Page 10 of The Check Down

Of course, I felt like an utter moron when he told me his name. I should have recognized him. Jack’s been talking about him nonstop for weeks. But in my defense, I’m not even one iota interested in football (American or European), so my brain had no visual to connect to.

And what a visual I’vebeen missing out on.

I blink to clear the memory of him from my mind, and like every other time I’ve thought of his tall, powerful frame and his charming smile, my insides clench. That sensation, like always, is quickly followed by a wave of nausea.

No woman with a live-in boyfriend should be having such thoughts about another man. One she crashed said boyfriend’s car into, at that.

Jack pauses in the middle of the kitchen to check his smartwatch. A text. I know because his lips lift in the smallest of smiles. Then he whips out his phone to text the person back.

He’s shared that same smile with his phone or watch many times over the past month. A couple of times, I’ve dared to ask him who he’s texting. His reply?It’s just work stuff.

“You’re wearing green?” He gives me a once-over, scrutinizing the hunter-green cocktail dress with lace bodice and cap sleeves I bought especially for tonight.

“What’s wrong with green?”

Jaw going rigid, he looks down at his navy tie. When his icy stare returns to my face, he huffs an impatient breath. “The team is called the Blues, for Christ’s sake. How is it going to look if my date shows up wearing the color of one of our biggest division rivals? The rivals who beat our asses two days ago, no less.”

Hisdate. Not his girlfriend. I add it to the mental list of grievances I’ve been keeping lately. The list that makes me feel like a crappy partner.

“I’m sorry.” And I am. But I can’t hold back the snark that laces my next statement. “I didn’t know I’d be expected to wear blue toallthe things.”

“Brynn…” He pinches the bridge of his nose and shakes his head. “I don’t want to fight with you tonight. Let’s just go.”

I don’t have the energy to fight either. And isn’t that telling? Couples who arein ittogether fight, right? Then the passionate making up follows.

Both the fighting and the passion are missing from this situation Jack and I have settled into. It’s relatively comfortable most of the time, but it’s like we’ve painted ourselves into a corner, and the only way out is to make an absolute mess.

Shoulders back, I snag the matching clutch that cost way too much from the island and stand. “You look nice,” I tell him as I stride his way in my velvet flats.

I reach Jack’s side, ready for him to lead the way, but he’s engrossed in his phone.

Distracted. Like he’s been for the past few weeks.

After a moment, he looks up, eyes wide like he’s surprised to see me here. “Oh, uh, thanks. Let’s head out. Downtown traffic is going to be a bitch.”

Somewhere inside me, another petal wilts and falls away.

I pause on the front porch of the bungalow Jack and I share, weighed down by the sultry September air, as he locks the front door. I wiggle my toes in the stuffy velvet shoes and grimace. I’m regretting them already, but I don’t own any open-toe flat shoes fancy enough to wear with this dress, so here we are.

Heaven forbid I wear the strappy heels that would make me taller than mydate.

“We’ll have to take yours.” Jack holds out his hand without looking at me, his tone flat.

He leaves it at that, but as I fish my key ring out of the clutch, the words he isn’t saying ring loud and clear:Because you wrecked mine.

Once we’re inside my Forester, he adjusts the driver’s seat position with an annoyed huff. He’s only an inch taller than me, so the need for dramatic seat adjusting is unnecessary. I keepthatthought to myself.

As he fiddles with the buttons to get the settings right, I study the man I’ve shared a bed with for the past four years. He’s classically handsome, with light brown hair styled to perfection andclean-shaven cheeks that frame a straight, symmetrical nose. Nice lips. Crystalline eyes that match the sky reflected on a frosty winter lake.

Eyes a similar color, but so very different from the blue ones I stared into a couple of days ago.

Thoseeyes were warm and captivating, a soft bluish gray that twinkled with mischief and mirth. That sharpened with concern when their owner comforted me. That made me feelseenfor the first time in a long time.

I graze my fingertips over the spot where Griffin soothed my wrist, like I can conjure the sensation by recreating the movement. Recreate the way his strong hands held me so gently, but with a firmness that made it clear he wouldn’t let go until I was steady.

If I close my eyes tight enough, I swear I catch a whiff of his fresh air and cedar scent.

No. I force my eyes open. I shouldn’t be having such thoughts about a man who isn’t Jack.

---