Page 8 of The Check Down

“You wanna ride with us, Silly Rabbit?” Camden asks Trixie, bumping her shoulder with his. My five-three cousin rears back and gives him a swift punch in the bicep that makes him howl with laughter. He’s been goading her with that nickname since they were kids.

The rest of the group starts in on the two of them or on each other, all the while moving toward the exit.

I watch until they disappear from view, my hand gripping the strap of my leather bag.

Knuckleheads. The Lacey clan is loud and boisterous, but I wouldn’t trade them for the fucking world.

“Man, I hate wearing a suit.”

I bring the flute of champagne I swiped off a passing tray to my lips and eye the three-hundred-pound lineman sulking against the bar next to me. D’Angelo Sweeney tugs at his collar, then swipes his hand across his brow.

With a swat to my arm, Beau leans in. “Big D here dresses in business casual on game days.”

I snicker at the nickname. “Yeah, I saw that T-shirt and gym shorts combo on Sunday.”

“It’s impossible for some of us to compete with your swagger, Lacey.” D’Angelo turns and grins at our QB. “Besides, you know I can’t keep allthiscontained, Cap.” He smooths a hand down his thick frame like he’s outlining the sensual curves of a woman’s body. “Gotta keep myself comfy on game day. Helps me keep your ass off the turf.”

“ThisCapnickname strictly because of your captain status?” I ask Beau.

With a roll of his eyes, he opens his mouth to answer, but wide receiver Tyrell Jefferson, who’s standing to my right, pipes up. “Look at this mug.” He squeezes Beau’s cheeks, which have gone pink, then gives one a pat. “This is freaking Captain America right here.”

The offensive guys launch into a thorough ribbing of Beau’s boyish good looks, but it’s layered with a deep respect and appreciation for their leader.

“Now we got ourselves another pretty boy to compete for the ladies,” D’Angelo says with a nod in my direction.

I smirk and finish off my champagne. Pointing at the group with the empty glass, I say, “They’re all yours, gentlemen.”

The guys’ answering whistles and catcalls draw several looks our way.

“Aw, hell. You telling me I’ll never know what it’s like to have Racy Lacey as my wingman?” Devon lowers his head and pouts like a kid who’s been told Santa isn’t real.

“I’ll be your wingman, Greenway. Name the time and place.”

I might be determined to keep distractions to a minimum, but that doesn’t mean I’m not down for a good time. In fact, good times of the one-night variety, if I can find willing participants who’ll accept a zero-strings offer, are exactly what I’m looking for.

“You taken, Lacey? Back together with that smoke show you were with a while back?” Tyrell asks, referring to my most recent ex, Kate.

I roll my shoulders, trying to knock loose my immediate discomfort. We’ve been split up for over a year now, but she’s the last woman I was seen with. There’s no way in hell I’d consider rekindling any kind of relationship with her, given how we ended, but I keep that to myself. Instead, I keep my response simple. “Nope. Not taken. Not looking, either. Gotta focus on the game. I’ll worry about the rest when I’m ready to walk away for good.”

Like my mind has been taken over by an external force, an image of a floral sundress hits me. Fuck. I give my head a quick shake to dislodge it.

“Respect.” As Tyrell tips his beer in my direction, he’s pulled away for a photo op with a group of fans.

We’ve been hit up for pictures and autographs pretty regularly since arriving an hour ago, but there’s been a welcome lull for the last few minutes. This group is the first since I snagged that glass of champagne.

I lean closer to Beau. “There’s no way this is all the season-ticket holders, right?” This hotel ballroom is crowded, but it’s nowhere near the number I was expecting.

“No way,” he says with apssh. “Our season tickets number is somewhere in the twenty-thousand range. This event is for the top-tier. The people who donate a significant amount to the team’s community outreach programs and charities.”

“So these are the richest of the rich folks?”

He closes his green eyes and barks out a laugh. “Pretty much.”

Beau pulls out his phone, his face lighting up. “Hey, my fiancée is planning a barbeque at our new place in a couple weeks. She wants to invite the entire O-squad and a few others. You in?”

Maybe it’s pathetic how good it feels to receive a simple invite like that. But to be so easily accepted after coming in at the last minute like I did, then having a shit first game, is, frankly, a little shocking. “Hell yeah, man, I’m always down for barbeque. Where’s your new place?”

“Out on Mud Island. Moved in right before the season started. You got a place in town yet?”

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