Page 65 of Dating Goals
15
ANIKA
I’m having a full-blown panic attack in the world’s fanciest toilet.
The bathroom door clicks shut behind me, and I slump against it, my heart doing the Macarena inside my chest. What just happened out there? One minute we’re dancing to one of my favorite 80s songs, and the next minute I’m practically melting into him.
I push away from the door with a grunt. “This is not a real date.”
The bathroom is ridiculous. I mean truly, properly ridiculous. A crystal chandelier dangles from the ceiling. The walls are covered in what appears to be actual gold leaf. The sink looks carved from a single piece of marble, with gold taps shaped like swans. Even the toilet looks too fancy to actually use. Is this how rich people pee? The mirror stretches across an entire wall, framed in what looks like even more gold, making me wonder if I’ve accidentally stumbled into some modern-day Versailles.
I stare at my reflection. My cheeks are flushed pink, my eyes too bright. I look…happy. Dangerously happy.
“It’s just dancing,” I tell my reflection. “Just dancing with a man who smells like pine trees and looks at you like you’re the Stanley Cup.”
This bathroom has a chaise lounge. A chaise lounge! As if people regularly need to lie down while visiting the toilet. Next to the chaise sits a small table with fresh flowers and—I’m not joking—a bowl of individually wrapped Swiss truffles. I unwrap one and pop it in my mouth, because if I’m having a crisis, I might as well have chocolate while doing it.
The rich caramel melts on my tongue as I pace the marble floor in my borrowed shoes. This dress that Griffin sent…it’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever worn. And the way he looked at me when I stepped out of that limo…
No. No, no, no. I cannot think about that look. That look is dangerous. That look makes me forget about Thomas and dating lessons and everything else.
“He’s your dating coach,” I remind myself sternly. “He’s teaching you how to impress another man.”
But then I remember how his voice went all deep and rumbly when he told me I looked beautiful. How his hand kept finding the small of my back, like it belonged there…the way he twirled me across the dance floor like we’d been dancing together our whole lives.
“Ooohh!” I chirp, grabbing another chocolate. This one has a hazelnut center.
I’ve never felt this way before. Not ever. Not with anyone. My stomach flips every time Griffin smiles at me. My skin tingles where he touches me.
Is this what attraction feels like? Because if it is, how do people function? How do they go about their daily lives feeling like this and not spontaneously combust?
I fan my face with my hands. Is it hot in here, or is it just the memory of Griffin’s breath on my neck?
I’m counting down the seconds until I have to go back out there and pretend I’m not falling for Griffin McGregor.
Because I’m not. I’m absolutely, positively not falling for him. That would be ridiculous. Catastrophic. The worst idea in the history of ideas.
I splash cold water on my wrists, but it does nothing to extinguish the warmth spreading through my body. Griffin’s hands are still burning imprints on my waist, my back, my fingertips.
“Listen to me,” I tell my reflection firmly. “This is practice. PRACTICE.”
Griffin is being nice because that’s his job as my dating coach. He probably acts this way with everyone.
My reflection looks unconvinced.
Besides, even if (and this is a massive if) hedidfeel something, he’s leaving. Going back to Canada when the lockout ends. And I’m staying here. With the pub. With my quiet life.
The thought makes my chest ache.
A soft knock at the door startles me.
“Just a moment,” I call, gathering my composure.
I straighten my shoulders and take one final look in the mirror. The woman staring back at me looks like a princess. A slightly panicked princess who’s eaten too many emergency chocolates, but a princess nonetheless.
“Time to go back out there and remember this isn’t real,” I tell her firmly.
But as I reach for the door handle, I can’t help wondering. What if it could be?
