7. Griffin
Chapter seven
Griffin
I t’s not like that with her. We’re just friends.
Those words have played on a mental loop all damn week. And every repeat brings with it a heavy knot that settles under my rib cage. One that makes it hard to breathe as we run through these two-minute drills. At least we don’t wear pads on our Friday run-throughs.
To add to the tightness of that restricting knot, now Brynn’s going to be my fucking roommate for three months?
Tiny cartoon conscience Griff turned in his two-week notice when that offer passed my lips.
At least she dumped Jackwad Cockburn.
That’s why I was compelled to offer her a spare bedroom. I’d made not-so-subtle suggestions for her to dump his ass every time he came up, so I felt somewhat responsible for her change in living situation.
Beau’s snap count hits me, bringing my focus to the play. Despite the way my brain’s taken off more than once today, I run my route flawlessly and catch his pass at the back left corner of the end zone. When the whistle blows, we collect on the sideline, where the coaches go over last-minute adjustments .
Offensive coordinator Rasheed Dobbins adjusts his cap and waves Beau and me over. Dobbins is one of the youngest OCs in the league; he’s been praised for his inventive and sometimes risky play-calling, but what most don’t see is how methodical and deliberate he really is. He reviews a couple of pass-plays for this week’s game against Chicago before we join our teammates and head to the locker room.
After that loss in the second week, the Blues have won both on the road and at home, giving us a three-and-one record. More importantly, my own gameplay has improved drastically since that day. I’m settling into the rhythm of the team dynamics and coaching styles. And Beau and I have connected, both on the field and off, in the past few weeks. A ride-or-die friendship with my QB is something I haven’t had for the past few seasons, and I’ve missed it.
Football is full throttle these days, and I’m fucking stoked.
So why the hell do I rush through my shower, anxious to hurry home and greet my new roommate?
After ensuring a TA could cover her classes this morning, Brynn moved her things in. She insisted that she didn’t have much to haul over and it would only take her a couple of trips in her SUV. Even so, I had a moving company waiting at Jack’s Cooper-Young address at eight a.m. I also arranged for Lux, Tucker’s buddy who’s renting the first floor, to let her into the back gate and building.
“Hey, Lacey. Jefferson and I are hitting up Beale Street tonight. You in?” Devon Greenway peers at me from the locker room doorway, expression hopeful.
Greenway’s been begging me to be his wingman since I got here. In years past, I would’ve jumped at the prospect of a wild Friday night out with my teammates, even with an early Saturday practice looming. Today, though, all I want to do is get home and check on Brynn.
“Man, raincheck? ”
The way Devon’s shoulders drop has a niggle of guilt working its way through me.
I sigh. “Brynn moved her stuff in today, and I feel like I should be there. In case she needs help.”
He perks up at the mention of her name. “Oh, that pretty young thing you brought to Beau’s?”
“She’s older than you.” I try—and fail—to keep annoyance from leaching into my voice. The last thing I need is for one of my teammates to make a move on her.
“But she’s younger than you . And I love older women.” He wags his brows, his broad smile proving that he doesn’t need me to be his wingman. The kid’s got charisma for days.
Beau chuckles from his locker a few spots down. “Greenway, pretty sure that one’s off the market, even if she is single.” He gives me a knowing look.
With a frown, I shove the rest of my gear into my bag with more force than necessary. “I told you—”
“You’re right, Cap.” Devon interrupts from the door. “Let’s see how long Racy keeps his head in the sand before he chokes on it.” With that, he salutes us and saunters into the hall.
“Best behavior, Greenway!” Beau hollers after him.
“No pro-mis-ses!” Devon singsongs.
“That one’s trouble.” Beau says, his tone affectionate. His easy expression vanishes quickly when he turns to me, and suddenly, he’s leveling me with a look that would give Donna Lacey a run for her money. “Know what else is trouble?”
Frustration courses through me as I square up with him. “It’s not like that.”
