Lessons in Heartbreak: Chapter 13

“Everyone, you have five minutes before we show our partners what we’ve been working on. Five minutes,” the instructor reminded us.

Brow furrowed as I studied what was in front of me, I paused to select a new brush, then dipped it into the white paint for some extra shading. When I glanced up over the top of my canvas, I had to dig my teeth into my bottom lip to keep from laughing out loud.

Griffin was frowning at his painting, muttering something under his breath. The woman wandering around the room stopped behind him to set her hand on his shoulder and give him some encouragement.

“Maybe you could try some of that,” she said. “Fill in some of the negative space around her head.”

He fixed his dubious facial expression on the canvas, then on me. “Do you think that will help?”

Her pause was telling, and I lost my battle, laughing into the back of my hand.

Griffin looked up, eyes locked on me, and he arched an eyebrow slowly. “What are you laughing at, birdy? For all I know, you’re just as bad at this as I am.”

“You’re right, I might be,” I said lightly, ducking in to sweep the skinny brush along the edge of his face. Then I picked up a damp sponge to create the texture I wanted. He watched me warily, then glanced back at his artwork with a sigh.

“I can’t believe you roped me into this,” he muttered.

Confidence building, as it turned out, was forcing the big athlete to do a craft with me and another thirty people from town. We’d transformed the inside of the library into a painting studio with long tables set up parallel to each other, every attendee supplied with an easel and a canvas, a stack of brushes in various shapes and sizes, and a palette of acrylic paint.

After seeing some videos on social media, Lauren had the brilliant idea to set up an evening at the library—Paint Your Partner Night. The assignment was simple: to paint the likeness of the person sitting across from you, be it friend or significant other, and once you were both done, show your paintings off for all to see.

We’d brought in Melanie, an art teacher from Fort Collins, who agreed to help out, and the library charged a set fee to cover our costs for the supplies and allow for some small fundraising to help us replace some of the items in the children’s playroom.

Griffin had been recognized by one couple, but they did nothing more than wave excitedly when they saw him from across the room, and he gave a friendly nod in return. So far, no one had asked for his picture or autograph, and it made me wonder how much longer that would be the case when news got out that he’d signed with Denver.

Celebrity was a strange thing, and it was hard for me to picture him in that role, even knowing what I knew now. Again tonight, he was dressed simply—a light-blue long-sleeve T-shirt, pushed up to expose his muscular forearms, and dark jeans that hugged his tree-trunk thighs. After work, I’d changed, knowing what we’d be doing.

When he saw my shirt, he smirked—an ornate logo with the words Pemberley & Derbyshire—and I felt a zing of pride that he recognized the reference.

He did not smirk, however, when he realized what we’d be doing.

“I suck at painting,” he whispered fiercely, lowering his head to speak close to my ear.

I patted his forearm. “We’re not here to win any awards, Griffin. It’s just for fun.”

He snorted. “Please. Everything’s a competition for guys like me.”

He took the unspoken challenge seriously. For the first fifteen minutes, he rebuffed any attempt at conversation.

“Quit trying to distract me,” he said, leaning in closer to study my face. “It won’t work, Tate.”

I couldn’t help but laugh. “I’m on your team; why would I want to distract you?”

“Because you want to do better than me.”

“Oh, I’m not worried about that.” I dunked a brush into my cup of water and let it rest, finding a smaller brush to work on the shape of his eyes with.

“You paint a lot in your spare time?” he asked.

“No.” The options I had to make his eye color were lacking, but adding another dab of yellow ochre helped make the brown a bit warmer. “I dabbled a little after college. I was sick for a while and needed a lot of rest. Even when you love reading, you need to find new hobbies that allow you to sit for long periods.”

“Painting, huh?”

I nodded. “I liked painting birds and landscapes. Never practiced much with people, so for all you know, this might be terrible.”

