Chapter 17 Griffin
Griffin
The small leather couch creaks beneath Griffin in the green room at The Late Night Show.
Mike suggested Griffin wear nice pants, a button-down, and a sweater layer over it, and he did as he was told.
A second deep groaning from the couch suggests the heft of him might break it, so Griffin pops up.
Just as he does, Aria walks in and reflexively his eyes go wide.
She’s wearing a gold knee-length dress with thin straps. It’s fitted perfectly to her, and her curls cascade down her back. Her lips are shiny with something red and glossy, and his eyes linger there.
“Everything okay?” Aria asks, looking confused at his expression.
Griffin kicks himself on the inside. Could he be more obvious that he thinks she’s stunning? Granted, most of the world would agree with him, but this is a professional environment.
“Oh. Yeah. Sorry.” Griffin points at the fashionable but questionably durable couch. “That thing was making all sorts of sounds with my weight on it, so I got up before I broke it.”
Aria narrows her eyes playfully. “Haven’t even been here an hour, and you’re breaking stuff already?”
Griffin slips his hands into his pants, then looks up sheepishly. “I think it’s partially due to the nature of my size. Oh, and the showrunner said they’re going to pull us up there soon.”
Aria places her bag on the couch and grabs a bottled water from the coffee table in front of it. “You’re much more relaxed this time, Mr. Hayes. You’re learning.”
Griffin smiles, and like clockwork, a redness starts to bloom at the base of his neck. “I have to admit you’re right. And your prep helped.”
To be fair, his calling their time at the coffee shop “prep” was a bit of a stretch. Perhaps “good company” or “rapport building” might be a better fit. But whatever they called it, there was no doubt about how much Griffin enjoyed it.
Knuckles rap at the greenroom door, and it flies open.
A stern-looking young man wearing sweats appears in the doorway wearing a frown. “We’re behind already. You two ready?”
He doesn’t wait for a response before turning and marching down the hallway, presumably toward the action.
Aria’s eyebrows go sky-high, her eyes wide, and the threat of a laugh pulls at the corner of her mouth. She reaches out and grabs Griffin’s arm and whisper-yells, “Come on, slowpoke, this guy’s not messing around.”
A deep grin cuts across Griffin’s face, and he moves with her. He’d never allow her to exert herself enough to actually tug him behind her, especially when she’s looking so determined. Aria leads him out the door.
When she looks over her shoulder mischievously, he feels his heart pick up. Is this what having fun feels like? A laugh escapes him.
“Shhh,” she warns. “This is no laughing matter.”
They screech to a halt behind the showrunner, who has stopped at a hair and makeup chair right by the entrance to the stage. From this position, the host’s desk is visible, and staff buzz around it adjusting lights to make sure they will hit the famous Mario Villarreal just right.
“Only a quick one,” the showrunner barks to the makeup artists. “They’re already late.”
Griffin knows that he and Aria weren’t late, but apparently in this venue being on time is considered late. He knows better than to argue the fact. A fluffy makeup brush deposits a dusting of powder over both his and Aria’s faces, and they’re brought onstage.
The live audience goes wild, and together they look out and wave before taking their seats as instructed.
“Ready for the mic check!” the showrunner calls out to the technical staff, then disappears offstage.
A much calmer crew bring tiny microphones to be attached to their clothing, and they’re asked to perform a few test words. The crew gives them a thumbs-up. The crowd breaks out into chatter, and Griffin takes the cue that they’re all in a holding pattern until the host arrives.
He leans over and whispers to Aria, “We got this, buddy.”
She reaches out and pats his back. “You know we do. What’s on the docket after this? A delicious meal-prepped plate reheated in the microwave?” She closes her eyes and groans in mock delight. “I can just taste it now.”
“Might treat myself to something else after I get through this gauntlet.”
When he looks up, Griffin is met by a few “awww” sounds from the crowd. Lights from several recording smartphones shine back at him from the darkness of the crowd.
“Guess our mics are hot, Griff,” Aria announces.
The crowd claps, and a few people cry out, “The two best friends ever!”
Griffin resists the urge to gulp. Good thing he didn’t say anything incriminating.
Well, anything that might give them away.
It’s probably for the best that the two of them seem to be finding a version of real friendship within this setup.
The time helping Aria in the garage and the coffee shop felt just as natural as hanging out with his teammates. Well, plus an extra spark.
Griffin looks out at the crowd. “If you’d told me two months ago that Aria Wilder and I would become buddies, I’d laugh. We’re an odd pair, but we have fun.”
“It’s true. I mean, what do we have in common, Griff?” She smiles at him like it’s part of their act. It is part of their act.
If they weren’t in public, if they weren’t miked, if maybe it was a moment that could be forgotten as quickly as it happened, he would tell her what he really thinks.
That maybe it’s not about counting surface-level things in common.
Maybe it’s about how the other person makes you feel.
Maybe those differences are things that allow them to stand on their own feet inside a friendship.
That salty and sweet is perhaps the best flavor combination in history.
That soft and strong are both necessary when it comes to the heart.
That she doesn’t need to be the female version of him for him to be captivated.
In fact, quite the opposite is preferable.
But he bottles all those words up, and instead Griffin gives her a shrug. “We make it work! I’m already a pop music fan—as most of the world has seen footage of by now. We just need to get you on the sports bandwagon.”
The set manager comes over as Aria begins to reply and politely mutes their microphones. The crowd groans, and a few “boos” ring out.
“Sorry, sorry!” the manager calls out, squeezing her hands in front of her. “But we need to save all of this for the show. We can’t leave our TV audience hanging!”
As the crowd goes back to their chatting and the staff mill around the stage, Aria looks over to Griffin. She winks.
He winks back.