Page 9 of The Check Down

With a hand stuck in my trousers pocket, I dip my chin. “Close on it next Tuesday.”

“Cool. Where?”

I chuckle. “It’s actually a whole damn building. On South Main.”

Beau’s brows raise, and he lets out a puff of air.

“Yeah, three-story building. First floor houses a tattoo shop. My brother’s buddy rents the space from this old oil-and-gas tycoon, but Mr. Moneybags wants to sell off some of his real estate. Tuck’s friend was going to have to move his shop unless the new owner agreed to keep him as a tenant. I wanted a place in the city, so much to Donna’s dismay, Tuck suggested I check it out.”

“Wow. Donna’s your mom?”

“Yep. She’s been convinced I’d stay out at the family farmsince I signed the contract. But I’m not making a two-hour round trip to work every day.”

“Don’t blame you,” Beau says, handing his empty glass to a passing server. “You won’t mind living in the city like that?”

I follow suit and hand off my glass, taking a moment to consider my answer before responding. “It’s very different from where I’ve been living for the past several months, but in Nashville, I had a condo downtown, and I liked it fine. Plus, the setup at this place is sweet. It’s two stories, with a gated lot out back for parking. It’s as private as you can get in the middle of a city.”

“Sounds sweet,” Beau confirms. “What are you thinking about—”

Tyrell hustles over, cutting off Beau’s words. He’s been off schmoozing, but now his dark eyes glow like they’re full of secrets.

“Guys,” he starts, his tone hushed but excited. “Cockburn is here.”

I gather from the guys’ eye rolls and disgusted faces that the person he’s referring to is not a favorite. “Excuse me, did you say this person’s name isCockburn?”

Chuckling, D’Angelo explains, “Naw, we just call him that. His real name is Cogburn.”

“And I take it we’re not a fan of this Cogburn?”

“Ugh, no.” Devon’s top lip curls, his usual happy-go-lucky demeanor gone. “He’s front office, and a real douche. Works under Phillips.”

Shane Phillips is the GM for the Blues, and he’s a big reason I’m here. I’ve only met him a handful of times, but he, like Coach Mundy, has a solid rep. So the guys’ dislike of this Cogburn guy is telling.

Beau, ever the diplomat, chimes in. “He’s kind of a blowhard. He’s worked for Shane for the past few years. Fortunately, we don’t deal with him much, but he’s shown his butt enough to earn that nickname.”

“He’s a dick,” Tyrell states, his voice a little too loud. “But,” he says, quieter now, “he’s a dick who showed up tonight with a looker on his arm. Please tell me how Cockburn can pull a woman likethat.”

He swings his arm wide, and when I follow his line of vision across the ballroom, my heart lurches in my chest.

Fuck.

Because the woman on the weaselly-looking frat boy’s arm is brunette beauty Brynn, wearing the hell out of a dark-green dress.

Chapter three

Brynn

The tap of Jack’s wingtips on the ceramic tile pulls my attention from the window. I’ve been staring outside, lost in my thoughts, for close to thirty minutes. He was adamant that we leave at seven, so I was sure to be ready early, lest he have another thing to gripe at me about.

Seems I can’t do anything right these days.

Like I knew he would, Jack complains about his car every chance he gets. I haven’t told him who the victim of my distracted driving was. It’ll come up soon, I’m sure. Though I don’t know whether it will help or hurt my case when he discovers that I rammed intothatparticular rear end.

Nope. Not letting my mind wanderthere.

Griffin Lacey.

I’d never admit this out loud, but for the past fifty-six hours, he’s popped into my mind far too many times, and at the most random moments.

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