“God, I hope so.” He tucked his tongue between his teeth while he dabbed a few colors together, blue and white and black, until they formed a silvery bluish gray. “There. I think I got the color right,” he said, looking at my eyes once more.

“Too much blue,” I replied lightly after glancing at the color he’d created.

His brows dipped into a V. “No it’s not.” He pointed his paintbrush at me. “See? You’re trying to mess me up. Knock it off.”

Eventually, he relaxed, and we talked a little bit about where his parents were—they’d retired to Arizona shortly before his brother took his coaching job. He skirted conversation about Barrett, and even though I found myself curious about what had happened there, I respected the fact that we were still in public, and he may not want to talk about it in a place where there was a risk of being overheard.

He asked how I’d gotten into my own job, and I talked a bit about college, how my parents had encouraged me to follow library science. His time in school was so different from mine; he’d spent years at the very center of the college experience, revered by thousands for his athletic ability, with his schoolwork coming in a distant second.

But even so, he never laughed at me. Never teased when I told him that I’d never lived in the dorms. Never attended a college party. He simply listened, assuring me that I’d probably saved myself from the inevitable pain of many hangovers as a result of my choices.

He was good at that, I realized. At taking me for exactly who I was. Not once had Griffin ever made me feel embarrassed for whatever life experiences I’d had—or not had, as the case was.

The time moved quickly, and no part of it felt like either one of us were forced to be there, and not for the first time, I wondered why I couldn’t feel this kind of ease with someone else.

It didn’t hurt, of course, that he was so attractive. For the better part of an hour, in the midst of fairly surface conversation, it was my job to study the details of his face, just like he was doing in return.

There was no lingering eye contact or anything like that, but I focused on the line of his nose, the curve of his lips, the sharp cut of his jaw, trying to get the shading of the stubble just right. Griffin perpetually looked like he needed to shave.

My hands shook slightly when I thought about what it would feel like scratching against the skin on my palm.

“Do you have to shave every day?” I found myself asking.

Griffin let out a small grunt of concession. “Pain in the ass, but yes. Two days is about all I can stretch it before I get annoyed.”

“Why not just grow a full beard? You could pull it off.”

His eyes sparkled at the unintentional compliment. “Well, if my lady wishes it, maybe I’ll try.”

“Oh, stop it,” I said smoothly, even though my heart thudded painfully at my lady.

Occasionally, Melanie would come around and give us tips, laughing easily with different couples as they bemoaned their lack of artistic skill.

When the time ran down on the clock, she clapped her hands. “All right, everyone! Let’s take a minute to clean up our stations and prepare to show our partners what we’ve been working on. Kenny, one of our friendly librarians, will be filming some of the reveals, so please raise your hand if you’re comfortable being shown on the library’s social media channel.”

Griffin and I locked eyes but kept our hands down. He winked, and my stomach swooped dangerously.

“You’re going down, birdy,” he said as couples to our right and left showed their artwork to each other, dissolving into hysterics at what the other person had painted.

Suddenly, I felt a bright burst of shyness. “What if we . . . don’t show it now?”

His brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”

“I don’t want everyone to see,” I told him. “Maybe we could wait until they’re gone or . . . do it out in the parking lot or something.”

Griffin nodded, eyes serious. “I see. You’re embarrassed because I’m about to kick your ass in a painting competition.”

“Yup, that’s it,” I replied lightly, then set my canvas to the side, making sure he wasn’t looking at it. Griffin held my gaze and did the same with his.

Without being asked, Griffin helped Kenny, Melanie, and me clean up as people filtered out of the library. Almost all of them asked for a repeat of the event, and I promised we’d do our best.

“Come back for the fair this weekend,” I told the sweet elderly couple who had just finished cleaning up their mess. “We’re holding it in the high school parking lot; it should be a ton of fun.”

The couple smiled. “We will. Our grandkids have been talking about it all month.”

Griffin was carrying a stack of chairs under his arm, twice the amount Kenny was struggling with. “You’re doing a fair?”

