Page 75 of Dating Goals
“Griffin!” Elodie calls after me. “Don’t blow this!”
I ignore her, pushing forward with single-minded determination. The only thing I’m blowing is my chance with Anika if I don’t explain what just happened.
The guy dips her low, his lips inches from her neck, and something primal roars in my chest. I don’t care who he is. His face is about to become intimately acquainted with the floor.
I shoulder past a waiter, my blood pounding in my ears.
All I can think about is getting to Anika before that suit-wearing jackass whisks her away completely. I feel a tightness in my chest that’s spreading throughout my body like a vice. Nothing, not even the playoffs, has ever given me this much stress.
“Excuse me,” I mutter, accidentally bumping into an elderly woman, who gives me a scandalized look. “Sorry, ma’am. Hockey emergency.”
The rational part of my brain knows I have no right to be jealous. This isn’t a real date. I’m her dating coach, not her boyfriend. But the caveman part of my brain is already plotting ways to separate this suave stranger from his perfectly styled hair.
I swear if he dips her one more time, I’m going to…
“Griffin!” Elodie’s manicured fingers wrap around my elbow. “There you are.”
“Not now,” I growl, trying to shake her off without causing a scene. The last thing I need is to be that hockey player who made a spectacle at a fancy Swiss gala.
“You don’t understand,” she hisses, her voice dropping to a whisper. “Something urgent has come up.”
I finally tear my eyes away from Anika to look at Elodie. Her expression is intense, almost desperate. “Look, I appreciate the spy games and all, but I need to talk to my date first.”
“This isn’t a game,” she says. “You’re causing a scene.”
“I’ll be at the meeting as planned if I can,” I say firmly, extracting my arm from her grip.
I turn back toward Anika, scanning the dance floor frantically. The sea of tuxedos and evening gowns has shifted, and for a heart-stopping moment, I can’t find her.
Then I see Mr. Perfect Hair though the crowd.
I quicken my pace, mentally rehearsing exactly how I’m going to introduce this guy’s face to my fist, when a gold-sequined arm shoots out, catching me square in the chest.
“Going somewhere, Puck Boy?” Cain’s voice drips with disdain.
“My date,” I say, trying to sidestep him. My eyes remain locked on Anika, who’s now being led off the dance floor.
Cain sneers, adjusting his ridiculous gold cuffs. “I told you to ditch her. Typical hockey jock.”
“I was just about to tell her to take a hike,” I lie, trying to peer around his ridiculously broad shoulders to keep Anika in view, but she’s disappearing into the crowd. “It’s just…too much champagne,” I blurt out, making an exaggerated grimace. “Gotta take a wiz.”
Cain’s face remains impressively impassive. “Charming. You have fifteen minutes until the meeting.”
“That should be plenty,” I say, patting my stomach with a pained expression. “Unless there’s a line, in which case…”
“If you’re not there, don’t bother showing your face around here again.” He walks away with a sinister laugh. “Which would be fine by me.”
I turn back toward where I last saw Anika, just in time to catch a flash of her dress disappearing down a hallway. With that guy.
17
GRIFFIN
I’ve lost sight of Anika completely now, which means Mr. Tall Dark and Handsy has successfully spirited her away down that hallway. My imagination conjures increasingly dramatic scenarios. Is he kidnapping her? Seducing her?
That’s it. I’m going to rip his arms off and beat him with them.
Too dark?
