Chapter Eighteen Ruby
Chapter Eighteen
Ruby
Me: I cannot believe I’m going to ask this, but how does this outfit look?
With a small shake of my head, I stepped back and snapped a picture of myself in the full-length mirror hanging on my bedroom wall, attaching it to the text I sent to Lauren.
Lauren: Look at you showing a baby glimpse of stomach! Hot. I need more details though. What’s the purpose of the clothing in question?
Me: Function (going for a walk) and Seduction (I’ll explain later)
Lauren: Umm No, You Will Explain Now, Young Lady
Me: Quit yelling at me.
Lauren: If you think I won’t drive over right the fuck now . . .
Me: Fine. I think you’re rubbing off on me.
Lauren: Explain.
Me: I propositioned Griffin with a friends with benefits situation after the fair, because I told him about my surgery when he accidentally saw my scar because he was trying to undress me in the bathroom of the school, and he was just so Appealing in how he responded, I couldn’t help myself.
I was climbing into his LAP before I knew what was happening.
He told me to take a day to think about it, but the extra time was unnecessary. My reasoning is entirely sound.
My phone was ringing before I could take my next breath, and I answered it on a laugh. “Good morning.”
There were no words on the other end of the phone, just unintelligible squealing.
On my bed, Bruiser tilted his head back and forth, whining slightly at the high-pitched noises he could hear.
I scratched behind his ears and walked out of the room, giving one last glimpse to the crisscrossing straps of the white halter-style sports bra underneath the white mesh top.
The bra covered my scar, but the see-through cropped shirt over it, even though it was boxy and loose, showed more of me than had been shown . . . well . . . maybe ever.
“So the outfit is okay?” I asked dryly.
“Ruby,” she gasped. “I am speechless. I am without speech.”
I laughed, pulling aside the curtain in my front room to make sure Griffin wasn’t here yet. “We don’t have long. He’s going to be here in a couple minutes.”
“Did you have sex with Griffin?” she whisper-yelled.
“No. And he’s not here, you know. He can’t actually hear you.”
The sound of a door closing came through the phone. “No, but Marcus is in my bedroom sleeping, so . . .”
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 sounded very intimidating. 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!”
I hung up on her and blew out a sharp breath, my eyes narrowing as I tucked my phone into the side pocket of my leggings. There was one thing clear as day right now: I was never telling Griffin King anything ever again.
I yanked open the door. “What is that?”
He crossed his arms, a smug grin gracing his stupidly handsome face. “A convertible. You said you wanted to ride in one.”
Despite my very best efforts, my stomach did this swoopy little flutter thing. I pinched the bridge of my nose. Quashing was an absolute waste of my time at this point. “Please tell me you didn’t buy a brand-new car because I said that.”
The vehicle in question was sexy, and that was not a word I used lightly about an inanimate object.
Sleek and low to the ground, it was painted a rich deep blue, the seats inside a sumptuous camel-colored leather.
Even the knobs on the dashboard looked expensive.
Like if I broke one, I’d need to take out a loan for the amount of money I made in a year.
He laid a hand to his chest. “Would I do something that impulsive, birdy?”
I gave him a look, and he chuckled under his breath.
Oh yeah. It was sexy. It looked fast. And if he bought it because of our conversation, I’d have to go scream into my pillow.
The type of screaming—frustration or feet-kicking excitement—was yet to be determined.
“Fear not. It’s my agent’s,” he said, gently patting the hood. “After an exhaustive search, I accidentally found the keys in the mudroom, sent him a text, and promised to return it safely back into the garage when we were done with it.”
Chewing furiously on my bottom lip as I leaned forward to study the interior, I let out a little whimper when my fingers brushed the leather. Like freaking butter. “He doesn’t even know we have his car right now?”
“Based on the lack of response so far, I’d say no.
” Griffin stood up, laying his hand on my lower back and ushering me around to the passenger side.
It was the oddest thing, but ever since I’d felt comfortable enough to climb into his lap—a momentary lapse of judgment that was still up for debate as to, one, the efficacy, and two, the ultimate outcome of my offer—there was a different sort of vibe when he touched me.
Him touching me did things. Even innocent touches.
Like his hand to my lower back. It seemed physiologically impossible that the lower back was an erogenous zone, but the warm weight of his hand just above the hem of my workout leggings made me actually press my thighs together, a quick zap of energy that came out of nowhere, like it had a direct line to my nipples or something.
I cleared my throat, stepping back when he opened the passenger door and made a gallant gesture inside the gorgeous, lush interior. “I thought we were going for a walk,” I told him, glancing up as he shut the door.
“We are.” Griffin whistled as he rounded the hood. Somehow, he eased his long legs into the car as he took his seat.
“Where are we going for a walk?”
“Don’t worry. You’ll love it. It’s beautiful. Top of the line.”
“‘Top of the line’ for a walk?”