Lessons in Heartbreak: Chapter 3

I could count on one hand the times that I’d wished for the ground to open up and swallow me whole. Something catastrophic and devastating, and oh, I’d welcome it with open arms right about now.

Do you recognize me? he’d asked. Please.

If I hadn’t been halfway to dying from mortification, I would’ve snorted. The moment I saw that man’s profile, saw him flirting shamelessly with Blake, I knew exactly who he was.

Like I didn’t spend half my childhood completely obsessed with the King twins. Watching them play, watching them fight, watching them do anything, really. Watching them grow taller and stronger and somehow—always, impossibly—more and more handsome with every year that passed.

They were like some strange alien species—with a different language and different way of interacting with each other. They would shove each other, wrestle, yell, swear, come up sweaty and angry after playing a game, and the next day be completely fine.

In my own home, everything was quiet and contained, perfectly precise because that’s how my parents did things. There weren’t messes to be picked up or yelling matches between siblings, because, hello, no siblings to be had for me.

Watching Griffin and Barrett always made me feel a bit like a kid at the zoo, nose pressed to the glass, watching the lions roam their habitat.

My parents moved us away to Fort Collins when I was fifteen—a far cry from Michigan, where I’d grown up—but those two boys were cemented in my brain. Every kid has a formative moment, a book or a movie or a crush that makes you realize just exactly how powerful hormones are.

It was the King twins for me.

Over the edge of my book, I’d study them—the beautifully proportioned bodies, the strong jaws and the long limbs, the natural grace that seemed marrow deep. And I felt things when I did.

Pounding pulse.

Rapid heart rate.

Sweaty palms.

When one of them looked at me? I felt it all over, tingling skin and prickling heat.

And here he sat, the man with the beautiful smile. So, so much bigger than he had been the last time I saw him.

A sharp pang lanced my chest, and I rubbed carefully at my sternum, firmly assuring myself that I was fine.

Griffin blinked, his face completely frozen at my announcement, but he recovered swiftly, leaning back in his chair and studying me with such intensity that I felt it like a lightning bolt.

My God, he was gorgeous.

What would he look like naked? My face was flaming, because now I was looking at the size of his hands and, through the screaming static in my brain, thinking about the proportions of hand size and feet size to . . . other body parts’ sizes, and I felt a little faint.

He’d look incredible, wouldn’t he?

Not that I’d ever know.

I’d paid so much money for this meeting, and not once did I consider that I’d actually be attracted to the person they sent. I figured it would be like having a really good teacher who didn’t smell bad and had clean teeth and could teach me things in a way that I’d be able to understand. Filter out my emotions because of how horribly they got in the way whenever I attempted . . . this.

“Hiring an escort is no small decision,” he said smoothly, crossing his massive arms over his chest. My eyes lingered briefly on the curve of his biceps, the way they strained the black T-shirt. How ridiculous. No one should have arms that big. “I’d love to hear more, Ruby.”

There was a purring quality to his voice. Like the lion at the zoo—powerful and big and dangerous—staring at me from his seat, just waiting for me to move too quickly. My whole body wanted to bolt, but some screaming instinct told me to hold still, because if I turned my back, he’d sink those giant canines into a soft, unprotected part of me and drag me someplace dark and quiet.

This is what happens when you act impulsively, I thought, with a wild, shrieking quality to the voice in my head.

“No, it wasn’t a small decision,” I said coolly, like my insides weren’t shaking like a freaking leaf. “But I’d rather hear how you ended up in your job.”

If there was a ranking system for the type of men in the world, he was at the top of the food chain. The size and strength of his body were just one piece of what put him there. His face was another. I’d watched him at the counter, flirting smoothly with Blake, recovering even more smoothly when she told him about her wife.

A pheromone surrounded him like a cloud, so very potent that I could feel the weakness in my knees even though I was sitting. Not just because he smelled good or because he had such physically pleasing features—a strong jaw and a straight nose, heavily lashed eyes in a golden-hazel color, and muscles stacked along his tall frame in a way that made my throat go dry.

Under any other circumstance, I’d hardly be able to make eye contact with a man like him. But God, I was so sick of that instinct to run. Sick of holding up the heaviest sort of armor when I didn’t. After so many years, I wasn’t even sure how much protection it offered.

The worst sort of feelings still lingered—loneliness, more than anything. It hurt in a way other emotions didn’t, because it wasn’t sharp or quick. It lingered, like a bruise that kept getting pushed, so it could never really heal.

Maybe I could set down that armor with him, though.

He wouldn’t laugh at me, and he wouldn’t tease.

There was a reason I’d called in a professional.

Your date will be in a black T-shirt, black pants, black-and-wood watch, tall with dark hair. Sit in the back of the restaurant, where the two of you can have some privacy.

That’s what the email had said.

Griffin leaned in, and I fought the urge to back away. The eye contact was almost dizzying, something I could feel curling pleasantly in my stomach, lifting the hairs on the back of my neck.

“I love what I do,” he said. “Always lining up against different people. I love the challenge of trying to figure them out. Keeps me incredibly fit. Every day is a little different.” He paused, eyes raking over my face while his lips curled into a sinful smile that I felt down to my toes. “Though my body is completely wrecked by the time I’ve put in a lot of hours.”

Attempting to swallow was pointless because my throat felt like it was packed with sand.

