Page 54 of The Check Down

The fog on the glass doors hides most of him, sending a fissure of disappointment through my gut. All I can see are his wide shoulder blades and dark head, which is bent forward under the spray of the shower. One hand is visible, too, where it’s braced on the wall next to the round dial, and his other hand…

It’s hidden from view, but the rhythm with which his arm moves is unmistakable. I spy, mesmerized, as his grunts and groans become more frequent. Tingling sensations flood my body and my panties go damp while my heart pounds so hard it’s a drumbeat in my ears.

God, he’s getting close. His growls and moans are frantic now.

I clench my fists and force myself to breathe evenly. How easy it would be to slip my hand inside my shorts and find the pleasure he’s unaware he’s prompted me to chase.

When he reaches the peak, my knees weaken, but then a growly “Fuck, Brynn” escapes his lips, and my spine snaps straight.

Holy hell.Did my friend-turned-roommate-turned-unrequited crush growlmyname when he climaxed? Is there another Brynn in his life I’m unaware of? Was he thinking of me the whole time he was jerking off?

All these questions, and more, rush through my mind as I sprint for the door, across the living room, and up the stairs to my bedroom. I don’t even attempt to keep my mad dash quiet, hoping like hell he can’t hear me over the sound of the shower. Once inside, I lock my door and fall back against it,chest heaving.

I clamp a palm over my lips to quell the giggle that bubbles up from my chest, while my lashes do battle with the sudden wetness that stings my eyes. A maelstrom of emotions surges, threatening to pull me into hysteria—a mixture of confusion, lust, pride, longing, doubt, amazement, and hope. Hope, most of all.

So much damn hope that the desire I’ve been harboring isn’t one-sided.

Somehow, I lull myself into a deep slumber a couple of hours later. It takestwogold-star sessions to accomplish that feat, but I awake clear-eyed and determined.

It’s time to have a real conversation about this undeniable chemistry and the flirty touches and the almost-kiss. (But not about the shower thing, because I might combust.) Because I need answers. I hate this treading water status our relationship is in currently.

I’m going to do it. This morning, before I lose my nerve. Even though he has a game in a few hours—one he insists I attend—I can’t go one more day without bringing up the eight-hundred-pound gorilla that’s become something of a third roommate.

Confronting him is a huge risk. There’s no guarantee he wants anything more than friendship. But I’ve wasted five years of my life already because I was too scared to take a leap and put myself first.

Maybe those “thirty and thriving” magazine articles I’ve always dismissed are right. Maybe thisisthe age of self-awareness. They were spot-on about the unexplained phantom back pains and more frequent bouts of acid reflux.

Resolute, I run through opening-line options in my head as I shower. When I have a clear direction, I shut off the water and stand in the stall to center myself, calm my breathing, and whisper a pep talk into the steamy air. “You got this, Brynn.”

As I open the shower door and reach for my towel, the door to the bathroom bangs open, startling me so badly I jumpand nearly slip on the wet tile. At the sight of a shocked man in the doorframe, I shriek.

“Oh God, I’m so sorry.” He covers his eyes and flops back into the hallway, his back bouncing off my closed bedroom door.

“Who are you?” I yell as I scramble to wrap the towel around my dripping torso.

Blood rushes in my ears so fiercely I almost don’t hear Griffin shouting my name from below or the pounding footsteps on the stairs. As he appears, I blink to clear my sudden double vision.

Because there aretwoGriffins standing in the hallway. There’smyGriffin, clothed in shorts and a T-shirt that strains against the rapid rise and fall of his chest. Then there’s the intruder, wearing only a pair of black joggers slung low on his hips. His sculpted chest and every inch of his arms down to his wrists are covered in colorful tattoos.

As I blink again, the differences between the two men become more distinct. Tattoo guy is a couple of inches shorter, and his hair—the same dark brown–black as Griffin’s—is long enough to curl at his nape rather than buzzed like Griffin’s. And his cheeks are covered in a light stubble, unlike the short beard my roommate has.

“Tucker, what the fuck?”

Ah. I take in a deep breath for the first time since the door flew open. Now the pieces slot into place. This tattooed intruder is Griffin’s younger brother.

To his credit, the younger Lacey keeps his hand over his eyes as he says, “Shit, I’m so sorry, naked stranger. I had no idea someone was up here.”

“Why areyouup here?” Griffin barks, crossing his arms.

Hand still in place, Tucker clears his throat. “I crashed here last night. Came over so Lux could put some finishing touches on my sleeve. After, we went down to Beale. I was too shit-faced to drive home. Didn’t want to wake you, since you have a game today,so he used his spare key to let me in. I was asleep the second my head hit the couch. That thing is hella comfy, by the way.”

With a glower, Griffin swats his brother’s arm. “Uncover your eyes, dumbass. She’s wearing a towel. And you couldn’t bother to send a fucking text to let me know you were in town?”

Tucker slaps a hand to his heart. “Sorry, it slipped my mind. I didn’t even head this way until after nine.” He gives me a little wave, and his eyes—the exact shade as his brother’s—crinkle in the corners. Then he hits me with a dazzling Lacey smile. “Hey, I’m Tucker.”

His charming swagger is so like his brother’s, but there’s a boyishness about him that Griffin lacks.

I pull my dripping hair over one shoulder and clasp the towel tighter across my chest. “Brynn.”

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