Page 99 of Dating Goals
“Shhh.”
“Tell me, and I’ll leave you alone forever.”
Her eyes meet mine, and for a second, I see something raw and real there. “It’s not what you think.”
“Then what is it? Because the way you walked in this room, it looks like it is what I think.”
“It’s not.”
“Then why are you here with him?”
She hesitates. “I can’t explain right now.”
“Try.” I tilt her chin up, not caring who sees how close her lips are to mine. “Because the thought of his hands on you makes me want to tear this place apart.”
Her breath hitches. “Griffin…”
“One word from you, Anika. One word, and I’ll walk away from this table, from this game, from all of it. We’ll get out of here and never look back.”
“There you are, darling,” a sultry voice interrupts. “You’re needed at the table.”
Elodie materializes at my side. Her hand lands possessively on my forearm, her nails digging in just enough to communicate her displeasure.
“The game is resuming,” she whispers. “Malcolm is asking for you personally.”
I don’t turn around. “Give me a minute.”
Anika’s eyes dart between us, and though she tries to maintain her neutral expression, I catch the slight tightening around her mouth…her fingers gripping her glass. Something primal flashes on her expression before she masks it with cool indifference. She’s jealous. The realization sends a ridiculous thrill through me that I probably shouldn’t enjoy as much as I do.
Elodie smiles at Anika, all teeth and no warmth. “I don’t believe we’ve been properly introduced. I’m Elodie.”
“Anika.” She extends her hand with deliberate politeness.
The barman approaches. “Can I get you something, madam?”
“A Negroni,” Elodie says without taking her eyes off Anika. “With an orange twist, not lemon.”
I try to subtly extricate my arm from Elodie’s grip, but she holds fast, playing the role of possessive girlfriend.
“You have a bit of fluff,” Elodie says, reaching up to brush at my ear. Her fingers find my earpiece, adjusting it back into place. Immediately, Showalter’s agitated voice fills my ear again.
“—completely unprofessional! Get back to the table now, McGregor!”
“She’s using you,” Elodie hisses in my ear. “This is a distraction technique. Get back to the table.”
I keep my eyes locked on Anika’s, but her entire demeanor shifts. Her spine straightens, and a saccharine smile spreads across her face.
“Your accent is…interesting. Where are you from?” she asks Elodie. You are not Swiss.”
Elodie’s expression flickers briefly before resettling into its mask of cool confidence. “Everywhere and nowhere. My father was a diplomat. We moved constantly.”
“That must have been very difficult as a child,” Anika says.
Elodie’s grip on my arm tightens almost imperceptibly. “It taught me adaptability. A useful skill.”
I watch this verbal tennis match with growing confusion. The two women are sizing each other up, exchanging pleasantries loaded with subtext I can’t quite decipher.
“Fascinating,” Anika says, though her tone suggests it’s anything but. “And what brings you to Switzerland? The skiing? The banking? The…hockey players?”
