He leads us to his Range Rover and opens the door for me. As I climb inside, he picks up the hem of my dress, so it doesn’t drag on the asphalt, and it almost looks like his fingers tighten around the material for a second. It’s at that moment that I realize I’ve never dated a gentleman, and Rhode might be the blueprint, but I’m not going to mistake it for something deeper. I refuse to be the foolish, naive college student who fantasizes about the hockey player falling for her.
