Lessons in Heartbreak: Chapter 8

It wasn’t until an alarm was screaming at me in the kitchen that I realized how much time had passed.

“Shit.” I snapped the book shut and tossed it onto the couch, jogging into the kitchen when I saw wisps of smoke billowing from the oven. “Shit, shit, shit.”

Why had I burned my dinner?

Because I was reading. In a million years, no one would ever believe me.

Reaching up, I punched a button on the exhaust fan set inside the massive vent hood. I fumbled with some of the smaller drawers on each side of the stove until I found the oven mitts. My eyes were watering from the smoke even before I wrenched open the door, and it poured out in a billowing wave.

“Oh, fuck me,” I groaned. The pork tenderloin—perfectly tied and dressed with fancy-looking herbs—was charred to a blackened crisp but not actually on fire, thank God. It was the juice and oil surrounding the meat on the baking tray that smoked ominously.

The smoke alarm in the family room went off shortly after the pork came out of the oven, and I started pressing any button I could reach in hopes that something magical would happen.

“How do you turn off?” I growled. “You shouldn’t need a PhD to operate this thing.”

My big thumbs accidentally started the broiler, and then finally, finally, hit the correct button on the stupid little screen.

With a glorious beep, the oven turned off. I waved the oven mitts over the baking pan, dissipating some of the smoke, then did the same thing in front of the smoke alarm in the kitchen.

“God, this better not have the fire department showing up at the house,” I muttered.

Almost immediately, my phone started ringing. I was still in the midst of waving the oven mitts around to shut the stupid alarms up, and the sight of Steven’s name on my home screen made me wince.

A text came through. Then another. Then another. Each consecutive chime on my phone managed to sound angrier than the one before. Setting my jaw, I jogged over to the large walk-in pantry and pulled out the broom tucked into the corner. After settling my weight carefully onto a dining chair, I waved the broom in front of the family room smoke alarm, wafting the air back and forth until it cleared enough that the screaming noise stopped.

I blew out a hard sigh and tossed the broom onto the floor, then yanked open the folding doors so that some fresh air could clear out the remainder of the smoke. Hands on my hips, I glanced down with a frown. I must’ve gotten some of the oil from the pork on the mitts and then on my shirt.

With the brimstone-and-fire smell finally easing in the room, I peeled my ruined shirt off and tossed it toward the hallway that led to the laundry room.

Still had to figure out how to use that.

At home, things like laundry were always taken care of by my housekeeper, Eileen—a glorious, matronly woman from Scotland to whom I paid a small fortune to keep me fed and my house clean. I was also paying her a large fortune to move with me to Denver, a move made easier by the fact that her only son had moved to Colorado five years earlier, and the only reason she stayed in New York was because of how much I paid her.

Just as I was going to change into a new shirt and then reassure Steven that I was not, in fact, burning his house down, the doorbell rang, and I winced again.

It was either the Welling Springs Fire Department or Ruby. It was a toss-up of which option was less intimidating. I’d look like an idiot either way, but at least with the fire department, I stood a chance of recovery. With Ruby? Not so much.

A glance through the front window showed not big red fire trucks, but a nondescript white sedan.

As I jogged to the door, I couldn’t help but grin as I pictured her horrified face when I’d asked her over for dinner. In fact, I’d never met a woman less impressed with me in my entire life.

Not sure what it said about my mental state that I was so fucking excited by that. And as I pulled open the door to greet her, that smile died immediately when I caught a glimpse of her face.

“What’s wrong?”

Her eyes were glued on my chest. “Why are you shirtless?”

She said shirtless with such disgust and horror that, for a split second, I felt the need to cover my chest with the oven mitts. Then I remembered that I’d been voted Best NFL Body three years in a row and took a deep breath, flexing my abs a little as I adjusted my stance.

“Oh.” I glanced down. “I kinda burned our dinner and got some oil splattered on my shirt in the process of trying not to burn the house down.”

She blinked. “Okay.” Her eyes rose to mine. “Can you go put a shirt on, please?”

“Your wish is my command, birdy.”

She rolled her eyes.

With a laugh, I backed up, opening the door to let her into the house. Quietly, she entered, eyes wide as she took in the open living, dining, and kitchen areas.

“Not bad, right?”

Ruby sighed heavily as she preceded me into the room. My eyes surreptitiously tracked over her clothing choice for drinks with Jimmy the hooker. Same outfit she’d worn earlier at work, and even with a slightly too-big skirt, she still managed to fit neatly into the category of librarian fetish, if that was someone’s kink.

Not mine, of course. But . . . someone’s.

Before I found a clean shirt in my room, I snagged my phone from the counter and told her to make herself comfortable. The sight of Steven’s texts had me grinning.

Steven:Why Are The Smoke Alarms Going Off

Steven:Your ass is so fired if you burn my house down

Steven:So help me, Griffin, if you wreck all that furniture my wife spent six months buying, it’ll take a year for the cops to find your body.

Steven:, you dickCall Me Right Now

Me:Relax. My dinner got a little crispy in the oven. All clear. No couches were harmed in the process of me cooking. I just got a little distracted.

Steven:Were you having sex in my house? Don’t tell me where.

Me:I was not. I was reading a WW2 book, actually.

Steven:Funny. Just have the housekeeper change the sheets before you leave, okay?

I rolled my eyes and plugged my phone in by the nightstand in the guest bedroom I’d claimed as my own. Steven told me to take any room I liked, but the thought of sleeping in the bed where he screwed his wife gave me the serious ick.

