Page 79 of Lessons in Heartbreak

“You put up with me because you love me, Steven,” he said, giving me a tiny wink when he caught the flabbergasted look on my face.

“All evidence to the contrary, King. I’ve got seven new gray hairs this week, just from you living at my house.”

I sank down into the seat, pinching the bridge of my nose. Thirty-twomillion dollars. Just like a normal person, my ass. While my head was buzzing with shock, Griffin said something to his agent about how we’d be perfectly fine and there was nothing to worry about, and to the backdrop of Steven’s creative use of swear words, he disconnected the phone call.

“You all right, birdy?”

“Thirty-two million dollars?” I squeaked.

He lifted a shoulder. “Not bad for two years, especially at my age. Denver really wanted me.”

“That’s for two years?” I groaned, covering my face with both hands. Griffin laughed warmly, tugging my hands down.

There was a fond look in his eye while he studied my face. “What’s the matter? Because I know you better than to think that something like money would intimidate you.”

“Of course it does.” I gestured erratically. “I had this whole speech planned for our walk, and I was going to tell you why I still think my friends-with-benefits idea is highly logical, and now all I can think about is how I climbed into your lap and you make sixteen million dollars a year. No wonder women do a song and dance for you after games.”

“I was kidding about that,” he said dryly.

I sighed. “I know.”

“I make more than sixteen mill, you know,” he added. When my head angled toward him, he winked again. “Endorsements.”

I blew out a slow breath and sank into my seat.

He eased the car forward, and I had to admit, the low hum of the engine was extremely appealing. The whole vehicle seemed to purr, and it dulled a bit of my embarrassment as the breeze ruffled the loose hairs by the side of my face. It was silly to be so bothered by it. Obviously he made millions. How many professional athletes didn’t? Plus, he was on commercials.

During my rest the day before, when I was supposed to be thinking about whether I’d actually meant to proposition him, I’d found myself scrolling YouTube. A simple search of his name produced a mind-boggling number of videos. Game replays (which I didn’t watch), highlight reels (which I did), feats of physical strength and prowess that made my skin feel tight and itchy and warm. The things he could make his body do defied any sort of logic I had within my grasp. Naturally, I had to watch those, um, a few times to make sure I could process them correctly.

He had commercials—for a shoe company and an athletic beverage. One cheesy campaign for an insurance company that made me laugh despite myself. I watched that a few times too.

Out of the corner of my eye, I watched the flex of muscles under the golden-tan skin on his forearm and felt my mouth go dry. When he glanced in my direction, I yanked my head around to look out my side of the car.

Griffin pressed down on the gas, and the corresponding roar of the engine, the whipping air around our faces, pulled a smile onto my face immediately. He zipped the car onto the highway, and I tipped my head back, allowing the sun to warm my face and the hypnotic swirling of air make me go weightless.

After only a couple of minutes, I lifted my arms up and stretched them into the air, almost like I was riding a roller coaster. Griffin turned his head to watch, a slow, devastating smile creasing his face.

“Faster?” he asked.

I nodded immediately.

He eased a hand over my leg; then, at the same moment his fingers curled possessively around my thigh, Griffin pressed down on the gas again. The car surged forward, and I laughed breathlessly.

It felt like flying.

There was a time after my surgery where a moment like this might’ve held a bittersweet edge. That it came at a devastating cost—years of my life, my health, someone else’s life. But today, sitting in the sun with the breeze ripping through my hair, I simply let myself enjoy how good it felt.

I lowered my arms, then clasped Griffin’s hand with my own and smiled over at him.

“Where are we going?” I yelled over the roar of the wind.

He pointed at the next highway sign. “Somewhere on that sign.”

There were four cities listed; Fort Collins was one, Denver was another, so those were the most likely. But knowing him, he’d spring an overnight trip on me without hesitation.

I rolled my eyes. “Helpful.”

Griffin squeezed my leg. “I do what I can.”

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