Page 23 of The Check Down

He doesn’t look up from his phone when I enter the kitchen, nor when I place my steaming mug of coffee on the counter across from him. I study the planes of his downturned freshly shaved face. How the hell hasthisbecome my life? I’m stuck—in a relationship, in a city, in a doctoral program—I’m not even sure I want to be in anymore. Do all thirty-year-olds feel this way? Mired in purgatory? On the cusp of true adulthood, yet feeling unequipped to make the transition?

I’m terrified about confronting my boyfriend, but Griffin’s words from last night give me the courage to do it anyway.

Being with you is a privilege. He’s gotta earn that shit.

“Who’s the blond I saw you with last night, Jack?”

My voice startles him. With a palm on his chest, he regards me with wide eyes. “Shit, bun. Give me a heart attack, why don’t you?” He blows out a slow exhale, squares his shoulders, and gives me his full attention. “I talked to a lot of people last night. You’ll have to be more specific.” He blinks a few times, all innocent and curious.

My pulse accelerates, but I fight to maintain my cool, keeping all emotion from my tone. “The one you looked super cozy with, up against the wall. The two of you were mighty close to each other.” Maintaining eye contact is a struggle, but I succeed. “Didn’t look too professional to me.” I cross my arms so he won’t notice my shaking hands.

Jack’s composure doesn’t slip, but color creeps above the collar of his pale yellow button-down. He fixes an indulgent smile on his face. “You’re cute when you’re jealous, bun.”

“Who is she, Jack?”

His smile slips a fraction. “I guess it could’ve been Andi—er, Andrea. Vernon. She covers the Blues and the Bears for SNN.” Nonchalant, he lifts one shoulder. “She tries to flirt exclusive insider info out of anyone who’ll talk to her.” He brings his Bluesmug to his lips and takes a sip. As he sets it down again, he says, “You know how the media is. We’ve gotta play their game. So if it appeared like I was flirting back, I assure you it was for the sake of the team and nothing more.”

I assess him, unconvinced of his innocence, but at the same time doubting myself. Maybe the closeness and the flirty smileswerefor the sake of the team. Jack’s job is priority number one for him. I accepted this before we moved in together. For a long time, that’s what I thought I wanted, too—to be with someone who was fine with coming in second place. We’ve maintained this relationship with the understanding that our careers come first for years.

But maybe that’s not good enough for me anymore.

Maybe I want to be someone’s first place.

And maybe I’m ready to make someonemyfirst place, too.

Jack slides off his stool and comes around the bar. “Bun…” He grasps my upper arms and twists me so that we face each other. I steel myself for more excuses. Instead, he simply says, “I’ve got to get to the office. It’s my turn to cook dinner, so I’ll pick up steaks on my way home.” He gives me a gentle shake to force my attention from the buttons on his shirt. “Have a good day.” With a quick peck on my cheek, he heads to the front door, leaving behind the sharp menthol scent of his aftershave.

I stand frozen until a honk outside startles me. While his car is being repaired, he’s been getting a ride with one of his work buddies. I hold my breath for a moment, then I bask in the silence as I finish my coffee and start my day. I’m still as unsure about my relationship with Jack as I was last night, but it’s a relief to be alone for now.

Jack and I maintain the holding pattern for the next couple of days. I don’t bring up the blond again, and he carries on as if I nevermentioned her to begin with. He pecks my cheek each morning before he dashes off to work. On the weekend, he travels with the team to their away game in Houston.

I teach, hold office hours, and conduct research for my dissertation, all the while peeking at my phone to see whether Griffin’s texted details about Tuesday.

As I leave the library on campus on Monday afternoon, my phone buzzes in my back pocket.

Griffin

Tomorrow. Meet me at 1927 Madison Ave at noon.

A ribbon of giddiness twirls through me, only to be tempered by reality.Slow your roll, Brynn. He’s a friend. And you still have Jack.

I try hard not to take special care in choosing my outfit on Tuesday morning, but the discarded clothes I pile on the end of the bed before I leave for work are evidence of my failure. Since it’s still warm, I opt for a short-sleeved chambray shirtdress. I pair it with my rose-pink Vans, not knowing whether we’ll be walking a bit.

Time ticks by at a painfully slow pace, and I panic when a student sticks her head in my door five minutes before my designated office time is up. Luckily, she only has a few clarifying questions about a recent assignment. Once we’re both confident that she’s on the right track to complete it, I force myself to take my time packing up my laptop and locking up my office, even though every molecule of my body screams at me to hurry.

Preferring to be surprised, I’ve refused to look up the address that Griffin sent. All I know before I arrive is that it’s located in Midtown. I find a place to park behind the building, and when I round the structure, Mr. Tall, Dark, and Handsome is waiting for me.

If we weren’tjust friends, I might swoon at the sight of him.

He’s dressed more casually than I’ve seen him before, in jeans, Adidas sneakers, and a faded, worn Oklahoma football T-shirt that looks soft stretched across his broad chest. Covering his dark hair is a tattered khaki ball cap with a round logo that saysLacey Farmsunder a cluster of bean pods.

“Hey, not-a-professor.” He breaks into that full-wattage smile that makes me the good kind of nervous. “Ready?” he asks, holding a hand out. “Let’s get it right this time.”

We attempt the elaborate handshake, but our fingers get twisted up halfway through.

I toss my head back and laugh. “It’s two slaps before the fist stack, remember?”

“Yep.” He nods, biting back a smile. “Go again.”

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