hand on the wheel, I toy with the amethyst and rose quartz bracelet that circles my wrist—a gift from Griffin—and go through my mental to-do list. I plan to take advantage of my alone time to work on my dissertation research, which has taken a back seat the past couple of months. Since the new semester doesn’t start until next week, the library will be empty, so it’s the perfect location for me to distract myself from how much I miss my boyfriend.
I swipe my faculty badge at the door and wind through the stacks to my favorite study carrel. I’ve neglected my emails since before the holidays, so I wade through messages to my campus address before I check my personal account. There, between junk emails from Banana Republic and Soma, is a message that sticks out. From a university domain.
Months ago, confused about my feelings for Griffin and his insistence that we were just friends , I spent a couple of hours researching small private colleges in Florida. When I discovered one only an hour from my parents, I didn’t stop at researching it. No, I navigated to their human resources page. There weren’t any positions in the English department listed at that time, but the page had a link to an interest form, and on a whim, I filled it out.
My heart climbs into my throat as I click on the message.
Dear Ms. Nelson,
Thank you for your interest in a teaching position at Collins University. After reviewing your résumé and credentials, we would love to speak with you about scheduling an interview for an upcoming position in our English department.
The subsequent details blur as my eyes swim. The campus is a little over an hour from my hometown. If I’d gotten this email three months ago, I’d be packing my bags for the sunshine state. I wouldn’t miss living in Memphis. Wouldn’t regret walking away from this chapter of my life.
But now?
Griffin.
Flashes of him invade my thoughts: Soulful eyes like mood rings—storm cloud gray when he’s fired up or competitive, baby blue for lighthearted and flirty, and intense sky blue when he’s passionate and eager. Big, strong hands that touch me gently and give me pleasure. Perfect pink lips that kiss every inch of my body and curve into smiles that make me swoon.
I love every part of him. And he’s made me happier than I’ve ever been.
So it should be a no-brainer to delete this email and chalk it up to poor timing. But…I miss my parents. I miss riding my bike from their house to Celestial, Mom’s shop near the beach, to hang with her while she sells tourists on the healing power of crystals. I miss Dad’s french toast Sundays and his excitement when he shows me a cool star or planet with his backyard refractor telescope. I miss their company and their optimism. Once a week Zoom calls and once a year Christmas visits are not enough. Dad turned seventy this year, and Mom will be sixty-seven in a few weeks. Even though they’re in fantastic health now—maybe there is something to those crystals, after all—I worry about being far away if that changes.
I love Griffin, but I uprooted my life for a man once before, only to have that relationship fizzle out. Plus, how many times has he mentioned that this is likely his last season? This contract with the Blues is up in a matter of weeks, even if they make the playoffs and go all the way to the Super Bowl. When it’s over, would he be willing to pack up and move to Florida for me ?
I leave the email in my inbox and move on, though nausea simmers in my tummy all day.
That queasy feeling sticks around for the weekend, too. Knowing I’ll feel better once I talk to Griffin about it, I resolve to bring it up as soon as he gets back.
But then the Blues lose their road game—a tough back-and-forth matchup that ended with the team falling short when their kicker missed a field goal in the final minute. The guys played their hearts out, but it didn’t go their way. Now they’ll have to win their final game at home next weekend to secure their spot in the playoffs.
Griff struggles more when a loss is close than when it’s a blowout, so as the last seconds of the game tick off at the bottom of the TV screen, I consider not mentioning the email yet.
If the roles were reversed, though, I wouldn’t want him to keep something like that from me, would I? The mental tennis match leaves my brain addled, and I’m so overwhelmed with indecision that I don’t even attempt to wait up for him.
I’m not sure how long I’ve been asleep when I wake to the sensation of his weight dipping into the mattress. Spooning me from behind, he nuzzles into my hair and neck. When he slides one thick thigh between mine, the hairs on his legs tickle my smooth skin .
“What time is it?” My sleepy voice cracks with a yawn.
