Lessons in Heartbreak: Chapter 15

Under normal circumstances, a fair atmosphere would be considered the ultimate form of punishment for me. It was crowded and loud and germy, and it smelled like deep-fried food.

But that particular fair, on that particular evening, felt just on the right side of magical.

Shrieks of laughter filled the air, whooping from various rides, ebbing and flowing on a slow loop as the machines whipped people through the air on swings, whirling teacups, and kiddie rides. We’d invested a lot into this fundraiser, opting for a larger up-front cost with the possibility of a higher reward, knowing that the promise of community fun might sway people to be a little bit more generous.

The weather was perfect all day, the sun staying behind just enough intermittent cloud cover that no one got too hot, no one got sunburned, even though the temps were in the midseventies. Instead of doing an all-day event, we’d opened the fairgrounds at two and were able to manage the volunteer list so that everyone was in their designated spot for a couple of hours on each rotation. The gates would close at nine, and with a few hours left to go, I was more than ready to crawl into bed, but as one of the chairs of the event, I’d been moving all day, making sure everyone had what they needed.

“We’re almost out of cinnamon sugar, Ruby,” Lauren called.

“On it.”

After visiting the second funnel cake stand on the opposite side of the high school parking lot, I heaved a bag onto the counter next to the deep fryer.

“More sugar than a small country should consume, but here you go.”

She leaned over to kiss my cheek soundly. “Bless you.”

Because no one needed anything at that moment, I watched her deftly pour out more dough to create the lacy design of fried goodness for the next person in line, a towering lumberjack of a guy with red hair and a big beard, his massive arms covered in ink.

“God, that looks fucking delicious,” he said, leaning in to watch her.

She met his gaze and winked. “Cakes won’t be bad either.”

His eyebrows shot up, appraising her frankly. “I like a woman with confidence.”

“Do you?” Using the tongs, she flipped the funnel cake, nodding with satisfaction at the even brown color before she slid a plate next to the fryer. After shaking off the excess oil, she set it on the plate and eyed him. “What’s your pleasure? Cinnamon sugar or powdered sugar?”

He licked his bottom lip—an undeniably naughty lick too—and even though it wasn’t directed at me, my face heated nonetheless. “Your phone number would be even sweeter.”

Watching them from the side, I managed to hide my smile. Not that it mattered anyway; neither one of them paid me an ounce of heed.

Lauren laughed. “You’re too young for me, but I’m flattered.”

His brow lowered. “I’m thirty. You can’t be more than . . .” He paused, eyeing her carefully, and I held my breath for what he said next. “Thirty-eight.”

Lauren and I traded a quick look. She’d just turned thirty-nine.

“Close enough, cowboy.” Even though he hadn’t specified, she added a liberal amount of cinnamon sugar to his funnel cake, then handed the plate over the counter. “If you’re not my age or within five years, you’ve hardly begun to learn what to do with a woman. I don’t waste my time on the young ones.”

With a dazed expression on his face, he accepted the funnel cake, looking at her like she’d just handed him a check for a million dollars. “What is your name?”

She shook her head. “Nothing you need to know.”

“Lauren,” I told him helpfully. She glanced over her shoulder, narrowing her eyes dangerously. I smiled sweetly. “That’s payback for my birthday present,” I told her.

The big beast of a man took a massive, wolfish bite of the funnel cake, staring at her unabashedly while his jaw worked. Then he swiped at his muzzle to clear the cinnamon sugar and leaned in again. “Lauren, I could have you screaming my name in five languages by the time I’m finished with you.”

I was in the middle of sipping some water, and I slapped a hand over my mouth, just barely managing to stem the flow of it out my nose.

Lauren laughed in delight, accepting his money and giving him change with a good-natured shake of her head. “You’re confident, I’ll give you that.”

“It’s well earned. I promise.”

“You might as well find someone else to entertain you. My ex-husband was just like you, and I’m not in the mood to soothe your ego because I didn’t rip my panties off at the sight of your smile.” She grinned. “And unless you get me screaming your name in six languages, I’m not all that impressed. I can do that myself, honey.”

