I stifled the shudder of revulsion, and the memory of the flowers delivered the next day, and the lie I’d told Felicia about slipping on the ice. I shook it all away, focusing on Aaron’s question. “He’s a kid. I don’t compare my students to men I’ve dated. That’s . . .” I searched for the phrase that best described the rising bile in my stomach and settled on “inappropriate.”
Aaron shrugged and pushed back from the table to get another beer. “I’m not saying you want to sleep with the kid. I’m just saying he might remind you of Davis.”
Felicia breezed into the room, plucking the beer from her husband’s hand. “What did I miss?”
“I was just saying, Nay always has strong reactions to people who are self-assured.”
“Definitely. Except for me. It’s a miracle we’ve been friends so long.”
My best friend since third grade when she punched a girl who was bullying me, Felicia was my opposite in every way. Bold to my timid; dark, smooth skin to my ethnically ambiguous; brave to my fearful. Her smile was contagious, and I gave her a knowing grin. They were both wrong, though. Self-assurance didn’t bother me. Davis was cocky. The way his lip curled when he was upset with me and how I had learned to cower at that expression—cocky bothered me. I shook my head, willing away the image as Aaron continued.
“You’re wound too tight, Nay. Always have been.” Aaron popped the top off two beers and handed me one. “I bet that kid wouldn’t bother you this much if you”—he lifted his brows a few times—“found someone to help you loosen up.”
“My sex life has nothing to do with that kid being prepared for my class.” That was true, and my interest in sex had been nonexistent for a long time. After my last relationship, I’d felt disconnected from my body, and I didn’t trust anything that felt good. Then, a few months earlier, Felicia had talked me into doing yoga with her a couple times a week, and eventually I’d become more in tune with my body. Turned out, my body missed sex even though my mind was resistant to trusting someone.
Felicia settled in the chair across from me, leaning forward on the table. “You might be more relaxed. Maybe you’d go with the flow more. It’s been a long time, girl.”
I couldn’t fault my friends for encouraging me to move on. It had been three years, and as far as they knew, I was over it. I skirted the issue.
“Have you ever known me to go with the flow?” I raised an eyebrow at her and smirked. “Besides, I can’t just get laid. It’s not like I can just pick up a guy at the drugstore along with aspirin and gum. It’s not that easy.”
Felicia shared a look with her husband. “You’re hot and live in a major metropolitan area; it is definitely that easy. I’d do you myself if I wasn’t so in love with my husband and his impressive—”
I held my arms up, palms out. “Do not finish that sentence, I beg you.”
Felicia shrugged and smiled sweetly.
Aaron took a swig from his beer. “Don’t let this go to your head, Nay, but if I was a stranger and saw you on the street, I’d think you were pretty hot. If you want to get laid, you can get laid.”
I cringed at his assessment and turned to Felicia. “You’re okay with him thinking that?”
Felicia looked me up and down. “You have the ass of a nineteen-year-old . . . Let’s be honest, he’s not wrong.” She held up her hand for a high five from her husband.
I narrowed my eyes and stared at Aaron.
He shot me a rueful glance and ignored my expression. “I’m married, not dead. I stand by my assessment. Why not test the waters if you’re ready?”
“I don’t want to have sex with a random guy I meet in a bar or because he swiped right. I want a connection.” I wasn’t sure I’d ever been in love with someone I’d slept with, not real love. I had no idea how different it might be to be with someone where it was real. Hell, it’s been long enough. Do I even remember how to do it? Somewhere in the middle of this conversation, I’d forgotten I was against the entire premise.
“I offered to set you up with my trainer. Wes is cute,” Felicia chimed in.
“Isn’t he dating someone?” Aaron asked.
“Details,” she said with a dismissive wave. “Nay, I’m adding sex with a stranger to your list.”
“What list?”
“The list of things you will do on the way to getting a life.”
Aaron grabbed a notepad and pen off the counter with a laugh.
“Having sex is not the same as getting a life. And when did you start this list?” I asked.
“About three seconds ago. And you could try for both things at the same time.” Felicia told Aaron to take notes, and he wrote Nay’s To-Do: and 1. Sex with a stranger at the top of a blank page.
“I know you. You’re a list-maker. What else?” She looked up at me, eyes bright.
I made a grab for the paper, but Aaron snatched it back. “My life is fine. I don’t need a list.” Except that all I do is work and I might be about to lose my job.
The two of them shared another glance. “Nay, we’re the only people you hang out with. Humor us.” Aaron scratched out his notes. “You’ll need to work up to sex, though. I’ll move it lower on the list.”
I rolled my eyes, deciding to play along. “Okay, I could stand to get out of my rut. How about ‘try new things’?” Maybe that Cuban place around the corner or joining a book club.
He jotted it down. “Flirt. Let a guy buy you a drink.”
“This sounds like an instruction manual from the fifties on how to land a man.”
“You don’t need to land a man, just to board one,” Felicia said, eyeing my sweater set. “And I think you might consider dressing more your age.”
“What’s wrong with my clothes?” I glanced down at the plum-colored, loose-fitting top and khaki pants.
“Nothing’s wrong with them, but you never look comfortable wearing them, and there’s no way those are your size.”
