Page 17 of The Check Down

She barks out one single “ha” but quickly sobers. “You never know.”

I pop another piece of sausage into my mouth and chew as I assess her. “Where’d you grow up?”

“Florida. Cocoa Beach. My dad worked for NASA.”

Fuck. This woman is going to bowl me over by the end of the night. “No shit?”

“No shit. He was an electrical engineer there. Retired about five years ago. My mom…” She sighs, then clears her throat. “She’s a small-business owner.”

That sigh piques my interest. “What kind of business?”

“Uh, it’s a little beach shop.” She picks up her water glass, takes a swig. Stalling. Her cheeks flush again, and she won’t meet my eye.

My imagination runs rampant. What kind of “little beach shop” would embarrass her?

“Brynn?”

Her gaze finally settles back on me. “Yes?”

Fighting a smile, I straighten. “Does your mom own a sex shop on the beach?”

“What?No,” she sputters so loudly that when she snaps her mouth shut, she peeks around to see if she caught the attention of anyone nearby. “No,” she repeats, softer, her chin lowered. “It’s nothing like that. It’s…”

I splay my hands on the table in front of me and tilt closer. “I’m dying here, professor.”

“Not a professor.” Her eye roll and bossy tone only make me want to call her that more. “It’s just that my parents are a little…unconventional.”

“Nature enthusiasts,” I recall. “That’s what you said, right?”

Her thick, dark lashes fly open. “Yes.” Shoulders bunched, she studies her water glass as if she’s never seen one before. “They definitely love nature. They’re—they’re wonderful. I love them dearly. But…” She sucks in a deep breath, fixes her gaze back on me, and whispers, “They’re hippies.”

Head tilted back, I laugh, the sound bursting from deep inside my chest. This woman is so goddamn captivating. When I manage to contain my amusement, I lower my chin and find her gaping at me, a mixture of fascination and disbelief on her face.

“You’re hilarious.”

Her responding scowl is so damn cute. “I’m not.”

“Here I was worried you were going to confess that your parents are wanted criminals or doomsday preppers, but then you hit me with the truth: they’re a couple of free-spirited beach hippies. Please tell me they have a Volkswagen bus.”

She shakes her head. “Sorry to disappoint. They drive hybrids.”

Fuck. I haven’t laughed this much in months. “Damn. What a wasted opportunity.”

That earns me another eye roll.

“I want to meet these beach hippies one day.”

She snort-laughs. “If that ever happens, prepare for my mom to ask for details about your sex life.” The instant the words leave her lips, her face turns a shade of pink that would rival the hue of my mom’s beloved azaleas. She slaps a palm over her mouth, her eyes as round as the now-empty plate between us.

I know it’s a bad idea, but I say it anyway: “I’m an open book in that department. She can ask away.”

In response, her lips part, and I swear her eyes darken.

Shit. I shouldn’t say things like that to a woman I have no intention of being more than friends with. Shouldn’t be wishing she’d ask me about my sex life herself so I could describe in detail all the ways I’d love to make her—

Nope.Keep it in the fucking friend zone, Lacey.

Chest heaving slightly, Brynn takes a drink of water. Sets her glass on the table only to snatch it up again for a second swallow. With one hand, she gathers her wavy hair at her nape and drapes it over her shoulder. I’m attuned to reading the nuances of a defenseman’s body language, so it’s second nature to collect a list of Brynn’s physical tells and catalog them for later.

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