His jaw fell open. “Woman, if you don’t give me your phone number, I might actually die.”

Watching them was like a master class in unhinged flirtation, and not for the first time that day, I found myself missing Griffin. The way he was helping me was subtle. Less, maybe, than what I’d assumed when I first asked for his assistance, but already I could imagine his commentary on what I was witnessing.

Lauren rolled her eyes dramatically, shooing him off to the side. “I promise you won’t. Off you go. There are other people who need funnel cake too.”

Despite the fact that she was rushing him off, I knew my friend. Her cheeks were flushed, her brown eyes bright. And for the last six months, she’d been bemoaning her dry spell but wasn’t ready to jump back on the dating apps.

“I have her number,” I heard myself say.

The guy’s face lit up.

Lauren’s mouth popped open. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“Wouldn’t I?” I asked, narrowing my eyes in her direction.

“Fuck a duck,” she muttered under her breath.

“You are a great friend,” he said, sidling up next to me on the side of the booth.

“I tell her this all the time.” I pulled up my phone and scrolled to her contact, angling the screen so that he could copy the number into his own device. Lauren was muttering under her breath as she made the next funnel cake, but it wasn’t lost on me that she didn’t tell me no.

He stuck his hand out once he was done saving her number. “Marcus Henderson,” he said, loudly enough that Lauren could hear.

Her movements slowed, her eyes widening incrementally, and I gave her a brief curious look as I returned the firm shake. “Ruby Tate. It’s nice to meet you.”

“You know, I had to convince my friend to come tonight, and I am so glad.”

“I’m sure Lauren is too.”

She fixed me with a fierce glare, which I ignored. “What did you say your name was?” Lauren asked slowly.

He held her gaze, finishing off the last bit of his funnel cake. “You heard me.”

The sexual tension was thick, and I cleared my throat. “Well, I think I’ll leave you two to it,” I said breezily.

Kenny came jogging up, halting my departure. “We have a slight problem. Our next two volunteers for the dunk tank can’t come. It was the mayor and the chief of police. They were going to be our biggest draws for tickets for that game.”

I blew out a short, harsh breath. “Okay. What happened?”

“Mayor Briggs is sick, and the chief had an emergency. Not sure what.”

Mind racing, I wiped a hand over my forehead. “Okay, um . . . We can figure this out. We need people who will bring in a lot of tickets.”

“Marcus can do it,” Lauren said smoothly.

My eyebrows shot up, gaze darting over to the man in question. “Pardon?”

Marcus was grinning at Lauren, his eyes practically shining. “Can I?”

“Oh yes. Didn’t you say you had to convince your friend to come with you? Assuming you two are coworkers,” she added meaningfully.

“I am so lost,” I whispered.

Kenny seemed to notice who we were talking to, his eyes widening. “Holy shit.”

My head swiveled in his direction. “What’s wrong with you?”

Kenny’s mouth dropped open, and he pointed weakly at Marcus.

Marcus nodded slowly. “We are coworkers. And I think I’ll agree to that—on one condition.” He gripped the side of the booth and stared down my friend. “You go out with me after the fair is done tonight.”

My eyes bounced between them. “What is going on right now? Why do we want Marcus to do the dunk tank? Who’s your friend?”

Marcus never took his eyes off Lauren. “He’s at the booth next door. Wasting all his money on some rigged shooting game because he saw a stuffed bird and said he needed to win it for a friend.”

Angling myself for a better view, I looked past Marcus at the shooting game, a surprised squeak coming from my mouth before I could stop it.

Griffin freaking King stood with a BB gun against his shoulder, his unwavering focus aimed at the small metal targets as they shuffled back and forth. He was wearing a fitted white T-shirt and black athletic shorts today, which hugged the curves of his ass in a way that made it genuinely hard to look at anything else.

“You’re . . .” I blinked. Blinked again. “You’re on the team with Griffin?”

He nodded. “You know him?”

Lauren laughed. I swallowed hard. “Uh-huh.”