With a clean white T-shirt tugged over my torso, I walked back down the hallway and found Ruby standing by the folding slider doors, her hands clasped in front of her as she stared out at the sprawling view behind the house. The mountains were a dark brownish green in the distance, the acres of grass a lush emerald color that almost didn’t look real. Just beyond the patio, with its rectangular firepit surrounded by white Adirondacks, the pool glittered underneath the setting sun.

“It smells like a bonfire in here,” she commented, her eyes staying out on the backyard.

“Sorry about that. I might be able to scrounge up a frozen pizza or something if you’re still hungry after your . . .” Her eyes snapped to me when I paused, but I recovered quickly. “Prior engagement, of which I will not be making inquiries.”

She hummed, her hands clasped so tightly that I could see the whites of her knuckles.

“You know why I burned our dinner?”

“Difficulty reading the instructions?”

I whistled. “Touché. But no.” I wandered over to the couch and picked up the book she’d selected, holding it aloft. Her eyes lit up instantly, and I saw the moment she tried to shutter it. “This is a great book. I lost track of time.”

“Really?”

“God, you sound so skeptical. I did go to college, you know. I can read.”

She arched an eyebrow. “You told me you needed a picture book about football.”

“My sense of humor is somewhat dry, with a healthy side dose of self-deprecation. It has a tendency to get me in trouble.”

Ruby’s eyes flicked over my covered chest. “I found an article about you climbing a bell tower in college while drunk and naked.”

“I have vague recollections of that.”

She rolled her eyes. “My point is that I think you can get into trouble all on your own, without the help of your sense of humor.”

I nodded sagely. “It is one of my strengths. Not one anyone else recognizes, though.”

“It seldom happens that way.” Her gaze tracked around the room, lingering on the pricey artwork decorating the walls. “What we view as our best traits don’t usually end up being our most memorable.”

“Now that’s an interesting distinction.” I leaned on the back of the couch and watched her. “But I’m not sure if that’s true for me.”

“How’s that?”

I spread my arms out. “Tell me, Ruby, how do you view me? After a couple exchanges. What would you say I’m like as a person?”

The graceful line of her throat worked on a swallow, but there was a surprising lack of hesitation when she answered. “Handsome. Athletically gifted. A player . . .” She paused, holding up her hand when I opened my mouth to say something. “And not the kind who plays a game for a living.”

“I think most people would agree with you,” I said easily. “What else? No need to bite your tongue on my account.”

Her chin notched up a stubborn inch. “Someone who doesn’t take life very seriously.”

“Ding, ding.” I tapped my nose. “You always were a smart cookie, weren’t you?”

“If I recall, you preferred the term nerdy birdy.”

Shame crawled up my chest despite my best effort to quash it, and I pushed my tongue against the side of my cheek. “Well, that’s not a very nice thing to call the neighbor girl,” I managed.

Her answering smile was wry. “Don’t worry, I was hardly crying myself to sleep. I pretty much just ignored you.”

“From your daily perch, watching me and my brother? How’d that go?”

“Oh, I wasn’t watching you, Griffin,” she said. She tilted her head as her eyes met mine, and what I saw there had my head rearing back in surprise. “I was mainly watching him.”

With a frown, I rubbed at the back of my neck. “Of course you were.”

Ruby shook her head and wandered into the kitchen, her fingers trailing along the edge of the first of two islands anchoring the room. When she reached the charred remains of the pork, her nose wrinkled, and I found that I liked how clearly I could read her facial expressions.

“I’m a little shocked,” she said, eyes still on the burned dinner.

“I have that effect on people. You’ll get used to my overwhelming presence eventually.”

Her eyes closed, and after a tiny shake of her head, she opened them again. “I’m shocked that you haven’t asked about my drinks.”

I blinked. “Because I promised you I wouldn’t.”

“So you’re not curious?”

I set my hands on my hips. “Is this a trick? When I told you I wouldn’t ask, I meant it.”

Ruby sighed, clearly flustered, and she smoothed her hands down the front of her blouse, which buttoned all the way up to her neck. She had a habit of fidgeting with her shirt when she was nervous.

“No, I’m not playing games. I promise.” Her cheekbones were tinged a soft pink, and she couldn’t make eye contact for a moment. “I’m . . . I’m nervous.”

“Why? It’s just me. You’ve never worried about impressing me before.”

“Quite true.” She blew out a slow breath, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ears. “When I was getting ready tonight, my friend told me to pick the outfit where I felt the sexiest. The most confident.” She gestured at her outfit. “And this was the best I could come up with. It sounds pathetic to say this out loud, but I couldn’t imagine one moment in my life where I ever felt anything close to those things. You told me today that I looked lovely in it.”

“You do,” I said cautiously. “If someone asked for a librarian fetish, this would be it.”

Her eyes pinched shut briefly. “It would not.”

I pursed my lips, glancing down at her shoes. “You’re right. You’d need some fishnet stockings and higher heels—but it’s not without appeal, trust me.”

Her chest rose and fell on a deep breath. “I don’t want to look like someone’s fetish come to life, Griffin.”

“I feel like I’m doomed to piss you off in the course of this conversation,” I said carefully.

“Just say it. Whatever it is.”

“What do you want, then?” I asked.

Her eyes snapped to mine, determination blazing hot behind the cool gray. “I want you to be the one to teach me how to do this.”

With my heart hammering behind my ribs, I tilted my head and took a step closer. “Teach you what, exactly?”

“Teach me how to make a man want me.”