Page 126 of Lessons in Heartbreak

With a smile, I wrapped an arm around her waist and steered her past a plush ottoman. “Would I let that happen?”

“No.”

She sounded so pouty that I laughed. My hand snapped against her ass, and she squeaked. “Almost there, birdy.”

In front of us was a big, overstuffed chair for two—large enough that even I could fully extend my legs. With my hand guiding her arm, I eased her outstretched palm onto the back of the chair. She felt around, and I could so clearly imagine the furrow in her brow while she tried to figure out where we were.

Maggie had taken her out of the house that morning for a shopping trip, then surprised her with a trip to the salon to get her hair and makeup done.

Our tenth anniversary.

God, and what a fucking decade it had been. Life with this woman was so much sweeter than I’d ever planned, and even now I couldn’t get enough of her. When I retired from playing, we built a house in Welling Springs, preferring the quiet pace of life there over the busyness of Denver.

We’d built a damn-good life after we got married. I played for two more years after my arm healed, and even though my body could have gone another year or two, I told Ruby that I was ready to be home with her. Instead of practices and travel and hours of game film, I shifted my focus to helping Ruby start a foundation for early literacy in underserved communities in eastern Colorado.

I still commuted to help the team a couple times a week during the season, but for the most part, my life was centered around one thing—loving Ruby Tate. And I was damn good at that.

We’d seen so much of the world over the last ten years. Her favorite place was Great Britain, and Greece was a close second. My favorite was anywhere I got to go with her. Watching the wonder in her eyes when she explored a new country was fucking addicting.

Bruiser lived until our sixth anniversary, and on our seventh, I surprised her with a monster of a puppy I’d found at an adoption event held by the team—he grew to be a hundred pounds of dopey, drooling cuddle monster, and we’d named him Tank. He had a horrible tendency to hog the bed and dig into the garbage when we weren’t looking, but he was still our baby.

Kids weren’t in the picture for us, but as Uncle Griffin and Aunt Ruby, we stayed busy. Not just because Marcus and Lauren popped out three kids in five years and we constantly had those little red-haired psychos over, but because Maggie and Bryce turned out to be two of the greatest surrogate children we could’ve asked for. We spent as much time as we could with them, along with my parents, Barrett and his wife, and their younger kids.

“Are we at the house?” she asked. “Did you bake muffins? The last time you tried that, you almost burned the kitchen down.”

“Lies.” I eased both arms around her so I could nibble at the line of her jaw. Ruby melted into my embrace, sliding her arms over mine and sighing. “Ready to see your surprise?”

“Yes.”

Careful not to tangle her hair, I untied the blindfold. In our family room, I’d set up a massive projection screen, flanked by paper lanterns flickering with warm yellow light. There was one chair in the middle of the room, where we’d be able to snuggle in tight next to each other.

She exhaled a quiet laugh when she saw the small end table holding a plate of blueberry muffins. Ruby leaned over and picked one up, turning to give me a devious grin. “What is this?”

“A re-creation,” I explained, gesturing to the chair in front of us. “If you don’t mind, I need to sit first.”

Ruby plucked off a piece of the muffin, sighing happily as she swallowed. “So good.”

I sat back in the chair and spread my legs, patting the space between. She climbed onto the chair and settled herself in between my legs, her back plastered to my chest. Wrapping my arms around her was a flimsy excuse to snag the muffin, and she scoffed when I ate half of it in one bite.

While she got another piece of the second muffin, I pressed play on the remote, and when the opening credits began—soft, romantic light filling the screen—Ruby laughed in delight.

“You didn’t,” she said, turning to smile up into my face.

I leaned down to give her a lingering kiss. “I needed to re-create this first date.”

Her eyes were soft and happy and warm, the flush of pink in her cheeks making me want to ditchPride & Prejudicefor tenth-anniversary sex in a really comfortable chair while her mouth tasted like muffins.

Later,I reminded myself. There was a blue lace number waiting upstairs on our bed, and a sleek diamond chain I wanted to drape over her skin while I kissed every inch of her body.

Spoiling her was also really fucking addicting.

“Why?” she asked.

I held my hand out, and Ruby slid her fingers in between mine, dragging lightly over the skin on my palm before pressing our hands together. “Because I knew that night,” I told her, nuzzling in closer to the side of her head. “That you were special. And I needed more.”

“You did?”

I nodded, my heart overflowing with the need to give her pretty words that I never quite seemed capable of. These days, I didn’t spend much time worrying about the future. She was healthy and strong, and her doctors were optimistic that Ruby would be one of those people you read stories about—who live a long, healthy life. On days like this, it wasn’t fear that had me looking back.

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