Marcus’s eyes sharpened. “You’re the friend.”

My gaze was not willing to be parted from the sight of Griffin handing over another fistful of cash so he could start the game again. Even from this distance, I could hear the plink, plink, plink of the small metal balls hitting the rusty targets. “I . . . Sure. Yes. I’m his friend.”

“Interesting,” he said smoothly. “We might need to trade some stories, young lady. He said you knew him when he was young. Was he horrible? You can tell me.”

Griffin finally got the last of the targets down, smiling at the small smattering of applause that came from the crowd gathered around him. He handed the gun back to the volunteer and pointed at one of the stuffed animals hanging from the ceiling of the booth.

After a nod to the volunteer, he tucked the massive plush under his arm, and my heart thudded erratically when he turned in our direction. Our eyes locked, and his smile deepened.

Oh boy.

This was not good.

Everything in me screamed to run in the opposite direction, but some primal part of my brain kept me rooted in place because he’d won something for me. He did exactly as he said he would and wasted all his money to win some ridiculous prize as a show of . . . what, exactly? Chivalry? Ego? Effortless charm because he knew it would make me melt?

Marcus sidled up next to me, easing his arm around my shoulders. “I met your friend, despite all your best efforts to the contrary.”

Griffin rolled his eyes, knocking Marcus’s hand off my shoulder. Then he produced the stuffed bird—a large scarlet cardinal with an enormous fluffy plume on the top of its head—from underneath his arm. “For you,” he said. “I told you I’d get you one.”

“You did indeed.” I clutched the bird to my chest, wondering if it managed to cover the pounding of my heart.

Honestly, this was absurd.

Marcus perked up. “Lauren, I can get you an even bigger bird,” he promised.

She ignored him, serving up another funnel cake with a friendly smile. “Save your efforts for other activities, Henderson. I’m still not convinced.”

“Oh yeah.” Marcus smacked Griffin in the chest. “We’re doing the dunk tank.”

Griffin cocked an eyebrow. “What, now?”

“If we do the dunk tank and raise a fuck ton of money, Lauren will go out with me tonight.” Then he pointed at me. “And your good friend Ruby will be really happy. Don’t you want to make Ruby happy?”

Griffin’s eyes leveled on mine. “Always.”

The flutter in the pit of my stomach was beyond ridiculous, and I quashed it ruthlessly.

I’d quash those little jerks if it was the last thing I did on this earth.

“Then it’s settled,” Marcus said, clapping his hands, the sharp snap of sound pulling me out of my mental self-flagellation. “Start spreading the word that the good people of Welling Springs can dunk the shit out of the two hottest Denver players.”

Lauren snickered. “Most humble too.”

He fixed her with a heated stare. “Just wait, sugar. I can back it up.”

“Oh boy,” I sighed. “I’m not so sure about this.” My eyes found Griffin’s again. “Didn’t you want to keep a low profile on this visit?”

“Yup.” Then he smiled. “Don’t you need to raise a lot of money?”

I let out a slow exhale, then nodded. “Land goes up for sale next week. We can put in an offer on Tuesday.”

With a wry lift to his brow, he gestured past the booth into the screaming chaos of the fair. “Lead the way, birdy.” Then he leaned down to speak close to my ear. “Don’t pretend like you’re not excited to watch me get wet for a good cause.”

A shiver danced down my spine, and the jerk noticed, laying his hand lightly on the lower part of my back as we walked. I sighed dramatically, but the annoyance was thin, a wobbly smoke screen for the real culprit—weak-kneed, head-spinning desire. Under his breath, he chuckled, and the two men followed me and Kenny as we led them through the crowd.

Word of their presence, as intended, spread like actual wildfire. Crowds edged their way toward the dunk tanks, which was the game closest to the school building, lines forming immediately.

Kids bounced up and down with unrestrained glee, their parents angling for a look at the two players with just as much excitement on their faces.

When it was time for Marcus and Griffin to climb up into the tanks and take their spots on the seated planks, Griffin toed off his shoes and socks, then handed me his phone, wallet, and keys for safekeeping. “You owe me for this one, birdy,” he said in a low, skin-tingling voice just next to my ear.

