Chapter 25 Griffin
Griffin
His phone is the first thing Griffin checks after practice, bursting to see if Aria sent him a text reply.
His heart leaps when he sees her name on the screen, along with a photo of her he snapped at her concert as the image icon.
His pulse races, despite completing the solid twenty minutes of team cooldown required after every practice.
He drops his helmet at his feet, forgotten, at the sight of not one, but two messages.
It feels like winning the Super Bowl. (Not that he’d tell the guys.)
Aria: Oops! Sorry to keep you.
Aria: Would you want to come see the studio this week?
When we were chatting on the field—a moment now so rudely broadcast online—you mentioned you’d like to see more about the process.
Honestly it can really help to have fresh, positive energy in the space, so perhaps you’ll even lend some inspiration. Let me know.
He doesn’t stop long enough to think before he hammers out a message to accept.
Griffin: A backstage look at your recording studio? Heck yes. Sign me up for the audio tour if there’s one as well. I promise I’ll be on my best behavior.
The lazy smile plastered on Griffin’s face as he tucks the phone away in his locker lingers as he pulls off his practice jersey, then drops onto the bench to pull off his cleats.
Elliott stops at his locker, squirting his water bottle into his mouth, then turns to Griffin on the bench beside him. “Dude, you look like you’re out to lunch again.” He laughs. “That smile. You got a girl or what?”
Griffin looks up at his friend. His eyebrows creep upward as he wonders about the best way to answer the question. Obviously he doesn’t “have” Aria, but he has feelings for her. There’s no denying that. “Well. It’s . . . you know . . .”
“Wow.” Elliott throws out a hand as if he’s blocking something. “This is Aria stuff, isn’t it? You caught feelings, even though it’s supposed to be business only.”
Griffin internally grinds to a halt at the mention of “supposed to be business only.” Could he be reading too much into this?
He and Aria have a good rapport, they have fun together, but without this PR scaffolding around them, would she even want to be friends with him?
He reminds himself of her latest message.
“She invited me to her studio—out of the public eye—so I think it’s safe to say I’m in the real friend zone.”
Elliott pulls off his jersey and uses it to wipe some sweat from his hairline. “But is the friend zone where you want to be?”
Griffin looks left and right to make sure the players around them aren’t eavesdropping.
It’s Professional League 101 that you don’t bring your personal business to the locker room.
You check it at the stadium gates, to be picked up on close of practice or game play.
He and Elliott have been tight for years now, so between them it’s different.
Probably his teammates wouldn’t mind him dissecting his romantic prospects—or lack thereof—but at minimum, they’d never let him live it down.
Several of them are still calling him Aria Wilder’s number one fan.
Little do they know he sort of enjoys that.
Griffin leans in. “Honestly?” He takes a long, slow breath. “I want out of the friend zone and into the boyfriend zone.”
Elliott grins and slaps him on the arm. “You are such a softie, Griff. All 250 pounds of you.”
Griffin throws back his head. “It was you who got me into this. If you hadn’t left for those snacks, the fans would’ve been way more focused on you and Cassandra, The Beautiful Couple.”
Elliott laughs. “We both know that’s garbage. And you didn’t have to take the PR deal. I think you knew what you were doing, signing on the dotted line to spend extracurricular time with the woman you were already crushing on.”
Elliott isn’t wrong, but Griffin also didn’t anticipate liking Aria as much as he does.
He couldn’t have known that in addition to being talented and charming, she would be smart and insightful and kind.
For all he knew, Aria could’ve been a monster offstage.
Many celebrities have reputations for being demanding and entitled when they’re not under the bright lights.
Fame gets to some people, and professional athletes are not immune.
There aren’t whispers about Aria, and now Griffin knows firsthand why that is.
“For now, I’m just going to accept this invitation and have a grand old time at her studio.”
“I guess it’s a good sign she invited you. If she hated you, she’d keep it business only.”
Griffin’s face heats. “We have fun together.”
“Dang it, man, you’re going to have to keep that under wraps in here.” Elliott looks around the room. “But now you gotta keep me updated because I was there from the start, and I’m invested now. You got me?”
Griffin laughs, then gets up and starts gathering his items for the shower. “I promise. There may not end up being anything to share, but if there is, you’re my first stop.”
Elliott slaps his back. “I’m going to go get a massage. It’s Wednesday, so Katerina’s here.”
Katerina is a gruff, fiftysomething woman from the former Soviet Union who has a reputation for her no-nonsense approach to releasing the toughest muscle knots, even on players more than twice her size.
“She worked wonders on my thigh last week, so I’ll let someone else get a turn.”
“Your loss,” Elliott calls over his shoulder as he heads toward the physical therapy area where the massage tables are set up on Wednesdays.
The first thing Griffin does in his absence is pull his phone back out. He smiles as he reads Aria’s reply.
Aria: Fab! Tomorrow?
Griffin: Sure! I have early practice, so I’ll be done by lunchtime.
Aria: Cool. Just text me when you’re heading over. I’ll be working down there off and on all day. Hit the star button at the gate, and we’ll buzz you in.
Griffin types “Awesome” and goes back and forth on whether to add an exclamation mark. Some of his teammates would say no to the exclamation—the enthusiasm it evokes is incompatible with “having swag”—but Griffin hasn’t ever been interested in swag.
He is interested in Aria.
So he adds the exclamation mark, hits Send, then heads for the showers.
He’s ready to wrap up this day so he can get on to the next.