I nodded, tossing the palettes and disposable tablecloths into a large trash bag. “Fundraiser for the library.”

“Maybe I should come,” he said. “You could practice fluttering your eyelashes and being very impressed while I lose all my money on the games trying to get you a stuffed animal bigger than your dog. Men love that shit.”

“Fluttering eyelashes and fake enthusiasm? If that’s what you’re teaching me, I’m screwed.”

“You have no idea, birdy.” He flashed me a quick grin. “Still sounds fun, doesn’t it?”

“It’s not that big of a deal.” My cheeks were warm, imagining him there in the swarms of people. “Besides, I know you’re trying to keep a low profile.”

“It’s a huge deal,” Kenny interjected, walking past us to deposit his chairs against the wall. “She spearheaded the Welling Springs 5K last year, and the town T-shirt sale, and the spaghetti dinner, but we needed one more fundraiser.” Kenny ignored my pointed glare and kept talking. “There’s a reason she never goes out, and it’s because she’s been working sixty hours a week for the last two years to get enough money to buy the land next to the library.”

I pinched my eyes shut, and when I peeled them open, I settled another lethal look in Kenny’s direction. He merely smiled.

Griffin’s brows shot up. “The land with the creek and the willow tree?”

I nodded slowly. “It’s going up for sale soon, and . . . I thought maybe we could purchase it before that would happen, but the family who owns it wants to see how much they can get for it.” I shrugged one shoulder. “Can’t blame them, I guess.”

Melanie interrupted to ask me a question, and I was relieved. Griffin quietly went about his work, helping Kenny take down the tables and stack the remainder of the chairs. Every once in a while, my eyes would snag on the way his arms bulged when he lifted something.

I cleared my throat and moved my canvas into my office, leaning it up against the side of my desk. When I exited, Melanie was standing by Griffin. “I’m so sorry to do this, but would you mind if I grab a selfie? My son is a huge fan,” she said with an apologetic smile. “He’d never forgive me if I didn’t ask.”

“No problem.” He leaned in toward her, setting his hand on her shoulder while she snapped a picture. “Maybe just . . . don’t post it on social media, at least not for a couple of days, if that’s okay with you?”

“Of course,” she said. Her eyes were bright and her cheeks slightly flushed, a far cry from the composed woman who’d run the evening without a single hint that she knew who he was.

Griffin lifted his chin in my direction. “You have any paper?”

I nodded, darting back into my office to grab a pen and an index card. Griffin took it, leaning over the counter. “What’s your son’s name?”

“Bryan,” she said. “Thank you so much. I can’t even tell you what this will mean to him.”

Griffin scrawled out a quick note, then signed his name—a big, bold signature—and handed it to Melanie with a smile. “Tell him his mom is really cool.”

“I will,” she breathed. “Thank you again. This was amazing.” Melanie gave me a brief hug. “You call me anytime if you need help with something like this.”

“Thank you,” I told her. “We will.”

Griffin approached, his arm brushing against my shoulder as we watched her leave the library with quick, excited steps. Before she went out the door, she had her son on the phone.

“Bryan? You won’t believe what just happened . . .”

The door swung shut behind her, and I glanced up at him. “That was nice.”

He grunted. “Don’t tell anyone. They won’t believe you, anyway.”

I rolled my eyes. Kenny walked past us, his messenger bag over his shoulder. “You okay to lock up?”

With a nod, I hitched my thumb at Griffin. “He’s my bodyguard tonight since Bruiser isn’t here.”

Griffin cut me a sideways look. “If Bruiser is my competition, that doesn’t say much about me.”

Kenny smiled. “All right. Good night, guys.”

It felt different when he left, leaving me and Griffin in the quiet of the library. The whole building seemed to pulse with it—the utter stillness. For the first time all night, the first time since he’d bulldozed back into my life, I felt an overwhelming wave of nerves, something fidgety coating my skin as I risked a glance up at him.