Marcus pointed at me as he climbed the stairs. “Is she the reason we were watching that Sense and What’s-It-Called movie last night?”

My head snapped toward him. “Sense and Sensibility?”

“That’s the one.” He shook his head. “That fucking Willoughby,” he said. “He did Marianne dirty.”

Using the tip of his finger against my chin, Griffin exhaled a quiet laugh as he pressed my mouth closed. “All right, birdy. Let’s make some money.”

Somehow, I snapped myself out of it, handing the microphone to one of our more gregarious library trustees, who was serving as emcee. She was hardly needed, though, because Marcus and Griffin worked the crowd effortlessly.

They talked trash with whoever approached to try to dunk them, always with a smile and a well-meant joke when the attempt failed. The kids all missed, but they told them to come back to the tank after their turn for a selfie, and they obliged each and every one. It took a bit longer to get through the line, but it made for a fun, buoyant atmosphere.

I stood to the side, filming some videos as they ribbed the crowd and posed for pictures, signing occasional shirts and hats with a Sharpie that Kenny provided. Everyone who walked away from them wore the kind of smile that was undeniably contagious.

Yes, they played a game for a living, but the unbridled joy they delivered to every person was a tangible, sweet thing that had an ache blooming in my chest. Maybe money couldn’t buy happiness, but these two were incredibly adept at creating it in their wake.

In turn, it meant the longer I filmed what they were doing, the longer I watched the ease with which he made kids smile and laugh, the less effective my quashing abilities became. The flutters were growing into something dangerous.

The first to get dunked was Marcus. The high school’s star baseball pitcher lined up for him, delivering a rocket to the center of the target, and as the crowd erupted, Marcus fell into the freezing-cold water with a yell. He emerged with a roar, arms raised and his T-shirt plastered to his chest and stomach.

Griffin waved me over during a break between people in his line, leaning down from his seat on the top of the tank. “How pissed do you think he’ll be when I come out of this dry as a bone?”

I rolled my eyes. “You won’t. I’ll dunk you myself if that happens.”

“Oh yeah? You got a secret talent for pitching, too, birdy?”

“If you think I won’t walk straight up to the button and hit it just to prove a point, you don’t know me at all.”

He tipped his head back and laughed, and good Lord, what was it about an exposed throat on this man that had me pressing my knees together?

With a steadying breath, I moved off to the side so the next person could throw, and my eyes stubbornly stayed glued to the curve of his biceps when he lifted his cupped hands to his mouth to heckle the group of girls who were up next.

The first girl, with red hair and a big smile, had terrible aim; she came closer to hitting me than the target. The second girl, with a high blond ponytail and sharp blue eyes, was a little closer. And the third girl—tall and thin, with coiled braids hanging to her waist and dark, toned arms—stepped up with the composure of a major-league pitcher.

Griffin shifted nervously on the plank. “Nah, she’s not gonna get it,” he called out, trying his best to derail her.

It didn’t work. She whirled her arm around, delivering a ruthless pitch, hitting the target square in the center, and he disappeared into the water to the absolute delight of the crowd. I was still laughing when his head emerged.

Water dripped off the chiseled planes of his face, and his eyes were locked on me. “You think this is funny?”

“Yes.”

His hands curled around the edge of the tank, and with his foot on the middle rung of the ladder, Griffin hauled himself out in a great rush of water, landing gracefully onto the ground. When he whirled to me, I let out a squeak, trying to dart behind Kenny when I caught the predatory glint in his eye.

It didn’t help.

And have you ever imagined the most perfect male specimen you’ve ever laid eyes on—in soaking-wet clothes that cling to every visible muscle—rushing toward you?

It’s potent. Paralyzing. And really, unfortunately attractive.

Escaping a dripping-wet male is harder than you’d think. Mainly because my feet were anchored to the ground for a solid two seconds longer than they should have been.

