7. Gigi
CHAPTER 7
Gigi
Think of happy thoughts, Gigi. Picture the ocean. Picture the park. Picture Andrew kissing you in the dark.
I shake my head, quickly erasing the thought in my head. I suppose the last chant in my mantra wouldn’t be fitting for what I’m about to do.
Checking my phone one last time, I decide to send a message to the guy responsible for today.
Wish me luck. I’m here now waiting.
Zach
It’s going to be great. You have a lot in common.
I’m about to close the messaging app, but then I see Zoey’s name underneath Zach’s. Smiling, I type out another text.
I’m so fucking nervous right now. He’s going to see armpit stains.
Zoey
Do you have a cardigan with you?
Good thinking . I grab my black cardigan that’s draped over the chair I’m sitting on. The one I bought on sale last Black Friday with the gift card Mom sent me. I’ve been spending all of my holidays with Dad in New York, so the gift exchange Mom and I have been doing is in the form of emails. As I’m putting my arm inside the hole, a finger taps on my shoulder.
“Are you Gigi?” the guy with the lazy smile asks. Wow, Zach wasn’t kidding when he mentioned that his friend is easy on the eyes. Muscular build. Intense mocha eyes. A French accent. Not a bad way to kick off my return to the dating world. You can tell a lot about a person by the sound of their voice. Granted, he has only said three words to me, but I think he might have the personality to match his physical attractiveness. Or maybe you’ve been alone for way too long and highly inexperienced, Gigi.
“Pierre, right?” I ask, pushing myself to stand up so that I can shake his hand.
He doesn’t take the palm I’m offering him, because at the same time, his arms form half a circle. We’re stuck in this awkward should-we-shake-hands-or-should-we-hug standstill before laughter erupts out of us both.
Zach’s friend pulls me into a light embrace, one appropriate for two people who just met three seconds ago, and claims the seat on the opposite side of the small round table.
“So Gigi…what is it short for?”
I grin. I can do this. This one is easy. “Giuliana Bankowski.” When he doesn’t raise an eyebrow in surprise like some people, I decide to elaborate anyway and give him the play-by-play. “My mom is Italian and my dad is Polish.”
Another lazy smile slowly creases on his lips. When said lips start talking, I finally get his lack of reaction. “Pierre Adebayo,” he says, holding his hand to his button-down clad chest while leaning closer to the table. “French mom and Nigerian dad.”
It turns out, Zach is not that bad at matchmaking after all. Maybe he should put his business degree to good use.
“Well, hello there, fellow multicultural child.” The flirtiness in my tone surprises me.
“Zach didn’t tell me you were also mixed,” he replies.
“I have two white parents, that’s hardly a mixture.” I laugh along with him, but inside, my heart is starting to hammer in my chest. “What else did, uh, Zach tell you about me?” I ask in the most relaxed way I can possibly try to fake.
“Nothing much.” He shrugs. He pauses for a second when the waiter comes with our orders that we placed at the counter. Leaning back on his chair as he drapes an arm over the backrest, he continues, “Just that you study psychology and come from his hometown.”
I make a mental note to thank Zach for keeping his lips shut tight. According to him, Pierre is a twenty-one-year-old exchange student who just arrived in Ravensfield. By the time the snow had set in, students had moved on to the next big scandal that graced this small college town—a drunk sorority sister who got so drunk she decided to bring a professor she was screwing to a party. I can’t say I was sad when people started talking about her instead of me.
“Not the same town, actually,” I clarify. “Three towns over, if we’re being exact. Actually, scratch that. I’m originally from New York, but I moved to Kinsdale Springs when my mom remarried. Zach is from Marble Crest.” God, that’s a lot of oversharing. “What about you? I heard you just came here. How are you liking the States so far?”
“Ravensfield is different than Lyon, that’s for sure,” he says, his dark eyes looking up as he takes a bite from his muffin.
“Less fancy?”
He laughs. “Yes, less fancy. And very small. But everyone is very friendly here. I like it. So tell me a bit about yourself.”
Our blabbering continues on and on. I tell him about my firefighter dad, and he tells me about his bio dad who’s a teacher, as well as his stepfather who is currently here as a visiting professor at the University of Ravensfield. I tell him about my nurse mom and he volleys back with a story of how his mom is bored out of her mind, always using every opportunity to count down the days until the six-month period of their stay here is over. He tells me he came here when his stepdad offered because it would look good on his résumé, and I explain to him that I took out a student loan to be able to go here, supplementing my living costs with waitressing.
The conversation flows naturally—easy laughter, friendly banter. I make sure that I don’t trauma dump and keep everything light. When he walks me back to my dorm, Pierre gives me another hug, less awkward this time. He doesn’t ask for a second date or promise to call me once he gets home. I don’t, either.
Some people would view the lack of chemistry between us and my failure to snag the hottie as an unsuccessful date, but they couldn’t be more wrong.
Today proved something to me: one, today feels nice. Although Pierre probably isn’t the one, getting back out there feels right. Two, I’m easygoing. Fuck Luke and his comment about me being high-maintenance. You know what? Fuck Luke, period