Page 57 of Lessons in Heartbreak

I was never particularly good at restraint when an exciting opportunity presented itself, and Ruby looking up at me and asking me to kiss her was lethally effective at decimating my reserve.

Lips that were softer than I’d imagined.

Skin too.

Her body was firm and lithe, subtle curves that made my mouth water. It would’ve been so easy to press her back against that desk and see just how far we’d both be willing to go.

I glanced down between my legs and gave a stern look to my burgeoning hard-on.

“Knock it off,” I muttered. “You’re no help right now.”

In the back of my head, I knew I should’ve regretted it, but I really fucking didn’t. If I were a better man, less selfish, less driven by pleasure and enjoyment of things like kissing a beautiful woman in a dark room, I might’ve felt bad for it. If she’d been upset, if she’d slapped me for taking liberties—even ones that were offered—there might have been more of those feelings.

But even as she stopped me, her eyes were locked on my mouth.

I’d increased my speed on the treadmill without realizing it, now running at a fast clip, sweat gathering across my chest and back. I eased back, the machine adjusting automatically. The movie played on, and I’d hardly paid attention. I picked up the remote and backed it up until I recognized one of the scenes. My brow furrowed as the captions caught up, and I nodded when I finally figured out what was happening.

“What a dick,” I whispered.

The door to the gym burst open, smacking hard on the wall, Marcus Henderson jumping into the room with a roar.

I jumped, losing my balance in the next heartbeat, and even though I reached for the bars on either side of the treadmill, my hand grasped at nothing but air and I toppled sideways, legs tangling as I fell to the floor.

With a groan, I pried my eyes open, and Marcus Henderson’s face was right above me. He was grinning, one hand braced on his knee, the other holding his phone, which was also aimed at my face. “Dude, I’m so glad I was filming. This shit is gonna go viral.”

“Give me your fucking phone,” I said, pushing myself to a seated position. When I tried to reach for the phone, he pulled it out of my grasp. “You post that anywhere and you’re dead to me.”

He snickered, tapping on his screen a few times. “It’ll be a great Welcome to Denver video. Everyone’s gonna love it.” Marcus eyed me where I sat. “You okay? Coach would skin me alive if I injured you before your first game.”

Instead of answering, I got up to my knees and tried to swing at his junk with my fist, which made him jump back on a laugh.

“I’m fine,” I told him. Once I was on my feet, I tested my ankles and knees, but they seemed all right. “No thanks to you, asshole. How did you get in here?”

He hitched a thumb over his shoulder. “You left the front door unlocked. Landscapers recognized me. Took a couple selfies, and they were happy.” Marcus glanced around the gym, and his eyebrows rose in surprise. “This is a nice fucking gym, considering how out of shape Steven is.”

“I think it’s more for his wife than him,” I said.

“Ah. That makes sense.” He whistled. “She is hot.”

The screen flashed with a scene change, and my eyes widened. I grabbed the remote off the treadmill and fumbled to turn it off but hit the wrong button. Marcus caught sight of the screen and whipped his arm out, snatching the remote from my hand.

“Hold the fucking phone, King,” he said, cranking the volume up. “What is this?”

“You been drinking already today? It’s a movie, dingbat.”

Instead of taking the bait, his face split into a pleased smile, and I pushed my tongue into the side of my cheek while the Dashwood sisters consoled each other after all their relationship woes.

Slowly, Marcus pulled out his phone, aiming it at the TV, and I smacked it out of his hand before he could start filming. “Oh, come on,” he laughed. “My followers will love this shit.”

“By all means, blast it on the internet, then.”

“You’re watching a chick movie while you work out, Griffin,” he said like I was slow to understand the gravity of the situation. A flickof his hand toward the TV and a meaningful lift to his eyebrows didn’t help. “You’d get laid a hundred times over in a week if you put this out there.”

I rolled my eyes. “I’m not trying to get laid, you idiot.”

The words felt like rotten fruit coming out, because I was trying to accomplishsomethingby watching these films, wasn’t I?

Desperate moans, silky hair between my fingers, the warm, slight weight of her breast under my hand crashed into my brain before I could stop them.

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