“Mm-hmm. So when some dude comes over to pick her up for a date—”
“A date?” I scoff, hands on my hips. “She just ended a five-year relationship. I highly doubt she’s ready to date. ”
“You sound pretty sure about that.” His lips twitch. He’s baiting me, but damn him, it’s working.
The thought of some rando showing up at the apartment to take her out has my heart racing. And not in the way it was half an hour ago.
But Beau keeps at it. “Interesting that you know how long her relationship lasted.”
“We. Hang. Out. We talk about our lives. Like friends are known to do.”
With one brow cocked, he snags his duffel off the bench, then he’s heading for the door. “If you say so, Lacey.” At the threshold, he turns. “Paige and I are getting dinner and drinks near your place tonight. Wanna join us? It’ll be way more low-key than painting the town with Jefferson and Greenway.”
“Cool. Text me the details.” I shoulder my bag and make my way toward him.
“Feel free to bring your friend along. Paige likes her.”
Once my engine is running and I’m buckled in, I take a few moments to enjoy the quiet. As the cab cools, I check my phone for the first time since this morning. Two missed calls from my mom. Of course. She has a typed copy of my weekly schedule on their refrigerator, but she calls during every Friday practice, without fail. I also have several missed texts. One name in particular catches my eye and sends a heady thrill bubbling through my bloodstream.
She sent three in a row this morning:
Brynn
Why is there a Mighty Movers truck in the driveway right now?
Griffin.
You didn’t have to do this, but thank you .
It’s a little after four when I pull up to the gated parking area behind my building. Brynn’s gray Forester is parked beside Lux’s motorcycle under the carport next to the back door. Seth’s newly dent-free Cayenne is here, too, in one of the visitor spots along the nine-foot privacy fence.
He exits the building just as I tap the lock button on my key fob.
“Just met your new roommate,” Seth says as he approaches.
“Were you nice?”
He opens his mouth to protest but breaks into a smile instead. “I’m always nice.”
Now I’m the one preparing for a comeback, but he beats me to it.
“ With one exception.”
Correct. He and my ex, Kate, butted heads on the regular. The guy tried his damnedest to throw a celebration when we ended things.
He slips his hands into the pockets of his well-pressed khakis and rocks back on his heels. “So…” he drags out. “What’s the deal with you and Gorgeous up there?”
I groan. Not him, too. “We’re fucking friends, Seth.”
He smirks. “Are you fucking friends or fucking friends?”
I smirk back, though the expression is probably more menacing than anything. “Have you talked to Daniel today?”
“Low blow, Lacey.” Seth squares his shoulders and straightens. He’s several inches shorter than me, but the effort is admirable. “He’s on his way here for the weekend, if you must know.”
Seth’s boyfriend opted not to move to Memphis for the time being, so the two are attempting a long-distance thing. I gave Seth the choice to stay in Nashville and do his job remotely, but he balked at that idea. Can’t say that I don’t appreciate his dedication, I guess .
“How’s the apartment?” He found a nice one-bedroom in a development about twenty minutes from my place.
“Empty. I’ve been kinda busy.”
That’s an understatement. He’s been in town for a little over a week, and he’s spent the bulk of that time organizing my move and getting my place set up. He purchased all of the furniture sitting upstairs (after sending me pictures via text for approval), and he coordinated with the movers who brought my things from my parents’ house and the townhouse in Nashville. The guy deserves a major bonus for ensuring that I haven’t wanted for a thing since I moved to town.
He’s really good at his job. I’m about to tell him so, but he doesn’t give me the opportunity.
“So,” he blurts, “you’ve only known this woman for a couple weeks, right? Are you sure she’s legit? Like, she’s not some undercover jersey chaser or a low-key psycho lying in wait?” His forehead wrinkles as concern shapes his features. “I didn’t get those vibes from her, but I just…”
“She’s legit,” I assure him.
It’s wild, but I’ve trusted her from the moment she stepped out of that red BMW. I’ve never questioned whether she had ulterior motives for befriending me. Hell, I can’t say she befriended me . It was definitely the other way around. She’s genuine and kind, and living with her, even if it’s temporary, feels right .
