9. Brynn
Chapter nine
Brynn
“ I ’m telling y’all, if Carlos proposes, I’m keeping my maiden name.” The table erupts with laughter.
I smile at the women seated around the table, though the joke is lost on me.
Paige, clearly reading my confusion, tips closer. “She’s dating Carlos, on the O-line.”
Smile still planted, I give a little shake of my head.
“Carlos Butts. He’s number sixty-four.”
“No way am I gonna be Gina Butts,” the woman across from us wails.
More giggles and chuckles ring through the air. This time, I join in, letting a small laugh escape.
The quiet raven-haired woman next to the potential future Mrs. Butts consoles her with a pat on her shoulder, then looks my way. “I love what he and Griffin are doing on the sidelines.”
Paige introduced this woman as D’Angelo Sweeney’s longtime girlfriend, Charmaine. The group turns curious eyes my way, but again, I’m clueless.
“She doesn’t watch the games, y’all.” Paige waves it off like it’s no big deal, but there’s an intake of breath from somewhere at the table.
My cheeks heat in embarrassment as the group assesses me .
Charmaine angles forward. “Carlos and Griffin make it a point to stand next to each other on the sidelines as often as they can. When they do, their jerseys read—”
“Lacey Butts!” Gina cackles, sending the rest of the table into another bout of laughter.
Our food arrives, and the women go quiet. We’re all occupied with our salads or BLTs or fancy grilled cheeses for a few moments.
I swallow down a bite of my sandwich and peer around at the charming restaurant’s glass-bricked booths and the tables set among vintage hair dryers. “This place is so cute. It really used to be a beauty shop?”
“Mm-hmm.” Gina sets down her BLT. “Ms. Priscilla had her hair done here back in the day.”
“You should come to a game, Brynn. You can always sit with us.” This from Shannon, the center’s very pregnant wife.
“I’ve been before, I just…” I flush again, under the scrutiny of so many curious eyes. “Y’all are so different from the WAGs I met then.” Instantly, I cringe, regretting my bluntness, but they all smile or laugh.
“When did you hang with Blues’ WAGs?” Shannon asks, holding her fork in midair.
“I told y’all—she used to date Shane’s assistant.” Paige’s firm tone sends the message that I will not be elaborating on my ex.
I’m so thankful I could cry. I convey my appreciation with a nod, and she winks back.
With a harrumph , Gina points her fork at one woman at a time. “I guaran-damn-tee you she’s talking about Blair Barkley and her crew.”
Elise, the stunning redhead at the end of the table, pipes up. “Oh, honey, that bitch has been gone for a minute. Her husband was traded to Denver two seasons ago. With the HBIC gone, most of her minions have scattered. Though there are still a couple of hangers-on.” She eyes the rest of the women with a knowing glint .
There are head bobs and mm-hmm s to confirm.
“Yeah, we’re way nicer than those heifers.” Charmaine’s smile shows off her adorable dimples.
Despite my best efforts, I can’t resist giving in to the kindness of these women. “Okay, okay,” I say with a sigh. “I’ll come to a game.”
The whole table breaks out in cheers, once again causing a blush to work its way up my neck and into my cheeks.
“The Laceys have a suite. You could sit with them if you don’t want to hang with the WAGs.” Shannon gives Paige a quick glance but focuses on me again. “What’s the deal with you and him, anyway?”
The group freezes, and Gina’s utensils clang against her plate like a gunshot. Paige shoots daggers at Shannon, who simply gives an abashed shrug and rearranges her salad with her fork.
The heat I felt a moment ago is nothing like the inferno that engulfs me from head to toe as they scrutinize me. With a thick swallow, I consider how to answer. Do I tell these virtual strangers that I have a huge crush on my friend and temporary roommate? A swarm-of-butterflies, can’t-breathe-when-he’s-near, makes-me-feel-sixteen-again crush that’s grown to epic proportions in the two weeks we’ve shared an address? Do I tell them that my life flashed before my eyes—in a good way—last week when he almost kissed me at that arcade? That he made my whole year when he scarfed down every bite of the pasta dish I spent hours on for his birthday? That when he asked for seconds, I almost wept with pride?
Do I tell them how terrified I am that my crush is turning into something more ? Something powerful and irrevocable?
Paige opens her mouth to come to my defense, but I place a hand on her forearm and swallow down my discomfort. “We’re friends. Friends who happen to be rooming together for the next few months. I’ve got a place lined up in the faculty townhomes, but it won’t be available until the semester is over.”
By the pursed lips and raised brows, it’s obvious some of these women want to probe deeper, but they’re either too polite to try or scared of Paige’s mama bear vibes. I don’t blame them for being curious. How often do we hear that men and women can’t ever be just friends ?
Though I’d gladly leap if Griffin ever indicated that he’d jump with me, he’s made it clear that our relationship will remain firmly in the friend zone. But our newfound friendship is precious to me, and the last thing I want is to jeopardize it. It’s revived me, bringing me back to life like a wilting flower after a spring shower, and I’m soaking up every drop of companionship he offers.