I shied away from revealing or tight-fitting clothes. Wear shapeless sweaters and pants a size or two too big, and colleagues don’t accuse you of being a slut. Unless your ex already told them you were.
Aaron read through the notes in his jagged script. “This is good. Stop dressing like you’re on your way to bingo. I’m also adding ‘get drunk in public and do something embarrassing.’”
“Why?” I never knew if a student or colleague might be nearby, or what they might think, so I rarely drank in public.
“Mostly because I want to hear the story of you doing something dumb.” Aaron cast a playful, brotherly look across the table. “And you’re fun after you’ve had a few.”
I kind of miss being fun.
Aaron held up the list triumphantly. “You’re agreeing to do everything that’s on it by accepting this.”
“Yeah, right,” I said, stretching to grab it from him. “These are all about hooking up with a guy. I want more from my life than that.” Also, I would need to google how to flirt before even attempting it.
Felicia batted my hand away. “Keep adding to it. And we’re mostly kidding—you don’t need to run out and get down with some random person.”
I read through the items and wondered if it might work. As I went down the list, I mentally added:
Stand up for myself
Take risks
Let someone else get me to orgasm
Trust a man again
“Okay, whatever. I’ll see what I can do.” I laughed, snapping a picture of the list with my phone. “Work is intense right now with this new president shaking things up. I need to focus. I’m not going to put time into searching for some dude to sleep with or getting a life.”
“Work and men don’t have to be mutually exclusive.” Aaron rapped the tabletop with his knuckles, a sly grin spreading across his face as he exchanged another look with his wife. “What are you doing tomorrow night?”
> “Nothing. Why?”
“Throw some condoms in your purse. We’re getting a babysitter and taking you out to a bar.” Aaron rose and grabbed the empty bottles from the table.
“You’re ridiculous. I’m not actually doing any of this. Besides, who goes out on a Tuesday?”
“Old married couples and social recluses, apparently,” Felicia said. “Plus it will be less crowded, so you can ease into it with a little breathing room.”
Aaron set the bottles on the counter and returned to lean against the table. “Nay, you were different after you broke up with Davis. Still you, but with the volume turned down.” He patted my shoulder. “We’d love to see the volume go back up.”
I had turned my volume down so he could be the one whose voice was loudest—that’s how he’d liked things—and I’d even pulled back from Felicia and Aaron, knowing they’d figure out what was happening. I’d questioned myself for a long time after we broke up, wondering if he was right about me speaking up.
Who am I kidding? I’m still questioning myself. I glanced back at the list, rereading the items and wondering. What if?
Aaron spoke over his shoulder. “We’ll have a few drinks—don’t worry, nothing wild.”
Maybe drinking on a weeknight will be good practice for when I no longer have a job to wake up for in the mornings.
Felicia flashed me a sly grin. “But you never know when that stranger might show up.”
Three
I pushed through the crowds at Spur, surprised Aaron had picked a spot in the Loop with so many tourists. The trendy place was packed with bodies even on a Tuesday night, but I managed to grab the lone open seat at the bar while I waited for my friends.
“What can I get you?” The young bartender’s gaze darted from me to the perky blonde on my left who cried, “Woo-hoo!” several times along with her friends, arms waving in the air and breasts spilling out of her top.
Compared to her, I looked like Mary Poppins, or a more conservatively dressed version of Mary Poppins. I unbuttoned the cardigan sweater to reveal the neckline of the dress I’d pulled from the back of my closet. I considered the challenge to wear better-fitting clothes and glanced at the bartender. He was kind of cute, in a scruffy twentysomething I-have-a-decade-of-bad-decisions-ahead-of-me way. Couldn’t hurt to try . . .
As he approached with the drink, I leaned forward, pushing my breasts together with my arms, and smiled as the articles I’d read on flirting suggested. I gave myself a pep talk. You’re going to check this off the list.
When Twentysomething took my credit card and set down my gin and tonic, he spilled a third of the contents on the bar without looking at me or apologizing. A smile was plastered on my face like an idiot as he eyed the woo-hoo girls.
Fail.
I exhaled and relaxed my arms. Felicia would have demanded another drink, but I wiped up the spilled liquor with a napkin and took a sip from my glass. It wasn’t worth drawing attention to myself, especially after he completely ignored me, and I wasn’t quite pathetic enough to pull up the how-to articles again while sitting there. I re-buttoned my cardigan, admitting my unsuccessful attempt, and looked around for Felicia and Aaron. This was such a bad idea.
The woman who’d been in the seat next to me had slipped out while I focused on my mortification. A man took that stool, and catching sight of him in my peripheral vision, I coughed, choking on the drink. The straight posture, the athletic build, the polo shirt. My pulse raced, and my muscles tensed. I searched out the exits, making sure I had a clear path away from the bar.
It’s not him. It’s not him.
I returned my gaze to the bar, but not before a memory left me momentarily frozen. One night after we’d been dating a couple months, out with Davis’s friends in a bar like this, I’d corrected a mistake he’d made in relaying a story from the New Yorker. He’d joked about it in the moment, but on the drive home, he was silent, his lips pressed into a firm line. When we got into my apartment, he’d gripped my upper arms hard and ignored my cry of pain.
