Page 34 of The Check Down

“Were you nice?”

He opens his mouth to protest but breaks into a smile instead. “I’m always nice.”

Now I’m the one preparing for a comeback, but he beats me to it.

“Withone exception.”

Correct. He and my ex, Kate, butted heads on the regular. The guy tried his damnedest to throw a celebration when we ended things.

He slips his hands into the pockets of his well-pressed khakis and rocks back on his heels. “So…” he drags out. “What’s the deal with you and Gorgeous up there?”

I groan. Not him, too. “We’re fucking friends, Seth.”

He smirks. “Are you fucking friends orfuckingfriends?”

I smirk back, though the expression is probably more menacing than anything. “Have you talked to Daniel today?”

“Low blow, Lacey.” Seth squares his shoulders and straightens. He’s several inches shorter than me, but the effort is admirable. “He’s on his way here for the weekend, if you must know.”

Seth’s boyfriend opted not to move to Memphis for the time being, so the two are attempting a long-distance thing. I gave Seth the choice to stay in Nashville and do his job remotely, but he balked at that idea. Can’t say that I don’t appreciate his dedication, I guess.

“How’s the apartment?” He found a nice one-bedroom in a development about twenty minutes from my place.

“Empty. I’ve been kinda busy.”

That’s an understatement. He’s been in town for a little over a week, and he’s spent the bulk of that time organizing my move and getting my place set up. He purchased all of the furniture sitting upstairs (after sending me pictures via text for approval), and he coordinated with the movers who brought my things from my parents’ house and the townhouse in Nashville. The guy deserves a major bonus for ensuring that I haven’t wanted for a thing since I moved to town.

He’s really good at his job. I’m about to tell him so, but he doesn’t give me the opportunity.

“So,” he blurts, “you’ve only known this woman for a couple weeks, right? Are you sure she’s legit? Like, she’s not some undercover jersey chaser or a low-key psycho lying in wait?” His forehead wrinkles as concern shapes his features. “I didn’t get those vibes from her, but I just…”

“She’s legit,” I assure him.

It’s wild, but I’ve trusted her from the moment she stepped out of that red BMW. I’ve never questioned whether she had ulterior motives for befriending me. Hell, I can’t sayshebefriendedme. It was definitely the other way around. She’s genuine and kind, and living with her, even if it’s temporary, feelsright.

“Cool. Had to check, you know?” His pale, freckled skin flushes pink, and he gives me a sheepish smile.

“Appreciate you looking out.”

We endure the heat for a few minutes while we run through my schedule for the next few days and part ways. Then my duffel and I head up to my new home.

The stairs lead directly into the open-concept living room, dining area, and kitchen. I pause when I reach the hardwood of the space and take a long look around, imagining the apartmentthrough Brynn’s eyes. Does she like it? Or does she think it’s too masculine?

The wall across from me is exposed brick, save for the cased opening that frames the stairwell to the top floor, and the modern built-out surround that showcases the glass-front gas fireplace. A large gray leather sectional defines the living area, flanked by two cadet-blue upholstered armchairs. Tucked into the corner next to the four plantation-shuttered windows that overlook South Main are two of my prized possessions: vintagePac-ManandMs. Pac-Manarcade machines.

When that first paycheck from the Tors came in a decade ago, I purchased them. Shaw, Tucker, and I grew up vying for the top score on the lone arcade game that sat next to the cash register at the diner in my hometown. Shaw and I were neck and neck for years, taking turns entering our initials next to the number one spot, until one Saturday when Tuck raided our grandmother’s piggy bank for quarters and spent the entire day trying to best us. He kept the top spot for eight months and has never let us forget it.

I toss my bag into the laundry room off the hallway past the kitchen, then head upstairs to check on my new roommate.

“Brynn?”

“I’m here,” she calls from behind the partially closed door. The third floor houses what is now her room, a spacious bathroom, another spare bedroom currently stuffed full of unpacked boxes and football paraphernalia, and my office.

When I nudge open the door, I find her standing next to the bed, surrounded by boxes and a couple of large storage tubs. There’s an open suitcase on the nondescript navy comforter Seth picked out before he knew it would be occupied by a long-term guest.

“Sorry about the mess.” Her words flit in and out of my consciousness as I take her in. Her thick dark hair is haphazardly twisted up into a messy bun on the top of her head. Fuck. I have to fistmy hands at my sides at the thought of setting those locks free and running my fingers through them. With a thick swallow, I force my eyes to her face. She’s not wearing a stitch of makeup. Those big brown eyes are framed by darker lashes. The faint freckles splashed across her nose and cheeks are like tiny droplets of leftover sunshine. Her rosy-pink lips stretch into a smile and then constrict to form a word. When they repeat the motion, my brain finally goes online—she’s said my name twice.

“Uh, sorry, I—” A fluffy sage-colored heap next to the suitcase catches my eye. Without thinking, I grab it and hold it up for further inspection.

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