“Eleven-thirty.”
“Mmm.” I snuggle deeper into his warmth, wiggling my bottom in an effort to get closer. “I’m so sorry about the game. I know how badly y’all wanted this one.”
“Thank you, baby.” His words are hot against my skin, his beard prickling me. “This one hurt. We gotta come back strong next week.”
“You will.” I smooth a hand up and down the muscly arm that’s wrapped around my ribs.
He makes a few rumbly bear noises, entangling us further. “I missed you.”
“Me, too.”
“Tree’s still up, huh?”
“Sorry, I didn’t have it in me. Got a ton of work done at the library yesterday, though.”
“Good job, professor. Forget about the tree. We can leave it up until next year for all I care. Or we’ll hire someone to take it down.”
He talks about a future with me like he’s certain of it. His confidence soothes me. The words he said in the middle of the Blues’ field come to mind: Just be mine. We’ll figure out the rest as we go.
And we will. Florida and football and jobs and where we lay our heads at night. It can wait until the light of day. Right now, I want to be with him, give him comfort after a huge disappointment.
I wiggle my butt again, this time pressing harder into him.
He reaches between us and palms my butt cheek. “This ass,” he growls. “It’s unhealthy how much I think about this ass.” He squeezes once, then slides his hand up my body to cup a breast, his hardening erection pressing into my hip. “Almost as much as I think about these.”
He rolls me onto my back and pushes my nightgown up to my chest. Then his hands are on my breasts again. “They’re so fucking perfect.” He swipes his thumbs across my nipples, a back-and-forth caress that makes my toes curl. “Pretty pink tips perfect for my mouth.” He wraps his lips around a nipple and sucks, the sensation so intense I grasp the bedsheet with one hand and the back of his head with the other. He teases one side with his mouth and the other with his fingers, making wetness pool in my panties. His eyes lock on my face as he continues his thorough treatment.
“Could you come from just this?” He gives the sensitive tip a deep pull that makes me moan. “Yeah, I bet you could. We’ll test that another time, professor.”
With both hands, he grips my panties and slides them down.
I’ve barely kicked them off when he finds the wetness between my thighs. “But this,” he rasps as he slides two digits inside me, “this is what I think about the most. How it was made just for me.” He pumps his fingers twice, but then he pulls them out.
A whine breaks free at his loss, but all I get is a smirk as he works his underwear down his legs.
He rolls onto me, keeping most of his weight on his elbows, kissing me slow and deep. “Need you, baby.”
I grip his waist as he lines himself up with my entrance. “You’ve got me.”
He pushes inside with one slow roll of his hips. His satisfied groan is followed with “Fuck. Right where I belong.”
He makes love to me with smooth, languid strokes. Our bodies move in tandem—hips, hands, and hearts in perfect sync. There’s a comfortable familiarity to our lovemaking now. The kind that happens when two souls discover they are each other’s missing piece.
That’s what Griffin is for me—a piece I didn’t know was missing until we met.
As our bodies prove our love to each other, he locks eyes with me, holding nothing back. He shows me all his love, adoration, lust, and satisfaction in one look. But vulnerability shines there, too. It’s so raw and honest it hurts. It communicates that I’m the keeper of his heart, and he trusts me to handle it with care.
I frame his face, relishing the way his beard tickles my palms. “I love you.” I infuse those three little words with every ounce of truth in my soul.
He smiles, then he reaches to where we’re joined to rub circles on my clit and increases the tempo of his thrusts. In moments, I’m falling apart. He follows me over the edge, and we collapse in a tangle of heavy, sated limbs.
And as I drift off, he whispers the same three words in my ear.
We’re leaving the most special Memphis Magic outing, and I still haven’t told him about the email. I had every intention of bringing it up last night, but he didn’t get home from practice until late. The guys are working hard to be ultra prepared for this weekend’s game, spending extra time reviewing film and running through plays.