Even if that almost-kiss haunts my dreams. And my waking hours. Because if he’s so intent on remaining friends, why the hell did he study my mouth like he was dying for a taste of it?
The rest of the meal passes without invasive questions. Mostly, the women regale me with tales of what it’s like to have a famous athlete for a partner. Several safe questions about my life are lobbed my way, as well, so I’m included in the conversation far more than I expected when I arrived.
“See? That wasn’t so bad.” Paige waves goodbye to the rest of the group from the sidewalk, then she links her arm through mine and leads me to our parking spot down the street. “Sorry about Shannon. Her filter’s wonky sometimes, but I promise she’s harmless.”
“Thank you for including me. It really means a lot. And everyone was super friendly.” A lump forms in my throat, but I blink back the emotion before it has a chance to dig in. For the first time since I moved here, I have a handful of real friends.
“Of course, girlie.” She bumps her shoulder into mine as we amble to her SUV. “When we met, I knew you’d be special to me. I had that meant-to-be feeling, you know? ”
I nod, too choked up to respond. I suppose maybe I sensed it, too, though it’s been so long since I’ve connected with anyone that I didn’t trust it.
“When you meet someone, but you could swear you’ve known them your whole life? I have a knack for these things.” She sighs, a smile tipping her lips. “I knew I was going to marry Beau within five minutes of meeting him. Gah.” Her expression instantly dulls. “I hate away-game weekends,” she pouts. “And two in a row is the worst.”
The Blues eked out a win in New York last weekend, and today, Griffin and his teammates are flying to Washington after their morning walk-throughs and meetings. I imagine two weekends away from one’s significant other would be hard. Funny how it never bothered me when Jack traveled with the team.
We’re a few feet from the car when she says, “Beau said that Griff is nervous about this Washington game.”
Heart fluttering—its default when a certain tight end is mentioned or in my proximity—I draw to a stop and twist to face her. “Why is he nervous?”
“He was injured on their field last season. When that late hit dislocated his shoulder and tore his labrum?”
My heart sinks. “I knew he was injured last season and needed surgery, but I didn’t know this game was weighing on him.” I roll my lips together and study the grass separating the street from the sidewalk, making a mental note to text Griffin some words of encouragement when I get home.
“Hey…Brynn.” Paige’s soft voice shifts my focus back to her. “He’ll be all right. It’s what they do—they get back on the horse.” She nods to reassure me, and I copy her head bobs with my own. “And you know how I said I have a knack for knowing things immediately when I meet people?”
“Yeah? ”
She purses her raspberry-glossed lips. “You and Mr. Racy Lacey?” she says, a brow arched. “I’m not sure which one of y’all is in denial, or if it’s both of you. But there is nothing just friends about this whole situationship.”
I open my mouth to protest, but Paige grabs my hand and squeezes.
“Don’t worry, though,” she insists. “Your secret’s safe with me. But if you ever want to talk about it, I’m here for you. And I promise not to tell Beau. The man is a bigger gossip than his Great-Aunt Clara.”
Paige spends the drive back to Griffin’s trying to convince me to travel with her to the away game in two weeks.
I find myself wanting to say yes; it’s in Charlotte, which is a short flight from Memphis. And it’s in the same time zone as my parents. It may seem silly, but it would make me feel closer to them.
After Paige drops me off, I slip off my shoes, light my favorite candle, and cozy up on the huge sectional sofa. As my body melts into the soft leather, I regard my phone. What should I say to Griffin? You got this ? Break a leg, but not a shoulder ?
My phone buzzes in my hand, making me flinch, but when I see who the message is from, my heart double-times.
Griffin
This is me. On the plane. With nothing to read.
A selfie comes through next. He’s propped his chin on a fist, and he’s gazing out the plane window with a bored expression on his handsome face. I take a moment to appreciate the way his broad shoulders fill the frame. Then I zoom in. An immediate warmth flushes through me as I admire the shape of his lips and how blue his eyes are in this shot. Like a kid worried about being caught with her hand in a candy jar, I zoom out and glance around the empty apartment.
Crossword puzzles for the win!
Griffin
I finished the last book. Mom’s supposed to bring me more next weekend.
I hear mobile games are all the rage these days.
C’mon, professor. I’m in the mood to get lost in an epic story.
Paige did mention his concerns about this game. A distraction would probably help. Before I have a chance to second-guess myself, I navigate to my drive and share Draig 1.0 with Griffin’s personal email address. Then I squeeze my eyes tight and hold my breath until another message buzzes through.
It’s another selfie, and this time, he’s sporting a goofy, open-mouthed grin. I laugh at his youthful expression. Until, that is, the reality of what I’ve done crashes down, making my stomach drop.
Please don’t tell me if you hate it. Or if it’s bad.
I’ve never let anyone read it, so I’m not even sure if it’s readable.
It’s probably total garbage. Hope it gives you a good laugh.
