Page 69 of The Check Down

I force my mouth open, ready to question how he knows Griffin’s star sign, but my mother piles on. “They’ll have no issues physically.”

Paige wags her brows at me, the traitor, as Mom carries on as if I’m not here.

“As long as they maintain good, open communication, they’ll be perfect.”

I snap my mouth shut.

Communication.

The conversation we haven’t had.

Panic rises, like an impending wave threatening to drown me. All the words we haven’t spoken, combined with the flirtation and innuendo, plus how my heart soars when he’s near. It’s all too much. As I stand stock still in the middle of a football stadium corridor, I’m totally, utterly, completely overwhelmed and overstimulated.

And soon, I’ll have to bolster enough fortitude to say goodbye to my parents without having a public meltdown.

It’s enough to make me want to curl up in the fetal position and tune out the world.

Paige, bless her, gently prods my parents toward the opposite side of the stadium, where a car should be waiting to carry us back to the airport. They all give me space as I trail behind, lost in my thoughts.

Saying goodbye to my parents at the airport is as hard as expected. After hugs and kisses and promises of calling when we land, my friend stands beside me with her arm around my shoulders, a quiet comfort as they disappear around the curve of the jetway. Then the two of us speed-walk through the concourse to make it to our own flight on time.

Our journey back to Memphis is mostly silent. Each time I’m with her, Paige only endears herself to me further. Today, she’s shown me just how intuitive she can be.

Once she and I hug and go our separate ways, Griffin’s parting line becomes a whispered refrain that accompanies my every action.

As I wait at the curb for the car service Seth arranged:See you at home.

When I fasten my seat belt and clutch my purse in my lap:See you at home.

Then as I clasp the rose quartz pendant that bounces against my chest every time we hit a pothole:See you at home.

And when I trudge up the stairs to the apartment I temporarily share with the man I’m falling in love with:See. You. At. Home.

He’s standing in the kitchen when I clear the steps, a bottle of water raised to his mouth. His duffel rests by the bar, evidence that he’s only just arrived himself. His eyes lock on mine, and I know in my marrow this moment will change everything for us.

My breath saws in and out, a little from the stair climb, and a lot from the effect his attention has on me. His expression is full of hunger and desire. Passion and fondness.

The tension between us is thick, heavy with want, but neither of us moves. Maybe he’s just as afraid as I am to take the first step. Because once that happens, we can’t go back.

But since the sweltering day I met Griffin Lacey in the middle of a gridlock, he’s coaxed bravery out of me and nurtured it. So I take a step toward him. Another. And another. Until I stand at the intersection ofplaying it safeandnot backing down.

The man before me owns a refuse-to-yield mentality. It shows in the way he lowers the bottle to the counter without breaking eye contact. And in the way he prowls toward me, every step deliberate, until we’re so close I have to crane my neck to hold his gaze.

For a long, quiet moment, we study each other. Admire each other. There isn’t one inch of his handsome face I haven’t memorized. Suddenly, though, it’s as if I’m viewing him through a different lens. Like the face I’ve become so fond of has morphed into one I can’t live without.

His deep, rough voice cuts through the silence, startling me, making my heart jump. “Before we do this, I have to know.” A heavy exhale that hollows my stomach. “I need you to be damn fucking sure this isn’t some rebound bullshit. That you’re over the jackass.”

My mind tries to tally the number of curse words in that statement, but his cedar and fresh air scent distracts me from the task.

A slow shake of my head. “It’s not a rebound,” I whisper.

He nods. “Good.” His tongue peeks out then, dampening his lips, making my core muscles clench. “Also need you to be damn sure you’re okay with how this is going to changeus.”

“Wh-what do you mean?” I blink up at him, so primed to have his mouth on mine, I might punch him if he doesn’t get to the point.

“I mean, professor…” He slides a hand around my neck to my nape, the contact urging my body to throw a ticker-tape paraderight here in the kitchen. Finally, he’s touching me. “If we do this, we can’t be friends anymore.”

For a second, panic surges through me, but as if he can see it, he arches a brow, making his meaning clear: this won’t sever our friendship, but itwillalter it.

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