Page 89 of Dating Goals
“Poker isn’t fair. Neither is espionage.” She studies me for a moment. “You are just too wholesome.”
“Is that supposed to be an insult? Because where I come from, that’s basically a compliment.”
“In my line of work…it’s a liability.”
“Well, good thing I have you to teach me the finer points of dishonesty,” I mutter.
“Indeed.” She grins playfully. “Let’s practice. Tell me a lie.”
“What?”
“Tell me something that isn’t true. Make me believe it.”
I stare at her, bewildered. “Right now?”
“Yes, right now. Convince me.”
I take a deep breath. “Okay. I…actually hate hockey. I only play because my parents forced me into it as a child and now it’s my only skill.”
Elodie’s perfectly sculpted eyebrows rise. “Your left eyebrow twitched again.”
“It did not!”
“It absolutely did. Try again. And you don’t have to recite a novel. Short and sweet is best.”
I sigh, running a hand through my hair. “Fine. I’m allergic to strawberries.”
“Better.” She nods. “But still not convincing. You’re too stiff.”
“This is ridiculous,” I grumble. “I’m a goalie, not a spy.”
“Tonight, you’re both.” She leans forward again, her voice dropping to a whisper. “Do you know what makes a good liar, Griffin?”
“An absence of moral fiber?”
“Belief.” Her eyes lock with mine. “The best liars believe their own stories, if only for a moment.”
The train enters a tunnel, plunging our cabin into momentary darkness. When the lights flicker back on, Elodie has moved to sit beside me instead of across.
“What are you doing?” I ask, suddenly aware of how small our private compartment feels.
“Testing a theory.” She’s close enough that I can smell her perfume. It’s something expensive and sophisticated. “You see, I need to know if you’ll break under pressure.”
“I’m a goaltender. Pressure is my comfort zone.”
“Is it?” Her hand lands on my thigh. “Because right now, your pulse is racing.”
I carefully remove her hand. “That’s just my natural reaction to possible imprisonment and financial ruin.”
Elodie laughs, genuine this time. “You really are something else, Griffin McGregor.”
“So I’ve been told.”
“You’re not what I expected,” Elodie says.
“Let me guess. You were expecting James Bond, got Mister Rogers instead?”
“On the contrary.” Her eyes travel over me like she’s memorizing every detail. “Most men in your position would be…taking advantage of the situation.”
