A nervous laugh slides out of me as I clean the bar top without even knowing what I’m doing.I’m lost, floating, confused.“Quit messing around.”
He scrubs at his jaw.“I’m not.”
I don’t know what to do with this information.I step toward the register, realize I forgot my rag, step back to get it, trip over the non-slip mat, and catch myself right before I crack my skull against the draft beer dispenser.
You’re Griffin’s type.
“Are you okay?”Griffin asks, halfway to standing before I right myself.
“I’m fine.”I grip the edge of the countertop and draw a deep breath.“What do you…are you…I just—” Talking is probably not possible now, so I shake my head.“Never mind.I need to close out.”
“I’ll wait for you in the parking lot.”He says it like it’s not a question.I nod and finish out my duties on autopilot.I feel like I’m blacked out, no operator behind the wheel, just rote movement born from some internal manual I don’t currently have access to.My legs are Jello as I say goodbye to my coworkers and grab my things from the back room.
I’m Griffin’s type???
As soon as I push through the front door of Brews, the sultry night air wraps around me.I take a deep breath of the tropical-feeling breeze, something steady and warm winding through me.
You have a habit of underestimating yourself.Griffin’s words are ringing in my ears as I find him in the parking lot, loading my bike into the bed of his truck like it weighs nothing.I wet my bottom lip, unsure how to proceed.In my mind, this could go one of two ways: either we never mention the “you’re my type” thing again and I wonder what else might be behind it until the day I die, or I marry him immediately.
Only two options as far as I can see.
“Thanks for the ride,” I say breezily, tossing him a smile.I climb into the passenger side of the truck, wondering if I’ll make it back to the house without dissolving into a needy puddle of goo.
The driver’s side door shuts next and then we’re both in the cab looking at each other.The start of a smile is on his face.
“So you had a good night?”he asks as he starts the truck.
“Um…pretty good money,” I say.“There was one big tipper in particular who paid for three other girls’ tabsandleft a 200% tip like always.”
“Sounds like a great customer.”Griff shifts into reverse and then slings his arm along the top of the seat, twisting to see out the back.His hand brushes my shoulder and heat pulses between my legs.
“The actual best customer.”I’m fiddling with the seagull pendant on my keychain, because I’ll explode if I don’t do something right now.
“Sounds like he’s got a thing for the bartender,” Griff says, casting me a sly look.
My eyes go wide.We’re back to this.“Do you mean like…a thing?”
He shifts into drive, and I feel a whoosh of cold air as his hand leaves my vicinity.“Why do you say that like it’s the craziest thing you’ve ever heard?”
“Because itisthe craziest thing I’ve ever heard,” I say.My voice is pitching upward, and I can barely even form words.“Are you saying you…” I can’t even say it.It’s too ludicrous.
The silence grows deafening.I’m not handling this well, which makes me feel stupid, which makes me handle it worse.This is not an awesome spiral to be stuck in.
I’m going to break out of it.Or at least try.
“Griffin, I would kill for a chance to be with a man like you,” I say slowly, trying to make sure my words come out correctly.“Let me just start by saying that.”
He nods after a moment.“But…?”
“Oh, there’s nobut.That’s all.”
The silence returns.It’s like neither of us have any idea how to handle this conversation.
“I just never imagined I was your type,” I finally say.“I’ve seen your exes.I’m sorry—this is making me spiral.”
“Forget I said anything.”He’s squeezing the steering wheel repeatedly, his face creased with concern.“I don’t want things to get weird.Yes, I think you’re hot as fuck, but your friendship is more important than all that.”
My mouth parts as I work through his words.I silently mouthhot as fuckto myself.Is this real life?
