Page 35 of Dating Goals
“No, Griffin,” I say carefully. “I’ve never been on a date. Period. Not one.”
His expression shifts from casual confidence to something I can’t quite place. Surprise, certainly, but something else too.
“I don’t know how to do any of it without scaring men off,” I continue, dropping my gaze to my grocery bag. “Hence the need for a dating coach.”
Griffin’s lips curve into a slow smile. “Let me get this straight. You want me…to teach you how to date other men?”
When he puts it that way, it sounds completely ridiculous. Which it is.
“Yes?” I say, making it a question. “Unless you think it’s a terrible idea, which it probably is, in which case, forget I said anything, and we can pretend this conversation never happened.”
Griffin scratches his head, dislodging his beanie slightly. “I’m not sure this is the best idea.”
“What’s in it for you, right?” I rush in. “I totally get that. How about a fair exchange? I’ll teach you Swiss German.”
Griffin curls up his lip, considering. “You’d really teach me?”
“Absolutely. I’m a killer language teacher. Just ask my cousin’s kids who now know all the swear words their parents didn’t want them to learn.”
That makes him laugh, and the sound does something warm to my insides.
“All right,” he says finally, extending his hand. “Deal. I’ll be your dating coach, and you’ll teach me Swiss German. I’m going to be here for at least a few months with the team, and I’d like to understand what people are saying around me. Plus, learning the local language is respectful when you’re in a foreign country.”
I shake his hand, trying to ignore the little zing that shoots up my arm at the contact. “Really? You’ll do it?”
“On one condition,” he adds, his eyes glinting mischievously.
“Name it.”
“We’ll need to spend a lot of time together to make any progress.” His smile turns a bit wicked. “Think you can handle that?”
I swallow hard, wondering if I’ve just made the best or worst decision of my life.
“I think I can manage,” I say, trying to sound casual despite the butterflies having a rave in my stomach. “For educational purposes, of course.”
“Of course,” Griffin agrees, but his smile suggests he knows exactly what he’s doing to me. “For education.”
Sure. Easy peasy. I can totally spend lots of time with Griffin just as friends. Even if he does look unfairly perfect in a beanie.
9
GRIFFIN
There are roughly two thousand eight hundred and thirty-eight bones in the human body. Okay, I lied. It’s just two hundred and six. But the way my head is spinning, rattling around with every shot, it feels like so much more.
It’s when the puck hits my helmet with a clanging thud that I realize Sawyer’s really glad to see me. Or maybe he’s trying to take my head off. Either way, that’s a real nice howdy-do from the guy who’s normally on my side of the ice.
We’re at an away game tonight, squaring off against Zürich and it’s a madhouse on the rink. Fans pack the arena like sardines, buzzing with hockey madness, and I’m seeing a whole lot of blue jerseys charging my way. Sawyer came over from Toronto to play for Zürich during the lockout, and this is the first time I’ve been on the receiving end of his missile-grade slap shots. If I didn’t like him so much, I’d hate him.
He gives me a wink. This is all very fun for him, isn’t it?
“Thought we were friends, O’Malley!” I yell across the ice, rubbing my helmet for dramatic effect. He just laughs, that devil-may-care grin plastered across his face as he circles back, taking a lazy loop around the center ice.
To be honest, it’s pretty amusing, if not a little unsettling.
The rink buzzes, and Zürich ’s fans stomp their feet, chanting Sawyer’s name like a bunch of Swiss hooligans. EHC Visp has its diehards who travel for games, but they’re hopelessly outnumbered here. I feel like the last man standing in a sea of navy and gold. And maybe that’s the appeal for Sawyer. This isn’t Toronto. It’s a whole new world of ice, and I have to admit he’s making it his own. He sweeps through the defense, the puck glued to his stick like it’s got a crush on him. I brace myself for the onslaught, focusing on his movements. He shoots. I stretch to block it with my glove.
“Legend!” Sawyer shouts. He’s enjoying this a little too much.