“Well?” I asked quietly. “You ready?”

Griffin gestured to my office, where he knew I’d set my canvas. His was resting against the wall near where we stood, and he picked it up in one hand and followed me. My office was lit with only the small lamp on my desk, and because the sun had already set, there wasn’t much of a view out the windows along the far wall.

But he stood in front of them anyway, humming in understanding. “That’s how you saw me so quickly earlier.”

“It’s my favorite view,” I told him, settling a hip onto my desk and staring out into the dark, where I could see a shadowed glimpse of the bench and the weeping willow tree, the branches dancing lightly in the breeze. “And I hope it stays just like that.”

“When does the land go up for sale?” he asked, wandering over to the other side of my office to study the framed renders of what we’d planned should the land become ours.

“Soon. Probably next week,” I told him. “There’s an important place in any town for development, of course. It’s good for the economy when a city gets new restaurants and shopping and nice places to live. But I want this library to serve a different purpose. People come here for the sense of community it brings, as much as they do for the books. Like tonight,” I said. “We’ve known all those people for years. Watched them get married, have kids—some of them bring in their grandkids to get books now. And I love the idea that they can stay and play outside too. Watch for birds and butterflies, go for a walk, play with some interactive art.”

I sighed, fighting a tug of defeat that it might not happen. “That land could be a legacy that’s just as important as any of the books inside this building, and I want to know we’re using that land as something good for this town. Someday, we’ll all be gone, but that beautiful place could still be here, you know? Proof that we did something good.”

Even now, well past my school years, I wanted to have something to show for all the work we’d done. It wasn’t a test hanging on a fridge or a project to be admired, but I wanted to know that someday when I was gone, there’d be something good left behind.

Griffin had gone still listening to me, his eyes tracing my face. “Why do you look so sad?”

My nose was burning from the press of tears, and I pulled in a sharp breath to will it away. “I’m not sad, I’m . . . frustrated, I guess. There’s only so much I can do.”

He leaned a shoulder against the wall. “Sounds like you’re doing it.”

“I suppose.”

Griffin cleared his throat, tapping the edge of his canvas with two fingers. “I know what’ll make you feel better.”

“What’s that?”

“Me kicking your ass in a painting competition.”

I laughed. “It’s not a competition.”

“Says you,” he answered on an exhale. “I’d say that, too, if I knew I was outmatched.”

With a roll of my eyes, I grabbed my canvas. “Fine. Are we showing them at the same time?”

“Oh no. Ladies first.”

“Okay.” I shrugged, sucking my bottom lip into my mouth as I turned the canvas around.

Griffin didn’t move.

Then he blinked.

Then he leaned closer to the canvas, snatching it out of my hands.

“The fuck . . . ,” he whispered. His eyes locked with mine. “Why didn’t you tell me you’re like, fucking Picasso?”

My eyebrows arched. “Because I’m not?”

“This is good.” His head reared back as he studied the painting with almost frantic eye movements. “Holy shit, Ruby, this is really fucking good.”

Clasping my hands in front of me, I cleared my throat. “Thank you.”

His jaw hung open. “I’m keeping this. I’m framing it and keeping it and it’s going up at my house whenever I buy one.”

I laughed. “You are not.” Standing from the desk, I tried to take the canvas back, and he snapped it out of reach. I set my hands on my hips. “You are not framing that at your house.”

“Says who? It’s my house. This is the best thing I’ve ever seen.”

“Of course you’d say that. It’s your face.”

He kept his gaze locked on the canvas. “I do not look like this in real life.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I painted you as I see you.”

“I don’t think I’m this hot, birdy.” Griffin turned the canvas around so it was next to his face. “Tell the truth. You made me hotter.”

My face burned at the insinuation. For a moment, I tried to study the image objectively—golden-brown eyes straight to the front; the way his hair curled, slightly too long over his ears; the hard line of his jaw and the crooked smirk I’d given his mouth—but all I could see was him. “I think it looks like you.”

