12. Griffin
Chapter twelve
Griffin
“ A ll right, all right, quiet down!” Coach Mundy stands in a circle of football players in various stages of undress. The mood in this locker room is electric. “That was a team win out there. All three phases did their part to get us that victory.” He’s drowned out by a round of shouts and whistles, but considering there’s a huge grin alight under his thick mustache, he doesn’t mind. He gives it a minute, and when the pandemonium dies down, he holds his hand out, and Dobbins sets the game ball in his palm. When he holds it high, the room goes silent.
“This game ball goes to an undeniable asset to this team. He played a heck of a game out there today. We’re blessed that he suits up in blue every week.” Dramatic pause. “Eight catches. Sixty yards receiving. Two TDs.” Another pause, and Greenway prematurely smacks my pads. “Week eight game ball goes to number 89!”
Hoots and applause echo off the walls as Coach hands me the football.
I soak in the moment. Breathe it in, hold it tight, memorize it. This . This is what I fought like hell to get back to. Not the accolades, although those are hella satisfying. But the thrill of victory and the harmony we create when we battle for that win together. When a shared love of this game forges individuals into an unstoppable unit .
Football. It’s the fucking love of my life.
Greenway and Jefferson start a “Racy Lacey” chant, and they’re joined by almost every man in here. It’s tradition for the game ball recipient to make a short speech, so as I stand from the bench in front of my locker, the room quiets once more.
“Uh…” I clear my throat, choked up by my unexpected emotion. “Thanks so much for this, Coach. Means a lot to me.” With a deep inhale, I forge ahead. “This is my eleventh year in the league—”
Someone—pretty sure it’s Sweeney—coughs “Gramps.”
I wait for the responding chuckles to fade before I speak again. “So this is not my first game ball. But it might be the most special. I grew up not far from here, and I’ve bled Memphis Blue since I was a kid.” More cheers. “If someone had told nine-year-old Griffin that one day he’d play for this team, he…well, he was a bit of a shit, so he probably would’ve called them a fucking liar.” More chuckles. “It’s a privilege to wear this uniform, to know my family is here watching. But today’s victory was a team win. Special teams, y’all were fire today. Defense? Damn. No fucking quit against one of the best offenses in this division. And my offense—” Deep hoots and whoops sound out all around me. “Without y’all, I sure as hell wouldn’t have been open so that the best damn QB in the National Football League”—I hold a fist out to Beau for a bump, and the locker room goes wild—“could target me. Hell of a game today, boys. Blues on three!”
After the locker room celebrations, I grab a quick shower and dress in the clothes I arrived in hours ago. My least favorite part of game day is next—the press room. But when I play like I did today, the task isn’t nearly as painful.
Standing behind the podium, I scan the room of print and digital reporters. Jack’s probable dalliance, Andrea, is sitting in the third row. Man, I wish I could ask Kasey—the Blues’ media manager standing to my left—to skip the blond’s questions .
Kasey nods to a reporter in the front row, and the Q & A session is underway. I field questions about the team, my shoulder, and specific plays that led to the win. Before I know it, Kasey says, “Last question,” and points to a man at the back of the room.
“This was your best game of the season so far. What would you say was the difference today?”
I study the wood grain of the podium, stalling. I’ve given them plenty of highlight-worthy soundbites in the last few minutes—and they’ve all been the truth. Today’s win wouldn’t have happened without incredible contributions from all three units.
But…
Did I have extra motivation today?
A slow, secret smile pulls at my lips as I angle in closer to the microphone. “Yeah, I might’ve had a good-luck gem here today.”
Gem. Brynn Amethyst Nelson.
Knowing she was watching? Fuck yeah, it motivated me.
The memory of her face when she discovered I knew about her naughty voyeurism last night. And the enticing blush that spread from her gorgeous face all the way down her neck and chest, disappearing under the fluffy white terry cloth.
