Page 22

Chapter Twenty-Two

Ruby

“Oh my,” I breathed, taking in the utter chaos in front of me. “What happened?”

Griffin was lying in the middle of the family room floor, legs out, arms on his chest as he stared up at the vaulted ceiling. “Maggie.”

I slowly set down my bag on the floor and took in the carnage in the kitchen—mixing bowls; an undoubtedly cold stack of pancakes; two half-empty containers of eggs; a half-eaten, lopsided cake with blue frosting dripping sadly down the side.

Happ Birth was all that was left on the cake, written messily in a red gel frosting. Colored sprinkles coated the parts of the cake that hadn’t been touched, and I swiped my finger through a glob of frosting on the cake plate and sucked it into my mouth while I turned in a slow circle.

“Is it your birthday today?” I asked.

From his spot on the floor, Griffin made a quiet grunt of assent. “I’m not moving. I’m staying here all day. That’s what I want for my birthday present.”

“Well, now I feel bad,” I said. “I didn’t know to get you a present.”

“You can help me clean up the kitchen. It’ll be the greatest gift anyone’s ever given me.”

I laughed, turning toward the dining room. My eyebrows shot up when I saw the table. Beads everywhere. Stacks of construction paper. Stickers. Glitter.

“They were here for like, twenty-four hours,” I said incredulously.

Griffin sat up with a groan, rubbing a hand over a bleary-looking face. “I know. She found the crafting closet, and it was all over. They didn’t want to go to bed because they only had one night, so I let them stay up until midnight thinking they’d sleep in a bit.” He shook his head. “Nope. She was standing over me at six a.m. Scared the absolute shit out of me when she whispered my name, asking if she was allowed to make breakfast.”

I smothered my grin, because he really did look exhausted. “Everything go okay when Barrett picked them up?”

Griffin yawned, giving his stomach a lazy scratch as he ambled into the kitchen to survey the damage. “He stayed outside, which is probably for the best. If he’d seen this, it would’ve just reinforced that whole Griffin-is-an-irresponsible-child mantra that makes up the cornerstone of his tidy, perfect little universe.”

With a tight throat, I started picking up the mixing bowls and moving them to the sink, then turning on the hot water and adding soap so that they could soak for a little bit.

“Everyone’s always looked at me a certain way,” I said quietly, tossing the cold pancakes into the garbage. The eggshells went in right after. “I’m the responsible one. The quiet, smart one. I never got into trouble, but I also wasn’t very noticeable either.”

Griffin joined me in the kitchen, soaking a washcloth with hot, soapy water. He started wiping at the dried frosting on the gleaming counters, swiping up little piles of crumbs while he listened quietly.

“In high school, I was constantly picked on by the popular kids.” In one of the drawers, I found aluminum foil and covered the cake, sliding the plate into an empty spot in the fridge. “Because I was too nerdy and too quiet and didn’t party and no one asked me out.”

Griffin’s eyes were heavy on me as I closed the egg cartons and moved those to the fridge as well.

“I was one of those kids, wasn’t I?” he asked quietly. “Before you moved.”

My eyes fell shut, but instead of answering—because even if there was a good-natured angle to it, we both knew he was—I kept cleaning, busying my hands as I washed the bowls and stacked them next to the sink to dry.

“It didn’t take me long to realize something,” I continued. With the counters clean, Griffin went over to the dining table and started stacking the construction paper, his eyes still on me as we moved around each other in the big space.

“People’s perception of others is always colored by their own issues. Their own insecurities. The things we see in other people—especially when it’s a trait that we’re secretly a little jealous of—twist around in our brain before we’re even aware it’s happened. It becomes an ugly thing to tease them about. Make them feel like they’re doing something wrong, because we’re sick with envy that we don’t have just a little bit of that.”

I joined him at the table, using a damp paper towel to pick up the glitter. My arm brushed his, but instead of lingering, I moved away again. “The kids who teased me about being a boring little bookworm—I saw them struggle in class. Saw them fight with exhausted teachers, when all they really wanted was respect.” His eyes were fixed on mine when I glanced up, the space between us thick with tension. “I think they wanted to be a little bit more like me without having to give up the good parts of being themselves.” I dumped the glitter-covered paper towel and turned in his direction. “Just like I gave you a hard time about being a player. Someone who made women line up to do a song and dance.”

Griffin’s movements slowed. “You wanted to be a little bit like that,” he said.

After a slight hesitation, I nodded. “I was jealous of how easy it was for you.”

His brow furrowed. “My brother isn’t jealous of me.”

“Isn’t he?” I shrugged. “Look at the lengths his kids went to just to spend a single evening with you. He probably doesn’t know how to be more like you any more than you know how to be like him.”

It was like watching a wall lock into place behind his eyes. “I don’t want to be like Barrett. He’s cold and hard and impossible to soften.”

“And he’s respected,” I said quietly. “Admired. Taken seriously.”

The hard muscle in Griffin’s jaw twitched as he gritted his teeth.