“Wr-wrecked?” I whispered. Looking for an outlet for my useless surge of energy, I plucked mindlessly at the button at the base of my throat. The thought of Griffin wrecking things—with his body or otherwise—made me feel a little fuzzy in the general area of my brain. “I didn’t think . . . I wasn’t aware that those lines got crossed. Unless you’re . . . unless you . . .”

That smile deepened as my voice gave out. He hummed, low in his throat. “Oh, I cross a lot of lines, Ruby.” His big, blunt fingers pulled off another piece of muffin, and he popped it into his mouth while his eyes stayed firmly on mine. The line of his jaw worked while he chewed, and I found myself watching the play of muscles underneath the stubble. “Tell me more about why you’re here, little birdy. Isn’t that what we used to call you?”

I huffed a laugh. “You came up with it. I hated that nickname.”

Griffin smiled widely, a flash of white teeth and the dimple making my pulse skitter dangerously.

“Because you were always up in that tree, with your big eyes, reading your books all quiet and sweet.” He licked at his bottom lip. How was it that that tiny flash of tongue and the lingering eye contact could make my skin so abnormally hot? God, he was good at this. No wonder he cost a fortune. “Tell me why you’re here. I want to know quite badly.”

My forehead furrowed briefly. “Well . . . I had to fill out the intake form, and it was quite thorough—”

“Griffin King?”

Griffin looked over at the guy who’d spoken, but his eyes darted back to mine, holding steadily. “Yeah, that’s me.”

Oh gawd, was he a famous escort?

Kill me. Just . . . kill me now.

“Oh, wow, do you mind if I grab a picture? You’re a legend, man. I saw you play in New York twice last year. Absolute beast on the field. I’ll be devastated when you retire.”

My head reared back, skin prickling as I caught the guilty expression flash over Griffin’s face. With my mouth hanging open, my heart racing, I let out a strangled sound.

“Wait, are you Ruby?” At the question, I blinked up—and up—at another tall, good-looking man. Wearing a black shirt. With a black-and-wood watch. He was no longer staring at my tablemate with bright, interested eyes, because his attention had shifted to me. “I’m sorry I’m late; it took me longer to get here than I thought.”

“I—” It was hard to talk over the roaring of my pulse. Griffin rolled his lips together, a pleading expression filling his golden eyes. “You’re not . . . you’re—” My voice broke off, pathetically quiet, and my heart hammered so hard that I felt like my ribs might break.

“Ruby and I knew each other as kids,” Griffin said, briefly breaking the chest-crushing eye contact to give our newest arrival a friendly smile. “I couldn’t help but stop and say hi when I saw her.”

Maybe the earth didn’t swallow me whole, but how desperately I wanted it to. Embarrassment wasn’t a strong enough word for what I felt.

This word looked like standing naked on a stage, the bright, hot lights aimed right at me, all the seats filled with clown-like smiles and the kind of nasty laughter that embedded itself in your ears.

The two men stared back at me—one justifiably confused, one looking very apologetic, and quite irrationally, I felt the urge to punch the latter of the two. Hard. I’d never wanted to punch anyone in my entire unremarkable life, but I was ready to break that streak for Griffin Freaking King.

Except I’d probably break my hand on his stupid face.

A mortifying crawl of tears made my nose burn and my throat agonizingly tight.

Griffin assessed the new arrival with a sharp eye. “Thought prostitution was illegal in Colorado.”

“That’s why I’m a licensed escort,” the other said smoothly. “When I’m outside of Las Vegas, at least.” Then he winked at me, and my stomach bottomed out.

Griffin eased out of his chair, unfolding his body to his staggering height. Holy hell, he had to be six five. He was an entire foot taller than me.

The other gentleman cleared his throat. Maybe the height difference was getting to him too.

Somehow that made it even worse. A metaphorical pissing match between two strangers.

What was I thinking?

I’d never be able to get over this debilitating anxiety when it came to men. Because of crap like this—when they sat at tables they weren’t supposed to sit at, when they showed up in towns they weren’t supposed to be in, and when they looked like he looked: criminally, heartbreakingly good.

I stood from the table so fast that my chair clattered backward. “I’m sorry, I—” My eyes pinched shut, and I started clawing at the high neck of my shirt. “I have to go.”

The newest arrival held his hand out in a soothing gesture. “No, please. I’d still love to meet with you, see how I can help.”

With my fist tight around my shirt, I stared at him. He was nice looking. Tall and wiry. Well dressed. Blue eyes. His lips were a little thin, and he had a baby face. All in all, he was quite unassuming. If I passed him on the street, I wouldn’t have looked twice.

There was no hammering pulse, no goose bumps and hairs lifting on the back of the neck.

Maybe he’d be safe. Easy.

He was a professional. Maybe I could tell him the things that terrified me and what I wanted to accomplish from this.

How desperately I wanted to move through this thirtieth year of my life and not feel so achingly alone. Like I could do something about all the ways I’d lived scared.

But the thought of trying to come back from this, to recover from how I felt in that very moment, made me want to hide for, oh, about six months.

Yes. A locked closet sounded great right about now.

“I can’t,” I said, voice clipped and hard. “I have to go.”

“Ruby, I’m sorry, I—” Griffin held out his hand like he was about to grab my arm. I stumbled back so fast I almost fell into another table.

“Don’t you dare apologize to me right now,” I said fiercely. “In fact, don’t say another word to me, Griffin.”

Then I turned and fled, fumbling with Bruiser’s leash where I’d hooked him up, and once he was clear, I dashed off toward the library.