Fuck. I’m half hard behind this podium just thinking about how those luscious swells strained against that towel. And when she pulled that Blues T-shirt out of the bag and beamed up at me, bright as the goddamn sun, I had to hightail it out of there before I yanked her in and tasted the lips that’ve starred in every one of my water-logged fantasies.
Right now, I can’t wait to see her sporting Memphis blue. With any luck, my peeps convinced her to join them in the family zone for our after-game meet up.
On my way down the corridor, I pass the GM Shane and his asshole of an assistant, but I pay them no mind. Thank fuck they’re heading toward the offices, away from where Brynn is hopefully waiting .
When I reach my crew, I search for her. It only takes a moment to find her, as if she’s a beacon. She’s off to the side with Trixie, who’s no doubt regaling her with embarrassing stories from my childhood. Brynn is absolute perfection, wearing the colors of my heart like they were created just for her.
I stoop to hug Mom, and when she holds me close, the three words she murmurs warm me: “We love her.”
Of course they do. Who wouldn’t?
Following on the heels of that warmth, though, is an icy tendril of panic.
Because the reason I haven’t let myself pursue this woman was shot to hell today. One reporter called it my best game of the season, but in all honesty, it was my best game in a couple of seasons. Rather than causing my game to suffer, her presence kept me focused in a visceral way.
When my cleats hit that turf, I wanted nothing more than to impress her.
Maybe even more than I wanted to win.
And that’s fucking terrifying.
In a blink, I’ve gone from worrying about being distracted by a woman to fearing my performance will become reliant on her.
What a clusterfuck.
Brynn stands apart as I greet each of my family members, but as I get to the end of the line, she’s close, offering me her hand. And as we follow through with the synchronized pattern of our handshake, all the worries and panic are replaced by something else. The real and powerful and undeniable longing to simply make her mine.
Cap
Incoming.
It’s eleven forty-five, and I’m up reviewing the playbook for this weekend’s game in Charlotte. When I walked in after practice, I found a note from Brynn on the counter that said Girls’ Night with Paige . Scribbled next to her name, she’d drawn a tiny heart.
That fucking heart has haunted me for hours. As has my ever-growing need to get my hands on every part of her body. To let her burrow so deep into my life I can’t remember a time without her in it.
I want her. In my bed. On my arm. Any way I can have her. And definitely not as just friends .
But I’ve done fuck-all about it since I made this decision last Sunday.
Which, considering my history with women, is laughable. Not once has Racy Lacey been timid about making a move.
The stakes are unlike any I’ve faced before, though. I’ve got a helluva lot more on the line. If I fuck this up, I could lose one of my best friends. Even though we haven’t known each other long, Brynn has already become a trusted confidant. I love that she doesn’t hesitate to call me out on my shit. She’s genuine and smart and adorably nerdy, and I’m more myself with her than anyone outside of my family.
So yeah, I’ve been hesitant to approach her. I’m pretty confident she’d be into me calling an audible. But an unfamiliar twinge of doubt’s holding me back.
I’ve almost convinced myself it’s because I’m waiting for the perfect moment to work my Lacey magic. But I had a real fuck-it moment on the drive home tonight, when I thought about her perfect mouth and how desperate I am for it.
I’m like a moth that’s been circling her flame for weeks, and now, finally, I’m ready for her to burn me up .
I had every intention of walking in the door tonight and confessing my less-than-friendly feelings. From there, I was hoping like hell we’d make out like a couple of horny teenagers. But then…an empty apartment and the note.
My phone buzzes with another text.
Cap
Here. Come get your prize.
I peek out the front window, but the street’s empty, so I make my way to the back of the building and find Beau’s SUV idling behind the closed gate to our parking area. As I approach, the passenger side window lowers, and Paige’s blond head pops out.
“Woo! Racy Lacey! Come par-tay with us!”
With a chuckle, Beau wrangles his exuberant fiancée back inside.
“What the hell?” I step up to her window.
Beau holds both hands up. “Don’t shoot the driver. I’ve only been involved for the last twenty minutes. Paigey texted me to be their DD, and I found them at the bottom of a diver bucket at Silky’s—their third location.”
