Page 9 of How to Date a Younger Man
As I accept the bottle of water, he rubs his other hand over the back of his neck, looking at me through thick, dark lashes.
“I was trying to pay you a compliment. You’re gorgeous, Layne.”
I level him with a serious glare, placing one hand on my hip and immediately going on the defense instead of allowing his words to stick because I’ve never been good at accepting a compliment. “I’m sure you hit on all of Kristen’s friends and say all the right things to make them feel special.”
He gives me an amused look. “Whatever you have to tell yourself.”
“Be serious, Griffin.”
Good grief, the guy has six well-defined abs. I have a jiggly ass and a muffin top I have no plans to deal with. A little jiggle never hurt anyone, and I like tacos a hell of a lot more than I like the gym.
“I am being serious. Very serious.”
He moves closer to where I’m standing, and I’m trapped—my lower back pressed up against the counter.
Having him so close makes me realize how tall he is. With my heels on, most guys don’t tower over me the way Griffin does. And, God, why does he have to smell so good? It’s like a mix of cedar and sandalwood and the faintest hint of lavender.
“All I want is a fair chance,” he murmurs, his deep voice dropping low.
I swallow a sip of water, trying to regain my composure. “Fine. Tell me about the last date you planned.”
This should be entertaining. I don’t want to assume but I can’t help but think it’s going to involve surfing or whatever else young people do in LA. Or maybe he’s one of those guys who doesn’t believe in dating at all. These days it’s all about Netflix and chill. . . . whatever that means.
Griffin meets my eyes but takes a second to think about my question. “I had a girl come over and we, uh . . . smoked weed and colored in coloring books.” When my eyebrows dart upward, he adds, “They were adult coloring books, if it helps.”
I smile unevenly. “It doesn’t.”
Griffin chuckles at my snarky tone, running one hand through his hair.
“Is that what you would plan to do with me on a date?” I ask.
“No.” His tone is firm, and there’s a determined crease between his dark eyebrows.
No matter how cute he is, he’s got to see this is a terrible idea. Literally, the worst idea ever thought up.
“I’m too old for you,” I say, determined and shaking my head. “And I’m your sister’s friend. It’s never going to happen. It can never happen.”
“This is probably a bad time to tell you that I enjoy MILF porn.”
“You’d be correct.”
“Layne, look. I don’t know if you believe in fate or karma or any of that shit—and normally, I don’t either. But you and me, coming together like this twice in the same week? I think the cosmic significance is hard to deny.”
Cosmic significance? Who the fuck is this guy?
“Your point?”
“My point is, you should let me take you out. At least once. I have a feeling we could have fun together.”
I have to hold back a laugh. The last thing I want to do is offend Kristen’s little brother. So I chuckle softly, trying to keep the conversation light and almost playful, hoping it might soften the blow.
“I’m serious,” he says, his eyes darkening.
My heart sinks a little at the look on his face. I don’t want to offend him. But I can tell that I need to be firm and clear with him now, or this will continue to be a problem.
“I know you are, and I think it’s sweet. But, really, kid—”
“My name’s Griffin.”
“Griffin. Look, you seem like a great guy who’s very, uh, sure of yourself. But I’m ten years older than you, we are in total different parts of our lives, and you’re one of my best friends baby brother.”
“Younger brother. There’s one more of us who is younger than me, you know.”
“Younger brother, fine. My point is, it’s never going to happen. I’m done with just dating around for the fun of it. The next relationship I get into is going to be just that—a relationship, full of commitment and plans for the future that includes babies, marriage and everything that comes with finding a forever kind of love. You’re twenty-three. You’re not ready for forever.”
He looks surprised, maybe even stunned, by my response. But before he can counter it, Kristen returns, her arms full of plastic bags, the mouth-watering smell of Chinese food wafting in with her.
“Here, let me help you with that,” I say, quickly joining her in the doorway.
She awkwardly hands me a couple of bags, and we take the food to the kitchen, where Griffin still stands near the fridge. He grabs a spring roll and a bottle of water, then disappears back toward the couch without saying a word.
