Page 26 of Lessons in Heartbreak

“And you won’t ask about my drinks with Jimmy?”

Griffin’s mouth fell open. “His name is Jimmy? What kind of hooker name is that?”

“He’s not a hooker,” I hissed. “Keep your voice down.”

He recovered quickly. “Fine, fine. I won’t ask about Jimmy.”

The disgust with which he said the name made me fight back a smile. He caught it, a grin of his own spreading.

“Just dinner,” I said.

Griffin held up one hand. “I’ll be as innocent as a nun.”

I snorted. Loudly.

And someone from the row behind us shushed me.

Griffin leaned in. “You’re a terrible influence, aren’t you, birdy? I should probably go so you don’t ruin my reputation around town.”

He walked off whistling, and I covered my face with my hands, letting out a small groan.

Chapter SevenRuby

Half my wardrobe was piled on my bed, and when I tossed another cardigan set behind me, the sound of Bruiser’s whine had me glancing over my shoulder. The sleeve was hooked on Bruiser’s ear, and when he batted ineffectually at the sweater to dislodge it from his face, I exhaled a quiet laugh.

“Sorry,” I told him, unhooking the shirt. I kissed his snout, laughing a little when he tried to lick my chin as I pulled back. “I wish there was a guide for stuff like this.What to wear when meeting a potential dating coach slash escort.”

He tilted his head.

With a sigh, I sank onto the bed, scratching the spot behind his ears that he liked so much.

What was Idoing? Of course it was hard to find clothes to wear, because the thought of sitting at a table with Jimmy the escort made me want to puke.

I had to, though. If I chickened out of this, I’d always wonder. Wonder if maybe a few practice dates with someone who did this for a living would be enough to snap me out of my funk. Bolster my confidence, as Lauren kept preaching.

Confidence. Everyone made it sound so easy, didn’t they? Like self-love was a switch in the back of your mind, scuttling all the neurons into submission with a neat flip into the on position.

Yeah right. Maybe the people capable of that were part of the small minority destined to make us mere mortals feel like crap because our switch was broken and our brain didn’t want to fall in step. I was proud of so much that I’d accomplished. And yes, while I had regrets about this one part of my life, I didn’t feel the need to alter my personality or try to act like someone else. Ididlove myself. Most of me, anyway.

That felt more normal. More universal. That each of us stood in front of the mirror and could list a bunch of things that we liked and appreciated, and just did our best not to let the other stuff screw up our mood.

Jimmy, unless he was an actual miracle worker, wouldn’t be able to make my brain do anything. Wasn’t that depressing? I was the only one who could overcome my own hangups. The key was finding someone who made me feel comfortable being myself while I did.

And I was pretty freaking sure there wasn’t a single article of clothing in my closet that had those magical powers either.

“Up you go,” I told Bruiser. He wiggled his butt. “Unless you grow some opposable thumbs, the only way you can help me is by not laying on half my wardrobe.”

I swear he could understand me, because Bruiser hopped off the bed and stretched with a groan, then circled until he found a comfortable spot on the ground.

As I started the arduous process of hanging up all the clothes I’d torn down from the closet, I decided in the end that the clothes I’d worn to work would be just fine for professional drinks with ... the professional whatever-he-was.

“You look lovely in that color.”

Heat crawled up my neck into my cheeks, and I blocked the man’s voice from my head. I didn’t even want to think his name lest he findout somehow. Wouldn’t that make his ego quiver with glee? Knowing that I was thinking about what he’d said when I was getting ready to go out with another man.

I bet Griffin was one of those people who could stare in the mirror and not find a single flaw on his wretchedly perfect body. One of those people who’d flipped the self-love switch on when he was a child, and the blasted thing never turned off.

In the bathroom, I brushed my hair, added a little blush, and swiped on an extra coat of mascara, then shrugged. “Good enough, I think.”

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