[crying laughing emoji x 3]
Those three little response bubbles tease me for an interminable length of time, then disappear.
A wave of dread washes through me, and I flop over on the couch, burying my face in the plush softness. It’s only a moment before another buzz makes me bolt upright.
Griffin
Professor. Chill. If it’s from your brain, it’s guaranteed to be amazing.
I read the words several times, willing them to sink deep into my soul, where I can keep them forever.
It’s moments like this that add fuel to the fire of my crush. He’s gorgeous, a perfect physical specimen, of course. But he’s also hilarious and kind, and he has the canny ability to say just what I need to hear at just the right time. He does the most thoughtful things—like scheduling movers and ensuring I’m comfortable at a gathering before walking away. On the surface, those gestures might seem ordinary or insignificant, but they’re more than meaningful to me.
Griffin’s little acts of service remind me so much of the small ways my dad shows his big love for my mom. Like bringing her coffee in bed every morning and starting her car for her on cold days so it can warm up before she leaves.
The giddiness building inside me deflates, though, when those words I overhead that afternoon filter into my thoughts.
It’s not like that with her.
Maybe all his little gestures are nothing more than friendly, charitable acts. Simply one friend helping another when she’s down on her luck.
Paige was right—one of us is in denial. And it’s not my hunky NFL superstar roommate.
I spend the rest of the afternoon catching up on research and trying not to be obsessive about checking my phone for Griffin’s reactions to my story. I even update my résumé and LinkedIn profile before I deep dive into a search of small, liberal arts colleges in Florida.
Now that Jack and I are no longer together, I don’t know that I even want to stay in Memphis. Sure, I’ve made a few friends, but are they enough to keep me here?
It’s best that I have a backup plan.
Since I had a big lunch, I make myself a bowl of cereal for dinner, being sure to snap a picture of the colorful, sugary pieces floating in the pristine milk and send it to Griffin.
You’re a terrible influence. Cereal for dinner.
My phone chimes a few bites later.
Griffin
Niiiiice. Dinner of champions.
Still nothing about my book. I’m dying to know what he thinks. Maybe he started reading it and gave up after only a few paragraphs. Ugh.
I’m left to stew in my insecurities until bedtime. It isn’t until I’m brushing my teeth that my phone buzzes on the bedside table. I force myself to finish the rest of my nighttime routine and get comfortable in bed, Barnaby tucked to my chest, before I let myself reach for it.
His first text is a selfie. In it, he’s shirtless, leaning against the headboard in his hotel room. The picture doesn’t show anything below his collarbone, but the glimpse of dark hair and chiseled pecs sends heat creeping through me, forcing me to shove the thick comforter down to my waist. His blue-gray eyes are narrowed, his dark brows drawn close, and short stubble highlights the smirk playing on his lips .
The next text is a single word.
Griffin
Professor.
A thrill zips down my spine.
Griffin
This Gethin character. He’s my favorite.
I huff a laugh. Of course he’s a fan of the brooding, mysterious knight.
Griffin
Need I point out that Gethin and Griffin are VERY similar names? The similarities don’t stop there either. We’re both dark-haired and devastatingly handsome.
The name literally translates to ‘dark and swarthy’ [eye roll emoji]
You and your name translations. What does Griffin mean, I wonder?
Pain in the ass.
You wound me, Hill. I’ve already looked it up. Feel free to call me Lord or Prince anytime.
That one pulls a snort-laugh from me. Sitting up, I type my response.
Hill, huh? I think I’ll stick with Racy for you.
Griffin
If you must, not-a-hill. Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone that I’m the inspiration for your hot, charming, badass warrior knight.
I started writing that before I met you, so…
Feel free to reveal my contributions in the acknowledgments. You know, when this becomes a real book. Because it’s really fucking good, Brynn.
My heart pangs, and the phone screen blurs in front of me. I have to blink several times to make out his next message.
Griffin
I mean it. It’s so damn fun and exciting. It’s got high-stakes adventure, cool-ass dragons, and a touch of romance. I couldn’t put it down. Beau had to drag me from my seat on the plane when we landed. I had just gotten to the part where Eleri makes the deal with Aethon for the sword, and I didn’t want to stop. I love it. Please keep going.
Really?!?! I’m so happy you like it! [smiling face emoji]
For real. I made it to their first kiss scene after dinner, but stopped because my head is killing me. I’ll get back into it tomorrow on the ride home.
Griff! Why are you texting me if you feel bad? Go to sleep. Hope you feel better when you wake up.
No worries. I sometimes get stress headaches the night before big games. I’ll rally.
You’re going to kick ass, Lord and Prince of Football. Sweet dreams.
Putting Lord and Prince of Football on all my social media. Be good, professor. See you tomorrow night.
I return my phone to the charging pad on the table and snuggle into my pillow. With a smile and Barnaby’s soft, worn wings between my fingers, soothing me, I drift off.
Turns out, denial is a powerful sedative.