I bark a laugh. “Fuck.”
“God, I know.” He shakes his head. There’s no way these ladies won’t be waking up with massive hangovers.
Paige winks, though it’s definitely more of a blink, and boops the tip of my nose. “You’re cute, Racy.”
“And you’re drunk, Paige.”
“Shh,” she drunk-whispers, then pinches her fingers in front of her lips and twists, like she’s locking them closed. “Don’t tell Beau.” Another attempt at a wink. This one results in both sets of her lashes fluttering.
“I’m right here, babe.” He leans forward so he can see me around Paige and thumbs the back seat. “Yours is in back.”
I don’t correct him, and it feels right. She is mine .
When I open the back door, Brynn shields her eyes from the glow of the streetlight. “Hey, you.” Her smile is flirty and tipsy, enticing my mouth to curve in a grin.
I peer around her to find Carlos’s girlfriend Gina passed out in the seat behind Beau. “Let’s get you upstairs, ma’am. You’re going to be hurting in the morning.”
“Pssh.” She flips her hair over her shoulder. “I’m not…I’m not that drunk.”
“Mm-hmm.”
“I’m. Not. Thankyouverymuch.”
“Let’s go, champ.”
She swings her long boot-covered legs out of the car. Damn. I’m glad I wasn’t home when she left because I’d have gone full alpha male and demanded that she change. Not that I’d have any right, regardless of our relationship status, but there’s no way I could have stopped myself at the sight of her in this short button-front corduroy skirt. She’d tell me to fuck off—rightly so—and we’d have our first fight before we even hard-launched this thing.
Once she’s got both feet on the ground, I slam the car door and wave goodbye to Beau and Paige, who starts to lower the window again. Halfway down, the window raises again, and she frowns in confusion. With a chuckle, Beau reverses onto the street.
Just as we begin our trek to the building, Brynn almost crumples to the ground like a shaky newborn foal. “Careful with those sea legs, there.”
“I can walk. Watch.” She’s only taken a single wobbly step when she clutches my arm to steady herself.
We make it a few more feet before her ankle buckles in the tall boots, and then she’s giggling so hard she doubles over. At this rate, we’ll be out here all damn night.
“Fuck this.”
When I swing her up into my arms, bridal style, she gives a little yelp, but she loops her arms around my neck. I inhale her scent—that sweet yet floral fragrance that follows wherever she goes, mixed with a hint of alcohol and sweat—and hold it in my lungs.
She rakes her nails through my short hair, sending a heady shiver down my spine. “I like your hair,” she murmurs.
“I like your hair, too.”
Humming, she buries her nose in the crook of my neck and inhales.
This time, it’s my knees that almost give out.
“You always smell so good.”
I collect myself and chuckle, the sound making my chest vibrate. “You always smell so good, too.”
She pulls back to make eye contact. “Ooh.” She smiles, her eyes at half-mast. “I like this game. Compliment tit for tat.”
“Please don’t say tit , professor.” The warmth and weight of her body already have me walking a razor’s edge.
She giggles, a fucking adorable lilting sound I could become addicted to. Then her lips brush against my ear, her words breathy bursts of heat that threaten to bring me to my knees completely. “Feel free to compliment my tits anytime.”
“Shit.” My groin grows rock hard.
“You don’t think they’re nice?” She lowers her chin to examine her chest.
I swear if I don’t get us up these stairs soon, I’m going to combust.
“ Nice is not the word I’d use. They’re fucking fantastic.” What I don’t confess? That I’m dying to get my hands on them.
She lifts her chin and smiles, satisfied.
When I jostle her a bit to toe off my shoes at the top of the stairs, her eyes widen and she rolls her lips, then breathes an exhale through her mouth.
