Page 11 of How Not to Date a Griffin

The crinkles around Reid’s eyes softened, and inexplicably, a pang took root in Nolan’s chest. “Glad to hear it, man.” He paired the softly uttered words with a squeeze of his hand, and Nolan wondered if he’d ever be able to take a full breath again.

Before he knew it, they’d come to a stop outside of a building that had probably seen better days—he was sensing a theme.

“This might not be as fancy as your usual joint,” Reid rushed to explain, pulling open the door.

Cool air rushed over them as the air conditioning pumped full blast. A low-lit din awaited them, the ring and clatter of arcade games, glasses meeting tables, murmurs of excitement.

“Shush, I’m sure I’ll love it like I have every other place you’ve taken me to tonight,” Nolan said, raising his voice a bit to be heard over the noise.

If Reid blushed, Nolan couldn’t quite tell because of the low lighting. It was warm inside, not in temperature, but in the way that the lighting was gold and everything was made of wood in some way, shape, or form.

Tacky beer signs littered the tinted windows and lined the wall behind the bar, which is the first place Reid directed them to.

“What’ll you have?”

Nolan tried not to mourn his touch when Reid finally released his hand to tap a beat into the bartop. Nolan wasn’t quite sure that was sanitary, but refrained from saying so.

“Ah…” A wine menu seemed out of the question, but without any guidance, he was a little lost. “Any kind of whiskey will do,” he said, clearing his throat and eyeing the bottles and shiny labels.

It was quite a few seconds before he realized Reid hadn’t responded, and he turned to his left only to stop short at the stare he was leveled with.

“Cheese pizza. Vanilla ice cream. Basic whiskey.”

Nolan felt nervous all of a sudden, and twisted his hands together. “Uh… yes?”

“What do you really want to drink? They’ll make anything.”

His lips parted, but in the end he floundered. “Uh…”

“This isn’t some business meeting where you have to fit in,” Reid reminded him.

Nolan let his eyes drift shut briefly. He was right. This was… Reid.

“Fine,” he announced. “I’ll have… a tequila sunrise. With three cherries.”

Reid’s eyes sparkled in the dim lighting, but not from laughter. At least, not laughter at Nolan’s expense.

When the bartender drifted closer, Reid flagged them down with a flick of his wrist and bravely requested, “We’ll have two tequila sunrises, please. Three cherries.”

The bartender smirked, but offered no commentary other than “I’ll have that right up.”

“Oh, and can we get ten chips apiece?” he added, nudging Nolan’s shoulder.

Nolan was confused until the bartender—Guy, by his name tag— reached under the bar and lifted a small, branded cup with little fake gold coins inside.

“These are for the games.”

“Games?” Nolan asked, and glanced over his shoulder. He was met with glowing blue lights, an entirely different atmosphere than what surrounded them at the bar, and arcade machines he hadn’t seen in years.

Pac-Man. Pinball machines. “Is that Frogger?” he asked, and pointed to the classic arcade game. A group of men were cheering as the little green frog hopped from traffic lane to lane, avoiding the pixelated cars on the screen.

“I take it that’s where we’re headed?” Reid asked.

Nolan nodded absently. He hadn’t played that since he was a kid!

A clink of glasses caught his attention, and he turned back to watch Reid hand over his card, and slide a bright yellow and red concoction his way, three cherries and an orange slice topping the tall glasses.

Nolan’s cheeks flushed as he accepted the drink, but he couldn’t deny the little fissure of pleasure that bubbled in his chest. He took a sip from the black straw and smiled. “Now that’s a drink,” he admitted.