Page 77 of Lessons in Heartbreak

My eyebrows shot up. “Still? I thought you weren’t going to take him home?”

She laughed quietly. “He was too good not to, and I hate to admit that because I was convinced he’d be a lazy lay. But”—she whistled—“he was so damn eager to prove me wrong. I rode that man until his eyes crossed, and I’m pretty sure he’s ready to tattoo my name on his ass after last night. At one point he came so hard, he shed a tear. I left him alone for a few hours yesterday just to prove a point, and he was feral by the time I walked in the door. My neighbors probably thought I was getting murdered because of the sounds coming out of my mouth.” She paused. “And I’m pretty sure we broke my dining room table last night.”

I blinked. “That thing was solid wood.”

“I know,” she sighed. “Epic, right? I had to keep him around for a bit after a performance like that.”

“I guess so.” It was hard not to feel naive, and slightly inferior, when I heard stories like that.

My internal temperature gauge, along with my pulse, spiked immediately when I tried to imagine me and Griffin breaking tables, screaming so loud that my neighbors could hear.

I waved a hand in front of my face and glanced down the street again.

“So ...,” she drawled. “He handled the heart news well?” Lauren asked the question lightly enough, but we both knew it was a Big Friggin’ Deal.

“He did. Really well, all things considered.” I swallowed past a tight throat. “I feel so comfortable with him, you know? And we have ... chemistry or whatever.”

She snorted. “About time you figured that out.”

“You think we do?”

“Honey, if you think I don’t know how to spy on someone in the stacks without them noticing, you don’t know me very well. Anyone standing within ten feet of the two of you noticed.”

I winced. “Did Kenny?”

“Oh yeah. He sent me a text after the dunk tank on Friday night and it said, ‘Hundred bucks those two will get married someday.’”

With a groan, I covered my face with one hand. “I don’t want to get married, I just want—”

“Simultaneous orgasms and to make a man cry. That’s what a lot of us want, honey.”

“Apparently you’ve achieved it,” I answered dryly.

She laughed. “The outfit is hot, Ruby. I may ask to borrow that shirt, actually.”

Smoothing a hand down the shirt in question, I let out a quiet sigh. “Am I crazy for offering this?”

“Oh, let me think ... you have one of the hottest football players in the world wrapped around your darling little finger, and he’s in town just long enough to have your cosmos rearranged.” She made a knowing little sound. “No, I don’t think you’re crazy. Be safe, of course, and make sure you tell him what you want.”

“I almost printed off a checklist last night when I was doing research. I hardly know what I want.” I sighed. “But some of them soundedveryintimidating. Gags and fisting and spitting ... it’s all a bit confusing. Can’t I just start with ... I don’t know ... missionary?”

Lauren laughed. “You’ll figure it out. If you’re with him and something sounds ... intriguing, just go for it. Men love it when a woman is up front about what they want.” She cleared her throat. “Speaking of intriguing. I saw a story about Griffin cross my newsfeed his morning. I’ll text you the link.”

My phone pinged, and I opened it up, brow furrowing immediately. It was a grainy snap of Griffin by the dunk tank, cropped so that the fair didn’t really show. He was next to a pretty coed, his shirt soaking wet.

Griffin King: Most Valuable Wet T-Shirt Contestant? NFL’s Favorite Bachelor Soaks Down with Fans

My stomach curled unpleasantly. “That’s a gross misinterpretation of what he was doing,” I scoffed. “It was for charity.”

She sighed. “I know. I was standing three feet away when they took that picture. Griffin was completely polite, never laid a hand on her, even for the picture.”

I chewed on my bottom lip, closing out the article after skimming a few lines about his offseason antics. Yeah. His antics were basically Debauching Ruby Tate, but that didn’t make for a very good headline.

The sound of a purring car engine came down my street, but I didn’t look because I knew it wasn’t Griffin’s truck.

A sharp burst of a car horn had me pulling the curtain aside again, and my jaw practically unhinged when I did. “Lauren, I gotta go.”

“Have fun! Use a condom!”

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