I tagged along with Griff and several Blues players this morning when they visited patients at St. Jude Children’s Hospital. It was touching to watch big, burly football players give signed hats, jerseys, and footballs to the sweet children receiving treatment. Paige and I fought tears as the kids’ little faces beamed when their football heroes gave them fist bumps and told them how brave they are.
Once we’re buckled into Griffin’s truck, he braces a hand on my headrest and twists his upper body to reverse out of the parking spot.
“You never use the backup camera,” I muse.
“I use it.” A sneaky smile curves his lips. “Just not when you’ re in the car.”
I blink at him, confused.
I’m rewarded with a wink. “You did this little breath-catch thing the first time I did it. It was hella hot, knowing I could affect you like that. So it’s become routine when you’re in the truck with me.”
“Somehow, that’s both annoying and sweet.”
He barks out a laugh. “’Bout sums me up, don’t ya think?”
“Hmm.” When we’re out on the road, I take his right hand and lace my fingers through his. “What other sweet stuff did you do before we started dating?”
He glances at me sidelong for a beat, lids at half-mast, then untangles our fingers and hands me his phone. I swipe it open and enter his password—my birthday—then I await further instruction.
Eyes on the road, he tips his chin and says, “Notes app.”
Once I’ve navigated to it, I find a note titled Brynn Nelson among a few others. My eyes shoot to him. He’s watching the traffic ahead, but the skin above his beard has gone pink. When I focus on the phone again, I can’t hold back a gasp.
On the screen is a list of details about me. Likes, dislikes, habits. All of my important highlights, lovingly curated.
Tears sting my eyes. “Griff.” I don’t know what else to say.
His Adam’s apple bobs. “The night we met,” he says. “Well, met again, I guess. While we sat across from each other at the diner, I had this overwhelming urge to create that list. Didn’t understand why at the time. But it’s like my subconscious knew I’d want a list of my favorite person’s favorites. And not-favorites.”
My heart pinches. This man. How could I even consider moving somewhere he’s not?
That email is a lead boulder in my stomach.
Swallowing thickly, I rub my sternum. Knowing I’ll lose my nerve if I procrastinate any longer, I lick my lips and get it over with. “I, uh, got an email from a university in Florida. ”
“About?” Though he arches one brow, his focus remains on the road.
“A job.” I hold my breath.
He’s silent, but his jaw muscles twitch.
“It’s not an offer, just a response to an interest form I filled out months ago. Before we…”
Before we fell in love.
“You want to move to Florida?” His tone is even, but his eyes? Storm cloud gray.
“No. Well, maybe. I’ve thought about it. Obviously.” Heart pounding as I assess him, I whisper, “It’s only an hour from my parents.”
“But it’s many, many hours away from me.”
“Please don’t be mad. I don’t plan on interviewing. I wanted you to know about the email because I don’t want to keep things from you.”
He taps his fingers on the steering wheel, then heaves a deep sigh. “Baby, I’m not mad. A little stunned, maybe. I didn’t know you’d thought about moving back to Florida.” When he glances my way, the gray of his irises is less stormy.
I shrug. “Maybe someday. I mean, if you’d…” My heart clenches and my nerves skitter through me. “Never mind.”
“If I’d want to move there, too?” he guesses.
Lips pressed together, I dip my chin. “Your season is almost over. Even if y’all go all the way, you’ll be done in February. But your mom would probably hate me if I asked you to move away.”
“Donna could never hate you. She’d adjust, believe me. And I’m pretty fond of the beach, professor.”
Perking up, I shift in my seat. “Really?”
“Only if you promise to wear a bikini around the house.” He wags his brows, his lips tipping in a wicked smile.
“Hmm, only if you wear your cartoon boxers.”
“I’m open to negotiations.”
Laughing with Griffin helps ease the tension. But though that lead boulder in my gut is smaller, it isn’t gone.
He clutches my hand and holds it to his mouth, peppering it with kisses all the way home, like he’s afraid to let go.