“Cool. Had to check, you know?” His pale, freckled skin flushes pink, and he gives me a sheepish smile.
“Appreciate you looking out.”
We endure the heat for a few minutes while we run through my schedule for the next few days and part ways. Then my duffel and I head up to my new home.
The stairs lead directly into the open-concept living room, dining area, and kitchen. I pause when I reach the hardwood of the space and take a long look around, imagining the apartment through Brynn’s eyes. Does she like it? Or does she think it’s too masculine?
The wall across from me is exposed brick, save for the cased opening that frames the stairwell to the top floor, and the modern built-out surround that showcases the glass-front gas fireplace. A large gray leather sectional defines the living area, flanked by two cadet-blue upholstered armchairs. Tucked into the corner next to the four plantation-shuttered windows that overlook South Main are two of my prized possessions: vintage Pac-Man and Ms. Pac-Man arcade machines.
When that first paycheck from the Tors came in a decade ago, I purchased them. Shaw, Tucker, and I grew up vying for the top score on the lone arcade game that sat next to the cash register at the diner in my hometown. Shaw and I were neck and neck for years, taking turns entering our initials next to the number one spot, until one Saturday when Tuck raided our grandmother’s piggy bank for quarters and spent the entire day trying to best us. He kept the top spot for eight months and has never let us forget it.
I toss my bag into the laundry room off the hallway past the kitchen, then head upstairs to check on my new roommate.
“Brynn?”
“I’m here,” she calls from behind the partially closed door. The third floor houses what is now her room, a spacious bathroom, another spare bedroom currently stuffed full of unpacked boxes and football paraphernalia, and my office.
When I nudge open the door, I find her standing next to the bed, surrounded by boxes and a couple of large storage tubs. There’s an open suitcase on the nondescript navy comforter Seth picked out before he knew it would be occupied by a long-term guest.
“Sorry about the mess.” Her words flit in and out of my consciousness as I take her in. Her thick dark hair is haphazardly twisted up into a messy bun on the top of her head. Fuck. I have to fist my hands at my sides at the thought of setting those locks free and running my fingers through them. With a thick swallow, I force my eyes to her face. She’s not wearing a stitch of makeup. Those big brown eyes are framed by darker lashes. The faint freckles splashed across her nose and cheeks are like tiny droplets of leftover sunshine. Her rosy-pink lips stretch into a smile and then constrict to form a word. When they repeat the motion, my brain finally goes online—she’s said my name twice.
“Uh, sorry, I—” A fluffy sage-colored heap next to the suitcase catches my eye. Without thinking, I grab it and hold it up for further inspection.
It’s a stuffed dragon, well-loved and a little threadbare in patches.
“What’s this?”
She snatches it out of my grip and hugs it to her chest, her shoulders curling around it protectively. “Uh, nothing.” Her face flames the brightest I’ve seen it as she steps back like she’s considering crawling under the bed.
The need to comfort her rears up so fast it takes my breath away.
Deciding she’ll probably recover quicker if I ignore her reaction, I reach for the nearest tub and pull off the top right as Brynn shouts, “You don’t have to—”
The tub is labeled fragile , and it’s filled to the brim with an assortment of dragons—figurines, snow globes, statues, and smaller plush reptiles—are dragons considered reptiles? There are fierce creatures ready to take flight or scorch an enemy. Cute pastel-colored critters nestled among clouds and flowers. Iridescent dragons. Clear glass dragons. Some painted an array of colors, and some whose scaly details are etched into a single shade of gray or black or green. They range in size, too. Some are no bigger than my palm and some look like they could be used as a weapon to knock someone out.
“You collect dragons. ”
With an audible swallow, she nods. “Yeah.”
It’s clear she’s mortified. She shouldn’t be. I’m desperate to know all facets of Brynn. This is another piece of who she is, and it’s adorable as fuck.