He blew a raspberry. “Whatever you say.”

I drew in a deep breath. “Okay, your turn. Let me see.”

“No fucking way.” He picked up his canvas. “This is going into the garbage.”

With a gasp, I marched forward. “It is not. You show me right now.”

Griffin shook his head, ruthlessly swatting at my hand when I tried to take the canvas from him. I huffed, setting my hands on my hips again. “You’re ten times bigger than me; this isn’t fair.”

He clicked his tongue. “Tough shit. Life isn’t fair, cupcake.”

I was two seconds away from stomping my foot when I had an idea. It was Griffin’s idea, really. Something he’d said to me on my very own couch, just before he held his hand out to me and offered himself up as the world’s sexiest hand-holding partner.

What would I do if this were a real date?

Courage was something I could hold in my hand. Something I could see and feel and touch. A canvas with bright colors, painting a man with a sharp jaw and a beautiful smile and big, big hands that were so warm and rough when they curled around my own.

Bravery was something different, of course. It was the absence of fear when you stepped into a precarious situation.

Maybe that wasn’t me all the time. But it was tonight.

And it wasn’t because he’d bought me pretty clothes or checked out my ass like it was something worth staring at. It was because he’d let me hold his hand and made me feel good in that seemingly insignificant snippet of time. Worthy of that small piece of affection and normalcy.

I took a deep breath and stepped forward, laying my hands on his chest. Griffin went still as a stone the moment I touched him. The heat from his skin seeped through his shirt like it wasn’t there.

“Please,” I whispered, taking one step closer. “Please show me.”

A muscle twitched in his jaw. “What are you doing?”

My tongue darted out to lick at my suddenly dry lips, and my stomach flipped weightlessly when his eyes tracked the movement. “You asked me last night what I’d do if this was a real date, right?”

With slightly narrowed eyes, Griffin nodded. “That’s what you’re doing now?”

“I guess.” My voice shook a little as I spoke. Underneath the thin layer of his shirt, it was just muscle. We all had them, right? It shouldn’t have felt so shocking. But his muscles were different. Firm, hard, and hot, and my whole body went up in flames at the feel of them. My fingers spread out wide, covering a paltry amount of his pectorals. “Please show me, Griffin.”

He exhaled a quiet laugh, blinking slowly as he stared over my shoulder for a moment. “You’re a little too good at this already.”

I bit down on my bottom lip when a smile threatened. “Is that a yes?”

“I’m gonna regret this,” he groaned, shifting the canvas out from under his arm and handing it over to me.

There was a stunned beat of silence while I tried to figure out what the hell I was looking at.

I didn’t want to laugh, but honest to God, I couldn’t help it.

My face was huge, my eyes too small, and there were no whites to be seen around the bluish gray he’d created. Tiny lines for my eyelashes and monstrously huge lips in a bright red. My hair was made from yellow sticks protruding from my head, and he’d forgotten to paint my nose.

“Oh my gosh,” I wheezed.

Griffin crossed his arms, shifting his weight. “Okay, get it out.”

“Griffin . . .” I wiped at tears, my stomach seizing from how hard I was laughing. “This is terrible. Do you think I look like this?”

His hands rose and fell helplessly. “Obviously not, but . . . I can’t . . . How am I supposed to just look at you and paint what I see?”

After another moment, I was able to suck in a deep breath and calm myself. A little. With a last glimpse at his attempt, I set it down on the floor and faced him. His cheeks were flushed pink, but his gaze stayed steady on mine.

“I love it,” I told him.

“You do not.”

“I do. I’m keeping it forever. Framing it in my house.”

Griffin growled under his breath, a playful sound of exasperation that sent my pulse skyrocketing. He stepped forward, his hand raised like he was going to reach for me, then stopped.

Without thinking, I gripped his wrist before he could pull his hand away. “What were you going to do?”

