Page 34 of Dating Goals
“Mmhhmm, my friend Ivy is setting me up with someone.” I nod firmly, even though this arrangement consists of exactly zero concrete plans so far.
“And this makes you ‘spoken for’?” His eyes dance with amusement.
“It could!” I announce, lifting my chin. “Once I meet him. And if we like each other. And if he’s not scared of me.”
“Scared of you? Never.” Griffin grins.
And we’re back to easy conversationalist Griffin. Just like that.
“His name is Thomas. Ivy says he’s very nice and has all his hair, which apparently is a dating prerequisite I wasn’t aware of until now.” I’m talking too fast, but I can’t seem to stop. “He’s an architect. Or maybe a gardener? Something with landscaping and possibly a pocket protector.”
Griffin’s mouth twitches. “Well, he’s a lucky guy.”
I snort. “I’m not so sure about that.”
“Any man who gets to take you out is a lucky guy,” he says simply, and I feel my cheeks heat despite the cold.
I almost don’t say it, but something about this easy rapport with Griffin—sitting here on this snowy fountain edge with our groceries between us—makes me feel brave.
“I can’t guarantee I won’t drop-kick Thomas when we meet,” I blurt out.
Griffin laughs, his eyes crinkling at the corners like I’ve just delivered genuinely funny stand-up comedy and not a confession of my social ineptitude.
“I’m serious,” I continue, fidgeting with my grocery bag. “I will somehow find a way to completely destroy any chance of a normal human interaction. It’s my superpower.”
Griffin’s still smiling, but his expression has softened to something more curious than amused.
I suddenly remember Ivy last week, laughing about getting me a dating coach. She’d meant it as a joke. But sitting here with Griffin, an actual professional athlete, who probably has women lining up around the block, I realize it might not be such a terrible idea.
“This might sound completely insane,” I start, my heart hammering against my ribs. “But you seem to know what you’re doing when it comes to…people.” I gesture vaguely at his entire perfect self.
“People?” he repeats, raising an eyebrow.
“Women,” I clarify with a wince. “Dating. Social interactions that don’t end in disaster or property damage.”
His expression is unreadable, which I find deeply unfair. My face broadcasts every emotion like a jumbo screen at a hockey game.
“What exactly are you asking me, Anika?” His voice has that hint of amusement that makes me want to simultaneously continue talking and hide forever.
“Would you…maybe…consider being something like... my dating coach?” I squeeze my eyes shut as I say it, like I’m ripping off a Band-Aid. “Just some basic pointers so I don’t terrify Thomas into moving to another country.”
When I dare to look, Griffin is fighting a smile. “Your dating coach?”
“Never mind.” I backpedal immediately. “It was a stupid idea. Completely ridiculous. Please forget I said anything.”
“I’m just curious what makes you think I’d be qualified for such a position,” he interrupts, leaning forward slightly.
I feel my cheeks flush hot despite the winter chill. “Well, you’re…you know.” I gesture at him again, more frantically this time. “And I’ve never had a boyfriend, so…”
That gets his attention. His eyebrows shoot up, and I immediately regret opening my mouth.
But instead of the shocked horror, or worse, pity, that I expected, he just smiles and says, “Good for you.”
I blink at him. “Good…for me?”
“Yeah. Why rush into commitment? Better to date casually and figure out what you want.”
Oh dear. He thinks I mean I’ve never had aseriousboyfriend. Like I’ve been casually dating all this time, just playing the field, having a grand old time.