I pull one of the black dragon figurines from the pile. “This guy is badass.”
Her shoulders relax a fraction. “My parents brought him home from Poland a few summers ago.”
“No shit?” I hold him up higher and run my finger down the intricate scales and spikes along his tail.
“No shit.” She loosens her tight grip on the stuffed dragon she’s clutching to her chest. Her brown eyes search mine for a second, and when they soften a fraction, I know she’s going to let me in. “This is Barnaby. My dad brought him home when I was eleven. I had the flu. He told me I needed a dragon protector to fight off sickness and loneliness. I’ve slept with him almost every night since.”
Fuck. A strange, uncomfortable sensation climbs up my spine. Am I jealous of a stuffed dragon?
“Who named him Barnaby?”
“I did.”
“And was Barnaby the start to your dragon collection?”
“Hmm, pretty much.” She perches on the edge of the mattress and tucks one leg beneath her.
The expanse of bare skin I’m only now noticing instantly causes my mouth to water. In a pair of navy gym shorts with the Townes logo stamped on one thigh, she swings the leg still hanging off the bed in a lazy arc that is doing its damnedest to hypnotize me. As she launches into her story, all I can think about is wrapping those creamy, bare thighs around my hips.
“While I was sick in bed, I read this book about a boy who finds a mysterious rock in the mountains. It turns out to be a dragon’s egg. I devoured the story, basically made it my whole personality, as a bookish kid tends to do. I sketched dragons in an old notebook. They were terrible. I am not an artist. But my parents nurtured my interest. They gave me figurines and whatnot for holidays and birthdays and just because. When they traveled, they brought new ones for my collection. Still do. Rather than posters of cute boys, the walls of my bedroom were covered with mystical dragon posters through middle school and high school.”
I set the badass black dragon on the chest of drawers next to the door. “Feel free to hang cool dragon posters up in here.”
She loosens a sweet laugh.
“Really,” I say. “I want you to make this place feel like your home while you’re here.”
“Thank you.” Her eyes shine, but she blinks back the emotion. “And thank you for the moving truck, even though it was totally unnecessary.” She places Barnaby between her pillows. “I met Seth earlier, by the way.”
I grin. “He’s intense, right?”
“He certainly takes his job seriously. I’ve been thoroughly briefed on the inner workings of Team Lacey. Game day and practice schedules, housekeeper schedules, food delivery schedules, haircut schedules.” The corner of her mouth kicks up. “But alas, no tailor schedules were shared.”
I’m grinning so wide my cheeks hurt. “I told you, professor. That’s classified.” My tailor, who lives and works in Nashville, is not a secret, but I like that she’s so curious. If I’m not careful, though, this woman will have me sharing all of my secrets with her.
Like how I’m pretty sure I’m gonna have to bolt out of here and jerk off in the shower if her shorts ride up any higher.
Fuck.
Fuckity fucking fuck.
I can’t have thoughts like that about my temporary roommate. About my friend .
One about-face coming right up. “Do you still have that dragon book? I like to read or do puzzles when we travel.”
“Puzzles?” She tilts her head, the move causing her bun to flop a little to the left.
I prop myself up against the wall, arms crossed, and take in a cleansing breath. Perfect. This line of conversation is exactly what I need to slow the blood flow to my dick. “Crossword puzzles. My mom buys the magazine ones for me at the grocery store back home.”
“That’s precious,” she says, her eyes dancing. “And yes, I still have the dragon book, but it’s at my parents’ place in Florida. It’s actually a series. The fifth one came out a couple of years ago, but I haven’t had the time to read it. If you like fantasy stories like that…” Lowering her head, she drags Barnaby back into her lap. She toys with his wings and stammers, “I-I started writing a dragon story a while back.” As soon as the words leave her lips, she squeezes her eyes shut.
My heart stumbles in my chest. My professor is an aspiring writer?
“Yeah?”
She nods shyly, her eyes still downcast.
Chest tightening, I straighten and take a step closer. “Tell me about it.”