He inhaled through his nose, studying my face through heated eyes. “Not sure I should tell you that, birdy.”

“What if we renegotiate so you can?” I said in a rush.

Everything about this felt real and crisp and vivid, and I didn’t want it to end. I wanted to feel more of it, bask in this perfect little moment and let it play out so I could remember it someday.

“You really want that?”

God, his voice. There was desire in that rough-edged voice, and it was stamped all over his face. I wasn’t sure when it had happened, but it was heady. Dangerous. And oh, I wanted more.

Dazedly, I nodded, my hand still tight around his thick wrist. Griffin stepped forward, backing me up against the desk, his hands sliding easily around my hips as he boosted me up onto the surface. My legs split open, and he crowded into me, cradling my jaw with both big, calloused hands.

My head spun from the sudden, overwhelming proximity of his large body.

He dipped his head to run his nose against mine. “I was going to touch your face like this,” he said in a low, fierce voice. “Tell you how beautiful you look when you laugh. That you should do it every day. Every fucking day.”

A helpless whimper crawled up the back of my throat, and his hands slid back into my hair, where his fingers tightened.

“That’s a nice little sound, Ruby,” he whispered. “What else can I do to make more of those?”

My hands curled helplessly into the front of his shirt, and I tilted my chin up, drowning in this thick pulse of desire that felt like fireworks all over my skin. I didn’t want it to end. Let it be real, I begged quietly in my head. And I said the most terrifying thing I could imagine, words I could never take back once they were out, but I refused to let the fear hold me back.

Not tonight. Not with him.

“You could kiss me,” I whispered back.

He rolled his forehead against mine, sucking in a sharp breath. “You gonna let me? You gonna beg me for it if I hold out much longer? Tell me you want this, baby.”

That unthinking nickname flipped a switch under my skin. It wasn’t a holdover from our childhood, something cute and sweet and innocent. It was tossed out in the heat of the moment, falling off his tongue because he couldn’t stop himself.

Tell him I wanted this? Easiest thing I’d ever done.

“Griffin, please—”

The word was barely out when Griffin slanted his mouth over mine—a skillful, bold first kiss. Nothing like I’d expected, which was what made it so achingly perfect. It wasn’t tentative and innocent. It was sex in a kiss. The kind that made for sweaty skin and whispered dirty words.

And when his slick, hot tongue teased the line of my lips, I opened immediately, throwing my arms around his big shoulders and holding on for dear life.

The man could kiss. If there was anything he was better at than this, I’d explode before I ever got the chance to experience it.

His arms moved down my back, gathering me closer to him as his lips worked in a devastating push and pull over mine. He sucked at my bottom lip, soothing it with his tongue afterward. That tongue moved back into my mouth, tangling with my own until my back arched, pressing my aching breasts into his chest.

When I dug my hands into the thick length of his hair and tightened my fingers, he groaned, the sound reverberating deep through my bones as I lost myself in that kiss. Lost myself in Griffin.

How easily I could let him carry me away completely. When did this happen? When did he become the safest man I knew? The only one I trusted with this kind of mindless desire, this frantic, clawing desperation.

His hips rolled against my center, and I gasped, throwing my head back as I registered the hard, hot, big length of him.

“Oh,” I exhaled.

“For you, baby,” he murmured against my throat, then dragged his teeth against the line of my neck.

For me.

There was no faking this, no polite veneer over the way his hands clutched my body to his. All this . . . for me. God, the way it made my mind spin and spin and spin.

Being wanted by Griffin was power unleashed, my skin sparking with invisible bits of magic. There was a reason this was addicting, why desire became a trembling sort of craving that couldn’t be ignored.

He wanted me. There was proof hard against my body, and even if it was just for this moment, I wanted him too. More than I’d wanted anyone in my entire life—to a senseless, illogical degree.

It wasn’t really senseless, though. I could pull threads of logic in every single step that got us here, with his mouth on mine and his arms curled tight around my frame in a way that made me feel . . . everything. I felt everything with him, and it was perfect.

