Page 32 of The Check Down

He doesn’t let go until after all the introductions have been made, and, feeling more at ease than I could have imagined, I give him a tiny nod. With a secret wink, he returns to his teammates. And I spend the next half hour getting to know some of the nicest, funniest women I’ve met in Memphis. These ladies are nothing like the group I tried to befriend shortly after moving here.

When Paige announces it’s time to eat, I excuse myself to find a bathroom. I make a wrong turn as I’m headed back to the kitchen and end up near the butler’s pantry, where Paige fetched my beer earlier. At the sound of deep voices in the walk-in space, I freeze.

One voice belongs to Griffin. I recognize the next voice, too—it’s the young guy Beau smacked when Griffin and I arrived. “She dumped Cockburn’s ass, and now she’s gonna be your roommate?” I slap a palm over my mouth to keep from laughing at the butchering of Jack’s last name. Do they really call him that? Griffin almost slipped up a couple of weeks ago, so that’s likely.

Holy hell, they call my ex-boyfriendCockburn.

“And you can handle that—having her as a roommate?” That voice, full of concern, but also authority, belongs to Beau. He asks the question confidently, like the team captain he is.

“Yeah, it’s cool.” My future roommate’s tone is nonchalant. “I told y’all—this season is my one priority. I won’t let anything stand in the way of finishing strong. No distractions, right? Besides, it’s not like that with her. We’re just friends.”

Scuffs of footsteps in the pantry send my heart racing. Without a second of hesitation, I rush back to the bathroom. By some miracle, I make it without being discovered eavesdropping. My stomach twists with guilt for listening to their conversation, but more so because of Griffin’s words.

We’re. Just. Friends.

I’ve been telling myself the same thing since he offered his friendship. And our time together has been so good for me.

So why does hearing that phrase from his mouth hurt so damn bad?

I rewash my hands, stalling so I don’t meet them in the hallway, and assess myself in the mirror. My cheeks and nose are tinged pink from our river walk, but the dark half-moons under my eyes are less prominent than they’ve been in years. Must be all that peaceful sleep I’ve been getting lately. That’s something to celebrate, I suppose.

I take a deep breath, focus on my mirror image, and whisper the reminder once more: “You’re just friends. And that will have to be good enough.”

But the sheen in my eyes proves that neither of us—real Brynn nor her reflection—believes the lie.

Chapter seven

Griffin

It’s not like that with her. We’re just friends.

Those words have played on a mental loop all damn week. And every repeat brings with it a heavy knot that settles under my rib cage. One that makes it hard to breathe as we run through these two-minute drills. At least we don’t wear pads on our Friday run-throughs.

To add to the tightness of that restricting knot, now Brynn’s going to be my fucking roommate for three months?

Tiny cartoon conscience Griff turned in his two-week notice when that offer passed my lips.

At least she dumped Jackwad Cockburn.

That’s why I was compelled to offer her a spare bedroom. I’d made not-so-subtle suggestions for her to dump his ass every time he came up, so I felt somewhat responsible for her change in living situation.

Beau’s snap count hits me, bringing my focus to the play. Despite the way my brain’s taken off more than once today, I run my route flawlessly and catch his pass at the back left corner of the end zone. When the whistle blows, we collect on the sideline, where the coaches go over last-minute adjustments.

Offensive coordinator Rasheed Dobbins adjusts his cap and waves Beau and me over. Dobbins is one of the youngest OCs in the league; he’s been praised for his inventive and sometimes risky play-calling, but what most don’t see is how methodical and deliberate he really is. He reviews a couple of pass-plays for this week’s game against Chicago before we join our teammates and head to the locker room.

After that loss in the second week, the Blues have won both on the road and at home, giving us a three-and-one record. More importantly, my own gameplay has improved drastically since that day. I’m settling into the rhythm of the team dynamics and coaching styles. And Beau and I have connected, both on the field and off, in the past few weeks. A ride-or-die friendship with my QB is something I haven’t had for the past few seasons, and I’ve missed it.

Football is full throttle these days, and I’m fucking stoked.

So why the hell do I rush through my shower, anxious to hurry home and greet my new roommate?

After ensuring a TA could cover her classes this morning, Brynn moved her things in. She insisted that she didn’t have much to haul over and it would only take her a couple of trips in her SUV. Even so, I had a moving company waiting at Jack’s Cooper-Young address at eight a.m. I also arranged for Lux, Tucker’s buddy who’s renting the first floor, to let her into the back gate and building.

“Hey, Lacey. Jefferson and I are hitting up Beale Street tonight. You in?” Devon Greenway peers at me from the locker room doorway, expression hopeful.

Greenway’s been begging me to be his wingman since I got here. In years past, I would’ve jumped at the prospect of a wild Friday night out with my teammates, even with an early Saturday practice looming. Today, though, all I want to do is get home and check on Brynn.

“Man, raincheck?”

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