“You’re the first person I’ve even mentioned it to.”
Warmth spreads like syrup from my chest into my limbs at her admission.
She fixes her dark, expressive gaze back on my face. “It started as a lark, an idea I’ve had kicking around in my brain for years. But the second I sat down to get some words on the page, they poured out of me. An endless stream, like I was in a trance. When I finally came to, I had written over five thousand words.”
I whistle. “Not too shabby, not-a-professor. ”
“It’s not a big deal,” she shrugs, attention fixed on the dragon again, back to fiddling with his wings.
“Don’t do that.”
Brows pinched, she snaps her head up.
I take another step closer and shove my hands into my pockets. “Don’t hide your shine, Brynn.”
God, I love saying her name. Sure, I get a kick out of calling her professor . But the way that single syllable rolls off my tongue?
It’s like a fucking hit of dopamine.
“I don’t know what to say to that,” she confesses, her mouth turned down.
“Here’s what you say.” I clear my throat. “ Hey, friend-slash-roomie, I did this amazing thing—I started writing a kick-ass dragon book, and I was wondering if you’d like to read what I’ve written so far. And I’ll say I abso-fucking-lutely want to read it. Hit up my private email. ”
She tips her head back, laughing. “Sadly, your private email was one detail Seth neglected to share with me. That and your tailor’s secret identity.”
“Oh, he’s fired, then.”
Her giggles cement the grin on my face; I couldn’t wipe it away if I tried. “For now, how do you feel about a burger and a beer at one of Memphis’s best dive bars?”
She perks up, shoulders back and chin high again. “That sounds amazing. Do I have time to shower?”
Goddamn it, Lacey, don’t think of her in the fucking shower.
I almost choke on my own saliva. “Uh, yeah. Plenty of time. And full disclosure: Beau and Paige invited us.”
Her eyes brighten. “Did they?” But in a blink, her hopeful expression shutters. “Wait. They’re okay with me tagging along, right?”
I want to take a damn sledgehammer to this woman’s insecurities. I don’t know if Cockburn is the reason she doubts herself or if there’s some untold trauma from her past, but I’m fucking determined to rid her of them. Forever.
“Paige specifically told Beau to make sure you were invited, professor.”
“Okay.” The deep breath of relief she exhales makes my chest ache. “I’ll be down in a few.”
While she’s in the shower, I text her the email address that only my immediate family and Seth have. If she doesn’t send me that dragon story, I’ll bug her about it until she relents.
Forty minutes later, I’m waiting by the stairs, shooting off a message to Beau, when Brynn appears, looking like an absolute smoke show. Tight ripped jeans, a loose black silk blouse with the sleeves rolled up and an extra button undone at the top, and red strappy wedges. Her brown hair is styled in waves and her makeup is minimal, as usual.
As she descends the stairs, I work to convince myself that my words to Beau were the truth. Surely she’s not looking to date so soon after her breakup. She needs time and space before she’s ready to get back on the horse. Right?
Though I seem to remember getting back on the horse pretty quickly, and frequently, after my breakup with Kate.
Shit.
On our walk to the bar, my gut churns. Because it hits me: as her roommate, I actually might have to stand witness to her getting back out there. Going on dates. I’ll have to suck it up and smile and be supportive, because that’s what a friend would do. Because my comeback has to remain my number one focus.
When we step inside the bar down the street from the apartment, Beau and Paige have already found a table. And a small crowd has found them. They’re surrounded by four fans, asking Beau for autographs or selfies. When Paige sees Brynn at my side, her face lights up .
“Yay, you’re here!” She clasps Brynn’s wrist and pulls her into an empty seat.
Once the fans recognize me, there’s another round of napkin-and-ball-cap signing and I have to break out my celebrity smile for photos. But after that initial wave, the patrons return to their drinks and let us be.
We spend the next two hours laughing, drinking, and eating the bar’s famous soul burgers.
“You know this place is rumored to be haunted?” Paige asks between bites of her burger.