It was a loss of control that I welcomed because handing it to him felt like the only conclusion I could possibly reach. Griffin sucked at the sensitive skin underneath my ear, licking along my jaw until he took my mouth again in another searing kiss. It didn’t matter that I wasn’t entirely sure what to do, that the steps of this dance were unfamiliar to me, because he masterfully led me through each kiss, each twist of his tongue around mine.

His hands dove into my hair again, tilting my head so that the angle of the kiss changed into something luxurious and decadent. Our kisses slowed, deepened. Burrowing farther into his arms kept me from trembling, and it was the heat of his body that had me sighing softly as he changed the angle again with a deep, rumbling groan. The way his hands mapped out my body, along my back and waist, up over my shoulder to cup the base of my neck, using his thumbs to lift my chin into another kiss.

There were too many clothes in between us, and a restless sort of energy built and built in my fingertips, desperate to tear at whatever separated us. This was a possession, a not-so-simple kiss from the absolute last person I should be touching.

He slid one big palm around to cup my breast, his thumb circling around my impossibly hard tip. “You feel incredible.”

I couldn’t breathe. It felt so good I couldn’t breathe.

Then his hand settled over my sternum—and a bright throb of panic made my eyes snap open. “Wait,” I gasped.

Immediately, Griffin pulled back, his eyes searching my face while he pulled his hands off me. “Too much?”

I settled my hands over my chest and took a few deep breaths, willing myself to calm down. “Maybe,” I whispered.

“I’m sorry,” he said. Griffin ducked his head down. “I’m sorry.”

“No.” I cupped his face and pulled his forehead down to mine, letting them rest together while we struggled to catch our breath. “Don’t be sorry. That was . . .” I shook my head. “That was incredible.”

He gave me a tiny smile. “I’ll paint you a thousand pictures if that’s the way you want to thank me.”

I exhaled a laugh. “Please don’t.”

Griffin’s smile widened, and he stepped back from the desk, holding his hand out to help me down. “If that were a real date, that would’ve been a hell of a way to end it.”

Something about his words made my bones ache, and I forced a smile.

I wish it was real, I thought. Don’t you?

But I couldn’t force the words out. They wouldn’t budge from where they were anchored in my throat. Saying them would change everything, and for the briefest of moments, I felt naive and silly for even thinking them.

“It would,” I replied softly.

He waited patiently while I turned off the lights in the library, then locked the doors. As he walked me to my car, neither of us said anything, and I had a sinking feeling we’d just wrecked something that couldn’t be fixed easily.

“Well, when should we get together next?” he asked. “Maybe do a practice date at my place and you can show me all your newfound skills? I’ll flutter my eyelashes and everything.”

A breathy laugh escaped before I could stop it. His charm was effortless, and instead of being annoyed by it like I had been at the beginning, it threatened to reel me in. The lights in the parking lot cast a filmy, mysterious air around us, and with the way he stood, his hands tucked in his pockets—just out of reach—it lent an air of innocence to this entire exchange.

Ironic, given that only a few minutes earlier, I’d been two seconds away from stripping naked on my desk, the devastating side effect of Griffin King’s ability to kiss me stupid.

Leaning against my car, I gave him an apologetic smile. “I’ll be really busy the next couple days with the fair. I’m not sure I can get away easily.”

Griffin nodded. “Make sure you still get your beauty sleep. It’s good for your health, I hear.”

“I will,” I promised. “Don’t get too bored.”

“Oh, I have plenty to keep me busy. Sense and Sensibility tomorrow night.”

A shocked laugh fell from my lips. He was joking, right?

He had to be.

He gave me a dangerous smile and told me good night, watching while I hooked myself into my seat and started the car. After I’d pulled out of my spot, I glimpsed in the rearview mirror and saw him standing there, hands still tucked into his pockets and watching as I drove away.