Before I could whirl in the opposite direction, Griffin scooped me up in a bear hug, absolutely soaking the entire front of my body.

“Oh, you ass,” I said in between helpless peals of laughter. “It’s so cold.”

With his arm banded around my waist, my feet dangled helplessly off the ground. My hands settled lightly on the curves of his shoulders, and I tried to catch my breath as he stared up at me, a sinful grin stretching his lips and his eyes dancing. “You think this is cold, I should dump you in that tank,” he threatened in a silky voice.

“You wouldn’t dare,” I whispered.

His gaze moved to my mouth. “Maybe not.”

Kenny cleared his throat. “Um, Ruby? Is he getting back in?”

Pushing briefly on Griffin’s shoulders was all it took, and he set me back down. When I glanced at the front of my shirt, I gasped, my hands flying to cover my chest. My light-pink T-shirt was completely transparent.

I fixed Griffin with a glare, and he winced. “Sorry. Didn’t think about that.”

His shirt was no better. Through the white material, I saw the dusky circles of his nipples and each pronounced ridge on his pecs and his abdominals. The veins on his arms stood out against his golden-tan skin, and he plucked at his shirt with a short laugh. “Guess I didn’t choose the right color either.”

“I didn’t bring any extra clothes,” I moaned.

“I have a shirt in my car,” Griffin said. “It’ll be huge, but it’s yours if you want it.”

I gave him a distracted nod. “That would be great. I have the keys to the school; I can change in the bathrooms.”

Griffin told the crowd he’d be back in about five minutes, and Marcus led the line in some earsplitting, good-natured jeers, proclaiming that no one could dunk him while Griffin chickened out for a few minutes. Griffin darted forward, slapping the button, and Marcus fell into the tank while the crowd cheered.

We were both laughing, his arm warm where my shoulder brushed against it as we walked.

I kept my arms crossed over my chest, staying behind the booths and games so that we could remain out of sight—him so that we didn’t get stopped, me because I wasn’t trying to win any wet T-shirt competitions. Since the sun had gone down, there was a chill in the air I hadn’t felt all day, and I shivered. Griffin laid a hand on my back, and the warmth of his palm had my eyes falling closed.

“I’ll be right back,” he said, jogging off toward the parking lot.

After I wrestled with the key, the door to the high school opened with a creak, and I waited just inside, leaning against a cinder block wall until Griffin approached with some dry clothes in hand. I fixed a smile on my face and pushed open the door for him.

“Thank you,” I said. “I wouldn’t feel comfortable walking around like this.”

He handed me the shirt, lifting his chin in a nod. “Go ahead, I’ll wait.”

My hands tightened around the soft cotton, and it served as an effective visual shield to my see-through shirt. “You don’t have to do that.”

“Not gonna leave you alone in here, Ruby.”

I sighed quietly, slightly relieved by that. “Okay.”

“Where’s the bathroom?”

“Just around the corner.” I swallowed tightly, the absolute stillness in the big, empty building reminding me of us being together in my office. Maybe me and Griffin and empty buildings should be avoided at all costs, because there was something sinful about it, the warm pulse of temptation filling in the space between each breath.

He walked a few steps with me, and I kept his T-shirt pressed against my chest, lest he get an eyeful of nipple. It was distracting enough seeing his.

Instead of going all the way into the bathroom, I simply walked around the corner of the cinder block wall until I was out of sight, peeling my wet shirt off and tossing it onto the ground, where it hit with an audible slap. The sound was loud enough that I winced, because immediately following was a sharp inhale from Griffin.

It was all so unbearably and unintentionally sexy.

I was holding the shirt so tightly that my fists trembled. Even though my bra was damp, too, the warmth from his shirt—probably from sitting in a hot car—was practically narcotic. It smelled like him too.

Instead of quashing anything, I sucked in a deep, fortifying breath and let the flutters go wherever they wanted.

“I wish I was the type of person who knew how to take advantage of these moments,” I said, the words out before I could stop them. In truth, I didn’t want to stop them.

I didn’t want to stop whatever this feeling was, because it was powerful, sleek and strong and addicting.