I dropped my eyes, stomach fluttering nervously at the change in subject. Anytime we’d tiptoed into the harder things, they were always mine. But seeing him yesterday, facing off with his brother, I saw something in Griffin’s face that was entirely foreign.

Intimidation. The thought of this larger-than-life man being intimidated by anyone was impossible to reconcile, but it was there all the same.

Only until his brother requested that I leave the room; then there was a pulse of anger, of possession—like the release of a flash-bang into the enclosed space, momentarily disorienting me with the painful brightness and the staggering echo. It was the mention of me that brought Griffin back into himself, with the straightening of the shoulders and the puffing of his chest.

Not for the first time since we’d started whatever this was, I desperately wanted to pry back the layers of this man. If he’d let me, of course.

It seemed at every turn, this thing with Griffin was destined to challenge me. Force moments of bravery where before I might have hidden from the hard—allowing the thoughts of what could go wrong to dissuade me from acting.

I walked closer to him and pulled my phone from my back pocket, clicking on a link that I’d saved, and turned the screen around so he could see it. Confusion bent his brow as he carefully took the phone from my hand to bring it closer to his face. His mouth went slack with shock.

“What is this?”

I sucked in a breath, letting my shoulders rise and fall in a helpless shrug. “Figured you could let someone else push the rock up the hill for a little bit.”

His eyes were fierce and bright when he tore them from the phone screen, locking onto mine for a breathless moment. “How did they get these pictures?”

I gently eased the phone out of his grasp and smiled at the headline of the article. Griffin curled his hands around my hips and stood behind me, resting his chin on the top of my head while I scrolled through the article, stopping at a picture of Griffin crouching in front of the dunk tank. In this one, he was surrounded by a group of first graders from the elementary school. His shirt was soaked from a recent trip into the tank, his smile wide and happy as the kids held up his number on their hands.

Underneath that one was a shot I’d snapped while he took a selfie with a tiny elderly woman who lived down the street from me. Her wrinkled hand cupped his face while she grinned, and the picture caught Griffin midlaugh.

The article talked about his appearance in a small town north of Denver, where he’d been spotted helping with various fundraising efforts for the local library. The last line made my eyes gloss over, and I carefully highlighted it, making sure he took the time to read it.

Denver may have signed the younger King for much-needed power on the D-line, but from the looks of things, his superhero presence is being felt in far greater places than on the football field, making this one of the best roster moves we’ve seen in a while. Welcome to Colorado, Griffin. We hope you stay for a long time.

“It was you,” he murmured. After I managed a short nod, throat tight and my eyes still filled with helpless tears, Griffin wrapped his arms around my waist and ducked his nose into my hair for a long inhale. “I think you’re too good for me, birdy.”

Slowly, I turned in his arms and cradled his jaw with my hand. “Says who?” His brow pinched briefly, but I laid my finger over his lips before he could answer. “I see you, Griffin. Not what people say about you or what you used to be. I see you , and I have never respected anyone in my life more.”

His eyes held mine, and the thick line of his throat worked on a swallow. “I see you, too, Ruby Tate.”

A soft, warm feeling spread through my chest—something good and wonderful and undeniably bittersweet. Was that the thing I’d been missing all this time? Not the sex or the affection or sharp snap of desire. It was that. Being known by someone intimately and trusting that they liked what they saw enough to stay. That was it, wasn’t it?

Fear came in right on the heels of allowing myself to ask that question. Fear of losing it. Fear of losing him, even though I’d been the one to set the rules that kept us safe.

Don’t fall in love with me, I’d told him. And there I stood, perilously close to doing exactly that.

“I know you do,” I whispered.

There was more to be said, and admissions danced on the tip of my tongue, but I swallowed them down. Griffin rested his forehead on mine and breathed out, curling an arm around my shoulders as I tightened my grip on his shirt.

“Do I get a kiss for my birthday?” he asked, voice a pleased, deep grumble. His nose nudged mine, and with that simple question, the mood lightened in a heartbeat.

I nodded, pulling my head back to smile up at him. He hummed, tracing his thumb under my bottom lip. “Good girl.”

A delicate shiver racked my frame, and his mouth widened in a grin.

Before he could tease me about a praise kink—Lord, what straight-A student didn’t have one of those—I pushed up on the balls of my feet and sealed my mouth over his. He took control of the kiss immediately, angling my head with a simple press of his hand under my jaw, his tongue slicking over mine as he let out a low, decadent groan.

Griffin pulled back, sneaking one more quick kiss, laughing quietly when my mouth followed his. “A kiss and some good press. Any other birthday surprises, baby?”

I pushed a smile onto my face and adopted a light tone. “I thought of asking you to give me a step-by-step tutorial in fellatio.” I laid my hand carefully on his chest, and the flare of heat in his eyes melted every bit of tension I’d been holding in my body. “I’m a very good student,” I whispered, giving an innocent flutter of my eyelashes.

“Yeah?” he murmured. “Feeling eager, are you?”