“Really?” Brynn wipes her mouth and takes a swig of her beer.
When her tongue darts out to catch a stray droplet, I’m mesmerized. But when Beau catches me looking and smiles like a smug son of a bitch, I tuck into my burger like it’s my last meal.
Paige, it appears, is oblivious to her fiancé’s presumption. “Your new place is in a historic building like this, right?”
“Yeah.” I wipe my hands on my napkin and set it beside my plate. “Built in 1920.”
“You think it’s haunted?”
Brynn snaps her head up, her brows shooting up into her hairline, making Paige cackle. “I hope not,” Brynn says. “You haven’t experienced any paranormal activity, have you, Griff?” Shit. Her affectionate use of the nickname does funny things to me. Warm, fuzzy things that I like too damn much.
“Uh, can’t say that I have. I’ll ask Lux if he’s had any ghosts show up asking for tattoos.”
“Oh, I met him today, too. He was so nice.”
“Who’s this?” Paige asks, dropping a forearm to the table and leaning in.
“Lux. He’s a friend of Tucker’s. My younger brother. He’s renting the downstairs space from me.”
“He’s hot. And he has an accent.” Brynn fans herself and leans closer to Paige, sharing a moment of levity with her new girlfriend .
Paige oohs and wags her brows.
But me? I see fucking red and grind my teeth so hard it makes my jaw ache. Not to mention that my grip on my beer bottle is concerning. I take a deep breath to calm my racing pulse, then roll my shoulders back once. Twice.
The girls gab on about how hot tattoos and British accents are; thank fuck they didn’t notice my almost-Hulk moment.
But it didn’t go totally unnoticed.
Beau Dempsey’s smug grin is back, and it’s reached epic proportions. When he gives me a told-you-so dip of his chin, I want to punch my friend in his perfect Captain America face.
I ignore my QB and affect an easy expression. I can act as though the way Brynn is describing the single man who shares our building as hot doesn’t bother me.
Because it shouldn’t bother me. Right?
Halfway through another round of beers, Paige invites Brynn to meet her and some of the WAGs at some hair place. The happiness evident in Brynn’s demeanor is almost enough to quell the jealousy from before. Almost.
After Beau and I pay our tabs, the bartender sidles up to the table. “Hey guys, uh, seems a slight crowd’s gathered outside. A few photographers. Guess word got out that you’re here.” He gives an apologetic shrug and collects our receipts.
My QB and I exchange a look. This is the first time I’ve had to deal with this since moving to Memphis, but it comes with the privilege of playing the sport we love on the biggest stage. It’s a necessary evil I’ve been accustomed to for a long time.
Paige has been a part of Beau’s life long enough to understand it, but Brynn’s never had to deal with nosy photographers following her home or shouting rude questions at her.
At the thought, a fierce protectiveness rises in my chest. I’d do just about anything to shield her from all of it.
But we can’t stay here all night .
“We’ll take the lead,” Beau offers. “We parked around the corner, so some will follow us. That’ll leave fewer for y’all to deal with.”
Brynn and I follow them to the door, though we stay hidden as they step out into the fray. The six paps hovering on the sidewalk break into a snapping frenzy, bright lights flashing and questions hurling like mad.
“Whoa,” Brynn breathes beside me. “It’s like feeding time for the sharks at an aquarium.”
“Yeah. I’m sorry about all this.”
She smiles up at me and says, “Lead the way, Lacey.”
Beau’s gamble about splitting them up proves fruitful. When I open the door to the cool night breeze, only three photographers remain. Still, they crowd the space outside the bar like they’re making a goal-line stand. The best way to handle them has always been to maintain a brisk pace all the way down the street, so I rest my hand on my lower back and signal for Brynn to take it with a finger wiggle.
Within seconds, her delicate fingers interlock with mine. Then I cut a path through the photographers and a few rubberneckers who’ve been drawn to the camera flashes.
All the way down South Main, all I can think is how fucking perfect her hand feels in mine.