Page 62 of The Check Down

Chapter thirteen

Brynn

When I come to, I’m swaddled in the softest sheets in existence and surrounded by the scent of the man I can’t quit thinking about. The man who was so tender and patient with me in my drunken haze. As consciousness builds, layer upon layer, fleeting images and words from last night slide into focus: Knocking back shots with Paige and Gina. Sidewalk dancing to a street band as we pranced to a second bar. Paige showing me a text from Beau, which relayed a message from Griffin.

Beau

Hey, babe. Griff just texted me this:

Please tell Paige not to let Brynn accept drinks from random guys. Texted B, but she isn’t responding.

His overprotective nature brings a smile to my face.

More flashes hit me: Checking my phone and finding Griffin’s blurry message. Insisting to Paige and Gina thatRacy Lacey isn’t the boss of me. More shots, and three straws in…a bucket? Piling into Beau’s SUV, laughing hysterically at Gina’s impression of his signal-calling cadence. Griffin effortlessly scooping me up tocarry me up the stairs, his solid body so warm, holding me with tenderness and dare I say…possessiveness?

The cringe-worthy memories float to the surface next: Kneeling in the bathroom, purging the good-time toxins from my body. And…oh, God. Oh no. Did I really give Griffin permission tocompliment my boobs?

With a groan, I lift my way-too-old-for-this body from the cushy mattress and press a hand against my pounding head. Swallowing a wave of nausea, I turn, discovering that Griffin’s stocked the bedside table with the essentials—a bottle of water, two pain relievers, my phone, and…a note. As I pick it up, my arm brushes a lump of softness different from the texture of the bedding.

It’s Barnaby. Tucked into my side, half hidden by the bedsheet.

Emotion swells. I have to blink away wetness so I can make out the words of Griff’s note.

Good morning, professor! Hope your hangover isn’t too bad. Thought you’d want some company when you wake up. See you tonight. XO-Griff

I clutch the paper to my chest as another memory becomes clear: Griffin, voice low, deep, calling mebaby.

Was it a throwaway endearment? Or were the words spoken with weighted significance?

The atmosphere in this apartment is different this morning. Like I’m breathing rarefied air. Some seismic shift happened overnight, but I’m just now getting the memo.

I scan the room, the California-king bed.

Holy hell.

I slept inhisbed.

I vaguely remember Griffin’s muscly arms keeping me upright as he helped me to this spot. The sensation of his hands on my calves as he tugged off my boots.

“We’ll talk about it later, professor.”

Does later meantoday?

My heart thumps against my ribs as my foggy brain works to catch up. Will this conversation be solely about his nonchalantbabybomb? Or does he want to discuss more? Since last weekend, and Tucker’s ill-timed shower intrusion, my bravado about confronting Griffin has been MIA. Would it be possible to shore it back up in time for our talk?

A check of the time has me popping the ibuprofen he left and guzzling water. I have to dig deep in order to shove all of my Griffin-sized questions into a mental box for later. For now, I put all my focus into functioning as a human with this monster-sized hangover.

After I choke down a banana and another bottle of water, I slog through my morning routine and walk into my first class with minutes to spare. The freshmen trickle in as I connect my laptop to the projector and mentally rehash this session’s topics. Just as I hop up on the table, legs swinging, laptop queued up with today’s slides, I’m hit with a question that stops my heart.

A deep voice from one of the middle rows shouts, “Yo, Miss Nelson, are you and Racy Lacey hooking up?”

The blood drains from my face as I search for the source, first homing in on the giggling girls, then the audacious freshman they’re focused on.

My first instinct is to play dumb. “Wh-what?”

He waves his phone in the air, grinning. “There’s a picture of you two at the zoo. Did he show you his snake?”

The room breaks out into titters, and the blood that’s evacuated my face rushes back with a vengeance, and my already touchy stomach roils.

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