“Don’t do that again.” His voice had remained steady, even, and quiet as his fingers continued digging into my flesh despite my protests. “It won’t make people think you’re smart or interesting. It just makes them think you don’t respect me.”
I’d stared, wide-eyed, as he dropped his hands and strode into my bedroom as if nothing had happened. Later that night, he’d kissed me and apologized, telling me he was just stressed. In retrospect, I knew it wasn’t normal for men to get violent, but I reasoned that he hadn’t hit me, and I’d embarrassed him. He was just more sensitive than I’d thought. From then on, though, I questioned myself before speaking up, increasingly attuned to his reactions during our two-year relationship.
I shook away the memory, rubbing my upper arm absently where the small, round bruises had taken two weeks to fade.
I have to stop looking for him.
I knew that logically, but the message didn’t always reach my brain. I glanced toward the door for Felicia and Aaron again, anxious for the distraction they always provided. I could usually get out of my head when they were around.
I drew a slow breath before downing a large gulp to settle my nerves. I tried to signal the bartender for another. He looked at me with a bored expression that left me feeling frumpy, like I annoyed him by pulling his attention from the hot girls who had moved to the other end of the bar. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed the stranger also studying the woman and her friends.
Of course he is.
My phone vibrated with an incoming call from Aaron. The ambient sounds of the speakerphone came through the line.
“You guys stuck in traffic?”
“Hey. My mom was admitted to the hospital—I’m driving home.”
“Oh my God. What happened? Is she going to be okay?” Aaron’s mom was the healthiest woman I knew. Well into her sixties, she ran marathons and led spin classes.
I should start working out more. Adding that to the list.
“She got hurt while . . . exercising.”
“Fell while running or something?”
“Um, no.”
He was being oddly cagey. I asked him again what happened while indicating to the bartender I wanted another.
Aaron sighed. “They want to keep her overnight for observation, and my sister is worried. Apparently, she fell and hit her head pretty hard and injured her leg during a new class.”
“Spin class?”
“No.”
“What, then?”
He grumbled, “A pole dancing class.”
“Your mom is hospitalized with a pole dancing injury?” The man next to me cocked his head and glanced my way, but I tried to focus on Aaron. I didn’t want to laugh—the woman was in the hospital, for goodness’ sake—but I couldn’t shake the image of Mrs. Daniels’s long gray hair flying as she twirled around a pole.
“I’m sorry, Aar. Send her my love.”
“Thanks. I’m worried she’s going to want to tell me about the class.”
I let a grin crack across my face. “Have singles ready, then.”
“I hate you.”
“Is Felicia still coming?”
“As far as I know. She should be there soon.”
We hung up and I opened the picture of the list. I couldn’t do these things. Look how badly my pathetic attempt at flirting with the bartender had gone. The guy hadn’t just ignored me, he’d ignored me while spilling my overpriced drink. I couldn’t imagine going from that awkward encounter to sex with a stranger. Hell, sex with anyone. I toyed with the top button of my cardigan again, remembering Aaron’s words. Still you, but with the volume turned down. I bit the corner of my lip and glanced again at the stranger next to me. Like the bartender, he wasn’t paying me any attention. That was usually a relief. If men didn’t see me, they couldn’t hurt me. Still, after a
dmiring him again, a little part of me wanted the man next to me with the broad chest and strong jaw to notice me, want me, and touch me. It had been way too long, and a forgotten belly flutter made me glance over a second time.
He drank from his glass, and I was in the middle of an internal debate about whether to attempt a flirtatious greeting when he unexpectedly met my eyes. On closer inspection, his posture was different from Davis’s, not so stiff, and his hair was closer to a chestnut brown than dirty blond. As we made eye contact, a swirl of energy curled between my thighs, and a loud cheer from the woo-hoo girls rang out.
“Now, what’s the point of that?” He motioned to the blonde and her friends.
“I have no idea.” I returned his smile before looking away, searching out the bartender, then glancing at my phone. The image of the list remained on the screen.
“It’s interesting,” he mused.
“Why?” I sipped my drink and unbuttoned my cardigan again. I’ll do it. I’ll try one more time.
He dipped his head and adopted a questionable Australian accent. “Observe the whooping female in her natural habitat.”
His impression was bad, really bad, but I laughed.
“See how the loud, ritualistic mating call signals to the rest of the herd to mimic their leader.” He added, breaking from the accent, “Could be a good documentary, don’t you think?”
“Um . . . Crikey!”
He seemed impressed at my equally sorry attempt at an accent.
“I’m Jake.” He glanced at me again before adding, “And I can call you . . . ?”
I reached to shake his hand. No ring. No telltale tan line. I considered giving him my real name, but “Naya” wasn’t common, so I shared my middle name instead. Err on the side of safety.
“Michelle.”
I glanced toward the entrance, checking for Felicia again.
“Michelle,” he repeated. His voice was low without being gravelly. “What brings you here?” Jake kept his body angled toward mine, leaning in to be heard as the woo-hoo girls’ volume increased.
How to Fail at Flirting Page 2