Page 39 of Lessons in Heartbreak

“My friend Lauren,” I said. “She’s ... very pushy sometimes.” My cheeks flushed. “She bought me a monstrous dildo for my birthday last month.”

Griffin’s eyes sparkled like he was laughing, but his mouth stayed remarkably even. “No kidding.”

“I made her take it home with her.”

He clicked his tongue in disappointment. “Why would you do something like that?”

Instead of answering him honestly—that I was slightly terrified the thing would eat me alive—I said, “I was afraid Bruiser would think it’s a chew toy.”

“I think I’d get along with Lauren.”

“That’s why you’re never allowed to hang out with her.” Griffin laughed. Such an easy, rich sound. Ignoring the way it raised the hair on the back of my neck, I clasped my hands in front of me. “Now what? You going to donate all my clothes? Burn them in a ceremonial bonfire?”

“Nah.” He clapped his hands together. “We’re going shopping.”

The blood drained from my face. “We are not.”

Griffin’s gaze swept over me. “You gonna pass out, birdy?”

“I hate shopping,” I said miserably.

“This wouldn’t be normal shopping, though. I can call in a few favors, we’ll have the place to ourselves—”

“So everyone in there will know I’m naked behind a curtain and fawn all over me? No thank you.” I shuddered lightly, because that felt like emotional trauma waiting to happen. “There’s a reason we have the internet, and it’s so we never, ever have to set foot in a clothing store ever again.”

“Really? You don’t want your ownPretty Womanshopping montage in an upscale boutique? Most women—” His voice cut off when I narrowed my eyes. “Right. No sweeping generalizations about the opposite sex. Got it.”

My shoulders deflated. “It’s a generous thought, Griffin. I just can’t.”

“You are a terrible student so far,” he observed.

I pushed my tongue into my cheek, holding his gaze unflinchingly. If that man wanted to get me into a mall or something equally horrid, he’d have topayme.

There was no hiding his disappointment when he sighed, but to his credit, he didn’t try to argue. His pointer finger tapped over his lips, a considering look on his face.

Griffin studied me head to toe again, this time his gaze lingering on my legs. “Do you mind taking off the sweater, just for a moment?”

My hand gripped it tighter. “Why?”

“Research.”

With that cryptic word hanging between us, Griffin watched me carefully as my hand eased its grip on the fuzzy purple and I let it slide off my shoulders, tossing it on the bed. With the knitted armor gone, I was left in some inexcusably short shorts, all but invisible underneath the oversize T-shirt.

With a tilt of his head, he took a step closer. The spicy, crisp scent of him filled my head, and I tried to hide a slow inhale as he came a bit too close for comfort.

Griffin lifted both hands and reached out, stopping just shy of touching my ribs when I tensed. “If I put my hands right here,” he said quietly, “I could almost wrap them around you completely, couldn’t I?”

Every inch of my skin buzzed with invisible currents. He was right. If he grabbed me around the waist, if he stretched his palms out around my rib cage, his massive hands would cover so much of my body.

The thing about strength is that it’s intoxicating to be around when you’re someone not in possession. Even if you’re normally not impressed by such a thing, and I wasn’t. Griffin was in possession of mind-boggling strength. His frame—so overwhelmingly large compared to my own—carried a massive amount of power, barely leashed, in the muscles he’d spent his life honing to resemble his own sort of weapon. And right now, he was being so careful not to let that weapon be something that scared me.

Because I was small. And rather weak, at least in comparison.

Strength, in this strangely charged moment, looked like outstretched hands that could crush bones and do even more damage to someone’s heart.

Not mine, of course. Someone’s.

My eyes felt like they weighed a thousand pounds when I tried to lift my gaze to his. “Trust me, I’ve heard enough in my life that curves are what make a woman sexy. I know I don’t have that.” Gritty sand coated my throat when I tried to talk next. “Like trying to fuck a corpse,” I said evenly, although the words hurt coming up.

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