Page 38 of How He Got the Girl
He gasps, and I whip my head to the side to look at him, heart racing.
“What?” I squeal.
“I can’t believe you think I’m right. I’m marking that win in my book forever.”
I smack his arm. “You scared me. I thought you were about to hit an animal.”
“That would’ve been less shocking than you agreeing with me.”
“I’m notthatstubborn,” I mumble.
He wipes his mouth, failing to hide his grin. “I’d beg to differ.” I whack his arm again. “Hey, it’s a compliment.” Griffin holds his hand up to block me from any future attacks. “It’s one of the things that drew me to you.”
“You don’t really know me. It was only one date.”
“It only took one date for me to learn that I love that you give it to me straight.” He taps his fingers on the steering wheel and opens and shuts his mouth multiple times, like he’s choosing his next words wisely. “I never have to question your thoughts or feelings because I know you’ll tell me. You can definitely be stubborn, but I like it when a woman knows what she wants and isn’t willing to compromise. It’s admirable to be steadfast in who you are.”
It suddenly feels like there’s no air in the car. I suck in a breath. I can’t deal with his flattering words oractingwhen he’s always been fake with me. But what strikes me the most is that everything he just said is true. He describedme—the deepest parts of who I am.
My skin flames. I feel like I’m on display, emotionally naked in front of an audience, showing all the most vulnerable parts of me.
“Uh, thanks.” The short, generic response is all Griffin gets from me. He doesn’t deserve my heart or vulnerability. Just the briefest of interactions and responses will do until I get my check and never have to see him again.
His shoulders and smile fall, making him look like a sad, deflated balloon. “Yeah, anytime.”
We’re quiet for the remainder of the ride to an area of Old Louisville I haven’t been to since I was a kid. He slows the car near a lot across from an outdoor rink, and I gasp.
“Are we going ice skating?”
“Yeah, I rented out the rink for us. There are a lot of good photo ops in this area, too.”
He rented out an entire ice rink. For me. I can’t begin to imagine what he’d do for someone he was actually dating. Rent out a five-Michelin-star restaurant? Fly her to Paris just for dinner?
Griffin points to another car in the parking lot as we pull in. “I think that’s our photographer. Are you ready to look like you like me?”
I sigh. “Let’s just hope I’m a better actor than you.”
Mallorymusthatemewith the burning passion of a thousand suns if she has to act her butt off to pretend shelikesme.
The average human likes a lot of things. A warm towel straight from the dryer. Free food samples at Costco. Baby animals. A cold drink on a hot summer day.
As for me, Mallory has topped my list from the moment I met her and she opened her sassy mouth. I know I may not beat a cute puppy or kitten, but it’s hard to imagine not even being ranked on her list.
“All those times watching my commercial have prepared you for this moment,” I say. “It’s your time to shine.”
Once I put the car in park, Mallory hops out and walks to my side. She places her hands on her hips, a challenge in her eyes. “Prepare to be dazzled, Mr. Razzle-Dazzle.”
I lean closer, our faces a few inches apart. “I can’t wait.”
She takes a step back. “These photos won’t take themselves.”
“Then let’s go find our photographer.” I offer her my arm. She hesitates. “It’s an arm,” I muse. “You know, a common thing to hold as you walk while dating someone. Unless you want to hold my hand instead?”
That statement has her looping her hand through my arm faster than a hot knife through butter. I grit my teeth, wishing she had taken me up on the hand-holding, but at least she’s touching me in some capacity. That’s progress.
We head across the parking lot, and the photographer hops out of his car, approaching us with a lifted hand.
“It’s an honor to meet you, Griffin.” He shakes my hand and then smiles at Mallory. “You must be Mallory. It’s a pleasure.”
