Page 124 of Dating Goals
Griffin yanks the wheel hard.
“So? You never answered my question.” Griffin takes a turn without slowing down.
“What question?”
“How does this compare with your date with Thomas?”
I stare at him in disbelief. “Are you seriously asking about my date right now?”
“Just making conversation.” He shrugs, checking the rearview mirror. The motorcycles are gaining.
“He hates Eurovision,” I blurt out.
“What? NO. Not Eurovision!” He takes another turn. “As a Canadian, I am personally offended for Celine Dion.”
We emerge onto the road running alongside the Aare River and Griffin accelerates again. The motorcycles appear behind us, determined to close the gap.
“The bridge!” I point ahead to where the road crosses the river.
Griffin guns it toward the bridge. “How dare he disrespect our Celine?”
One of the motorcycles pulls up beside us again. Without thinking, I roll down my window and launch my boot directly at his face. He swerves wildly, nearly toppling before regaining control.
“Did you just take off your shoe and throw it at him?” Griffin asks, incredulous.
“They’re killing my feet!” I shout, already removing my other boot.
The second motorcycle pulls alongside us on Griffin’s side. I see the rider reaching for something in his jacket.
“Duck!” I scream.
Griffin hunches down just as I hurl my remaining boot across him and out his window. It catches the rider in the shoulder.
“Your aim is terrifying,” Griffin says, straightening up as the motorcycle falls back.
Griffin punches the accelerator, and the car leaps forward with a roar.
“Griffin!” I gasp. “There’s a dead end ahead!”
Where the road meets a pedestrian bridge, concrete barriers block vehicle access. Griffin’s face remains eerily calm.
“Do you trust me?” he asks, eyes never leaving the road.
“No!” I shout, bracing myself against the dashboard.
He laughs as we speed toward certain death. At the last possible second, he wrenches the wheel, sending us sliding sideways into what looks like a delivery entrance beside the barrier. The Bugatti’s tires scream as we drift through the narrow opening with millimeters to spare.
The motorcycle isn’t so lucky. The rider tries to follow our maneuver but clips the edge of the barrier. The bike goes down, sending him sliding across the pavement.
“One down!” Griffin announces triumphantly.
The remaining motorcycle is still behind us, but Griffin seems unconcerned, finally emerging onto the bridge spanning the Aare River.
“I mean, the audacity! Celine is a national treasure.” Griffin is halfway across the bridge now.
Without warning, he slams on the brakes and spins the wheel, executing a 90-degree turn that leaves us facing the oncoming motorcycle. The rider hesitates, clearly not expecting this maneuver.
Griffin revs the engine threateningly, like a bull pawing the ground before a charge.