“A little. Though I’m not sure my gag reflex is adequately prepared. You’re quite the overachiever in the size department,” I said. After a low chuckle, Griffin leaned down and placed a light kiss across my lips, and my eyes fell closed.

“You are so good for my ego, birdy.” His hand, which had been resting on my backside, snapped against my leggings in a sharp smack. “Let’s finish cleaning up first; then we can talk about who owes who the next orgasm.”

“Oh hell yeah, I’m right on time,” Marcus crowed from the doorway. “Who’s giving out orgasms?”

Griffin rolled his eyes. “You have the worst timing known to man.”

Marcus held up his hands, each clutching an expensive-looking bottle of amber-colored alcohol. “On the contrary, I was blessed with a sixth sense of when my presence is absolutely vital.”

Griffin gave a wry quirk to his eyebrow and backed away. I tried not to pout. With an amused tilt to his mouth, he turned to face his friend. “I thought you were Lauren’s problem now.”

Marcus sighed happily. “I am. She doesn’t know it yet, but she’s never getting rid of me.”

“Oh boy,” I muttered. “Can’t wait to see how that plays out. She said she’s never getting married again.”

Marcus set the bottles down onto the island. “Who said anything about getting married? I’ll just travel up here weekly to slake her unquenchable sexual desires. That woman can use me for the rest of her life if she wants to.”

Griffin and I traded a look. “What does she do to you, exactly?” I asked cautiously.

Marcus patted my head. “Nothing I can talk about in polite company, birdy.”

“Hey, that’s my nickname for her.” Griffin sounded so annoyed that I couldn’t help but smile.

Marcus ignored him, tapping out a message and then tucking his phone away. “We have two hours, buddy.”

“Before what?”

“Before your birthday party,” Marcus replied. “A bunch of the guys are coming up. You told me I could invite them.”

Griffin’s eyes pinched shut. “Fucking fuck, I didn’t think you’d actually do it.”

“Oh yeah. DJ should be here in about an hour.” He spread his hands out, narrowing his eyes as he stared into the family room. “We move those couches to the side, get rid of the coffee table, there’s plenty of room for dancing.”

“What? No. No DJ. No dance party. If you turn Steven’s house into a club, he’ll never forgive you.”

“Please. This entire trip is an exercise in how far we can push that man before he finally drags his ass here from LA to stop us.”

“I don’t know,” Griffin hedged. “I heard stories about that party you threw after the big game last year.”

“Fucking epic,” he said. “It won’t be nearly that big. About half a dozen guys from the team.” Then he grimaced. “And a couple girls.”

“Marcus.”

He held up his hands. “Girlfriends. A fiancée. Maybe even a wife. How crazy can the party get if we have a wife here?”

“But if they bring friends?” Griffin asked.

“I cannot control their social circles, mister.”

Griffin muttered something under his breath, then pinched his nose. A smile lifted the corner of my mouth. Sometimes there really was no other alternative for a moment of spiraling loss of control. It was kinda nice to see it be him every once in a while.

Marcus held up one of the bottles by his face, then snapped a picture with his free hand, tongue hanging out. “I’ll text Steven that right after the party starts.” After setting down the bottle, he put his hands on his hips and turned a shrewd eye in my direction. “You’re not wearing that for his birthday party, Ruby. We can do better.”

I huffed, smoothing my shirt self-consciously. “Well, I didn’t know I was coming to a party, Marcus. I came to work out.”

“Oh, you’ll get a workout,” he promised. “You should see his dance moves once he gets a few shots in him.” He tapped his wrist. “Clock’s a-ticking. You have a few hours before the party’s really going. Me and your man here will finish cleaning up, and I expect a full Cinderella moment when you come back.”

Griffin gave me a searching look. “Is this okay? It’ll be loud. And people-y.”

The idea of walking alone into a party full of football players was normally the kind of thing that would make me lock myself in my room. It would be loud. And not just people-y, but big, athletic, confident, attractive people.

A whimper threatened to claw up my throat. And not the good kind, like when he’d had his hand between my legs.

He took a step closer, effectively blocking Marcus. “I can tell him no,” he said, eyes on mine and voice low with intent. “We can watch the new version of Emma instead. I can’t imagine it topping the Gwyneth version, but ...”

Marcus, though he was out of my sight line, snorted loudly. “Yeah right. She was born for that role.”

Griffin rounded on his friend. “Go away. You hijacked my vacation, and now you’re stealing all my movies. Give me two fucking seconds to talk to her.”

Miraculously, the man listened, although he grumbled the entire way out of the room.

Even though my stomach was tight with the sudden, blistering onset of nerves, and I was effectively waving goodbye to one of our last quiet nights before he left, there was an undeniable pull to want to prove to myself how far I’d come.

The fact that he would tell Marcus no—for me—triggered a rush of anticipation so thick that my heart gave an uneven thump.

“I’ll be back later,” I told him. “Don’t have too much fun without me.”