Page 47 of Dating Goals
“What’s so funny about her sign?” I ask, feeling like I’m missing the joke.
Peter claps me on the shoulder. “Griffin, my friend, ‘Hopp Schwiiz’ is what we chant when Switzerland plays against other countries. Like in international tournaments or the World Cup. Not for club games, where Swiss play against Swiss.”
“It means ‘Go Switzerland’ not ‘Go Visp,’” Tyler adds. “It would be like bringing an American flag to a game between the Rangers and Bruins.”
“Actually, that would be a very American thing to do,” Peter says.
Tyler nods thoughtfully. “You have a point there.”
“So she wasn’t cheering for the team?” I look at Anika, who’s trying and failing to look innocent. “She was just cheering for you Swiss guys, and ONLY for you Swiss guys?”
“In my defense,” she says, raising her hands. “I didn’t make a sign that said ‘Everyone But Griffin.’”
“But you thought it,” I tease.
Tyler laughs. “Man, Griffin, she had you at hello, didn’t she?”
The guys laugh at my expense, but I don’t mind. Seeing Anika so comfortable with my teammates, joking and smiling, does something to me.
I find myself studying the guys’ reactions to her, an unfamiliar tension creeping into my shoulders. But Peter and Christoph treat her like a knowledgeable fan, nothing more.
The relief I feel is…unexpected. And telling.
I feel my cheeks warm as Anika bumps her shoulder against mine. The guys exchange knowing glances that I choose to ignore.
“Anyway,” I say, clearing my throat, “I should probably walk Anika to her car.”
As we turn to leave, I puff out my chest a little with the satisfaction that none of guys seemed to give Anika the extra attention they usually reserve for attractive women who come to the games.
It’s only when we’re walking toward the parking garage and I realize my hand has somehow found the small of her back that it hits me. I’m feeling jealous. Possessive, even. I barely know this woman, and yet the thought of any of my teammates catching her eye makes something primitive stir in my chest.
“Your friends are nice,” she says, glancing up at me with that smile that makes my stomach flip.
“And you are an absolute fraud.”
She stops in her tacks. “Fraud?Moi?”
“You played me! That day you came to my cabin with cookies and toilet paper. You acted like hockey was the most boring thing in the world.”
“Did I say boring? I don’t recall saying boring.”
“You absolutely did. And then I said…” I pause, suddenly remembering my exact words that day. “I said if you found hockey boring, I’d buy you dinner to make up for wasting your time. And if you liked it, I’d definitely buy you dinner.”
She tilts her head with faux confusion. “I remember no such conversation.”
I should be annoyed at being played, but all I feel is fascination. And something else, something deeper that I’m not ready to name yet. But watching her celebrate our win, seeing how she lives and breathes this game like I do…I’m falling for her. Hard and fast, like a winger losing an edge at full speed.
And unlike on the ice, I have no protective gear for this kind of fall.
“Oh really? ‘Hockey seems boring,’” I mimic her words from weeks ago. “And then there was that whole thing where you mixed up hockey and golf.”
Her lips twitch. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Anika.” I give her a look. “Clearly, you’re some kind of super fan. You were screaming at the ref about a missed interference call in the second period.
She adjusts her coat, a mischievous glint in her eyes. “Was I?”
“You sang team chants. You knew all the words to our goal song.” I’m laughing now, completely charmed by this ridiculous woman.