“Griff.” A pained whimper escapes. “I think I’m gonna be sick. ”
No hesitation, I sprint for my bathroom rather than braving another flight of stairs to hers. The second I lower her to the tile, she’s on her knees and lifting the toilet lid. She heaves, retching all of her night’s poor decisions into the bowl as I stand by, helpless. An anguished moan between gags has me joining her on the tile and rubbing comforting circles on her back, gently gathering her hair behind her nape. Her knuckles whiten as she clings to the sides of the bowl until she finishes.
“Oh, God. I think I’m dying.” She rests her cheek on the seat and blinks at me.
“You’re not dying. I won’t allow it.” I push a strand of her hair behind her ear, then collect the bottle of mouthwash and a clean washcloth from the cabinet.
Shaky, she stands, gripping the counter until she’s steady. As she swishes the minty liquid, she studies me in the mirror. After she spits and rinses, she finds my reflection again.
“Sorry I puked in your toilet.”
I bite back a chuckle. “Better there than anywhere else.”
She snorts, and then we’re grinning at each other in the mirror like a couple of smitten idiots. Between one blink and the next, her smile melts, and our gazes turn heavy with all the unspoken truths we’ve been carrying over the past few weeks.
I swallow back my thoughts, knowing I can’t expel them in a stream of consciousness that she likely won’t remember tomorrow.
Damn. Guess tonight’s not the night.
But the need to be near her remains strong. There’s no way I can put a full floor between us. She can sleep in my bed while she recovers from her girls’ night out. I’ll crash on the couch.
With a hand on her elbow, I say, “Let’s get you to bed.”
Her movements are still wobbly, even after emptying her stomach, so I guide her to the side of my bed and kneel to unzip her boots. When I close my fingers around the zipper on the inside of her knee, she jerks her leg so violently she almost kicks me in the face. Only my honed reflexes save my chin from the blow.
“Oh! I’msosorryGriff.” Her jumbled words slur as she sways above me.
I make another attempt at the boot, but this time she flops over in a fit of giggles.
“Tickles.”
A sigh escapes me. “Baby, work with me here.”
She bolts upright, lips parted, eyes as wide as they can be in her state. “You just called me baby.”
“I did.”
“Why?” Her voice is a breathy whisper.
I ignore the pang in my chest. What I’d give to lay it all out there now. “We’ll talk about it later, professor.”
Her brown eyes are hazy as she searches my face, as if looking for a promise, but then she nods, brings a hand to her mouth, and yawns.
Finally, she holds still long enough to allow me to unzip and remove her boots. If she notices how long my hands linger on her smooth calves as I do it, she doesn’t let on. It takes a goddamn avalanche of self-control to stop myself from running my hands up her bare legs, though.
I snag my favorite Sooners T-shirt from a drawer and toss it next to her. “I’ll grab some Tylenol and water while you change, if you think you can manage by yourself.”
“’Kay.” That one word is slow and drawn out.
I kill time in the kitchen by adding a new word to our ongoing crossword puzzle. Piggybacking off her last correct guess, I draw one box below and one above the E in the word pretzel . Underneath the ever-growing puzzle, I scrawl my clue: You are my good luck ____.
Then I gather up the pain relievers and water and hope like hell I’ve given her enough time. If I walk in on Brynn Nelson nearly naked in my bedroom, I’m not sure even a cold shower will be enough to settle me.
She wavers by the bed, her long, toned legs peeking out under the hem of my T-shirt. Fuck. I’ve never seen a more glorious vision. Even plastered, she’s a knockout. When she reaches inside the roomy cotton to unhook her bra, and then draws the straps down her arms, I’m frozen in place, a hostage to her every move. The lacy pale-purple bra she slips out from one sleeve makes my mouth go dry and sends molten lava pulsing through my veins. It’s one of the barely there undergarments I examined like a creeper in the laundry room. Fuck. I bite my cheek to keep from asking if she’s wearing the matching panties.
Without a word, she slips under the covers and pulls them up to her chest. When she’s settled, she lets out the most contented sigh.
For the first time in my thirty-five years, I stand over a woman and watch her sleep. My only thought? I don’t only want to go to bed with this woman. I want to wake up with her. Maybe for the rest of my life.