Page 65 of Lessons in Heartbreak

I stood to the side, filming some videos as they ribbed the crowd and posed for pictures, signing occasional shirts and hats with a Sharpie that Kenny provided. Everyone who walked away from them wore the kind of smile that was undeniably contagious.

Yes, they played a game for a living, but the unbridled joy they delivered to every person was a tangible, sweet thing that had an ache blooming in my chest. Maybe money couldn’t buy happiness, but these two were incredibly adept at creating it in their wake.

In turn, it meant the longer I filmed what they were doing, the longer I watched the ease with which he made kids smile and laugh, the less effective my quashing abilities became. The flutters were growing into something dangerous.

The first to get dunked was Marcus. The high school’s star baseball pitcher lined up for him, delivering a rocket to the center of the target, and as the crowd erupted, Marcus fell into the freezing-cold water with a yell. He emerged with a roar, arms raised and his T-shirt plastered to his chest and stomach.

Griffin waved me over during a break between people in his line, leaning down from his seat on the top of the tank. “How pissed do you think he’ll be when I come out of this dry as a bone?”

I rolled my eyes. “You won’t. I’ll dunk you myself if that happens.”

“Oh yeah? You got a secret talent for pitching, too, birdy?”

“If you think I won’t walk straight up to the button and hit it just to prove a point, you don’t know me at all.”

He tipped his head back and laughed, and good Lord, what was it about an exposed throat on this man that had me pressing my knees together?

With a steadying breath, I moved off to the side so the next person could throw, and my eyes stubbornly stayed glued to the curve of hisbiceps when he lifted his cupped hands to his mouth to heckle the group of girls who were up next.

The first girl, with red hair and a big smile, had terrible aim; she came closer to hitting me than the target. The second girl, with a high blond ponytail and sharp blue eyes, was a little closer. And the third girl—tall and thin, with coiled braids hanging to her waist and dark, toned arms—stepped up with the composure of a major-league pitcher.

Griffin shifted nervously on the plank. “Nah, she’s not gonna get it,” he called out, trying his best to derail her.

It didn’t work. She whirled her arm around, delivering a ruthless pitch, hitting the target square in the center, and he disappeared into the water to the absolute delight of the crowd. I was still laughing when his head emerged.

Water dripped off the chiseled planes of his face, and his eyes were locked on me. “You think this is funny?”

“Yes.”

His hands curled around the edge of the tank, and with his foot on the middle rung of the ladder, Griffin hauled himself out in a great rush of water, landing gracefully onto the ground. When he whirled to me, I let out a squeak, trying to dart behind Kenny when I caught the predatory glint in his eye.

It didn’t help.

And have you ever imagined the most perfect male specimen you’ve ever laid eyes on—in soaking-wet clothes that cling to every visible muscle—rushing toward you?

It’s potent. Paralyzing. And really, unfortunately attractive.

Escaping a dripping-wet male is harder than you’d think. Mainly because my feet were anchored to the ground for a solid two seconds longer than they should have been.

Before I could whirl in the opposite direction, Griffin scooped me up in a bear hug, absolutely soaking the entire front of my body.

“Oh, you ass,” I said in between helpless peals of laughter. “It’s so cold.”

With his arm banded around my waist, my feet dangled helplessly off the ground. My hands settled lightly on the curves of his shoulders, and I tried to catch my breath as he stared up at me, a sinful grin stretching his lips and his eyes dancing. “You think this is cold, I should dump you in that tank,” he threatened in a silky voice.

“You wouldn’t dare,” I whispered.

His gaze moved to my mouth. “Maybe not.”

Kenny cleared his throat. “Um, Ruby? Is he getting back in?”

Pushing briefly on Griffin’s shoulders was all it took, and he set me back down. When I glanced at the front of my shirt, I gasped, my hands flying to cover my chest. My light-pink T-shirt was completely transparent.

I fixed Griffin with a glare, and he winced. “Sorry. Didn’t think about that.”

His shirt was no better. Through the white material, I saw the dusky circles of his nipples and each pronounced ridge on his pecs and his abdominals. The veins on his arms stood out against his golden-tan skin, and he plucked at his shirt with a short laugh. “Guess I didn’t choose the right color either.”

“I didn’t bring any extra clothes,” I moaned.

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