“What moments?” he asked, voice just around the corner from where I stood.

With my eyes pinched shut and my forehead pressed against the cool cinder block, I let out a shaky exhale. “Moments of opportunity. I’ve never really known what to do with them. And this is . . . this is one of them, isn’t it?”

“God, Ruby,” he groaned. “It is.”

The sound of his voice, rough and desperate and so very, very close, made me tremble all over.

Everything was getting jumbled in my head—what we were doing, what we shouldn’t be doing, and what I wanted to do. None of it was clear anymore, and somehow, in all that confusion, the only thing that seemed straightforward was that I wanted him.

“Griffin,” I whispered, not even sure if he could hear me.

“Look at you,” he whispered.

I froze, head snapping up as he caged me in completely. The heat of him—tall and broad and impossibly warm—swamped my entire frame, even though he wasn’t actually touching me yet.

Yet.

My eyes fluttered shut, my breath coming in embarrassingly loud pants as I waited for the yet to turn into something else. It was a word filled with so much promise, wasn’t it? A vow of action that hung thick in the air between us.

With his hands braced on the wall on either side of my head, Griffin inhaled slowly, his nose brushing over the crown of my hair, his chest lightly brushing against my naked back.

For a few seconds—impossibly long and delicious—we stood there, simply breathing in the moment and letting it expand into something else. If he was waiting for me to pull away, he’d be waiting a long time.

“Please,” I whispered.

Griffin let out a rumbling groan, his hands curling into fists on the wall. One dropped down, and I stilled, the anticipation yanking goose bumps on my arms while I tried to guess where he’d touch me first.

My back.

The brush of one finger along my spine, like he was closing a zipper, following it all the way up, up, up, dancing over the clasp of my bra until he reached the base of my skull. For a brief, breathless moment, his hand curled possessively around my neck, his nose dragging along the edge of my ear while he held me anchored in place.

It was that firm hold that had me melting, forehead resting against the wall again. His hands coasted over my skin, one down my shoulder and along the length of my arm, the other following the line of my back until he ghosted his fingertips over the curve of my ribs.

“Tell me to stop,” he whispered, his mouth brushing over my shoulder, laying soft kisses over the side of my neck.

I was holding his shirt so tight to my chest that I feared my fingers might snap, and no matter how badly my more rational brain screamed that I should do exactly that, my throat lost the ability to make sound, my tongue the capability of forming speech.

No, I didn’t want to tell him to stop.

And it was the first time in my life where I wanted to ignore all those responsible thoughts and good-girl tendencies and let this moment fray at all my usual impulses, my typical responses.

When I didn’t say anything, Griffin eased himself against me, his towering height and absurd muscles against my back in a way that had me pushing my hips against his.

He was hard.

So hard. And holy shit, so big.

His hands curled around the sides of my hips, tugging me back against him more firmly. “That’s it,” he groaned. “That’s how much I want you, baby.”

My eyelids fluttered shut at the nickname, that these mindless moments were the only time he allowed it to slip. I wanted to do so many things: Grip his wrist and push it down beneath the waistband of my shorts. Push it up and feel the blunt tips of his fingers pluck at my aching nipples.

I just wanted him to touch me, wanted to allow this moment to unspool into something bigger than both of us. Bigger than him and me and the whole blissful world that we’d constructed the last week. We were the only ones who existed in it, and I found a selfish satisfaction in that.

No one knew we were here. No one knew it was like this between us.

That he did this to me, and I did this to him.

Griffin licked at the line of my neck, nosing at my jaw until my head turned in his direction. His hips rocked against me, and he dipped at the knees, his hardness rolling between my backside in a way that had me whimpering helplessly.

The sound had him swearing into my skin, his hands demanding that I turn in his arms with firm, sure movements. The moment I did, he slid those hands underneath my ass and boosted me up against the wall, pressing me into place with his unyielding strength. My legs wrapped around his waist, my hands still clutching that shirt trapped uselessly against the wall of his chest while Griffin slanted his mouth over mine.