He touched a finger to my shoulder, though it lacked the heat of his earlier caresses. This was a utilitarian touch. He might have just been worried I’d fall over. “Don’t die,” he said in a sweet, low voice that just amplified my embarrassment. “It would be a real shame if you didn’t finish your list.”
“You’re too nice,” I almost whispered, tears welling in my eyes now. I couldn’t help it—his comment had been playful and even sweet, but he didn’t know the half of it. I’d looked at that list as important, like a genuine step-by-step way to get my life back before my job disappeared, and I’d failed right out of the gate.
“It was nice to meet you, Michelle.” He met my eyes.
“That’s not even my real name.” Tears fell down my cheeks, and I sobbed, no, more blubbered. “You’re so nice, and I gave you a fake name.”
I reached behind me to pull down on the door handle. “I’m sorry. I’m gonna go.” Avoiding his gaze, I spilled out into the hallway and hurriedly stumbled toward the elevator.
* * *
As the cab pulled away from the hotel and I sank into the seat, wiping my face, my phone buzzed with two incoming text messages.
Jake: I had fun tonight (pre-vomit).
Jake: I hope you feel better.
I cradled my face in my palms, metaphorically punching myself in the stomach for drinking so much. Here was this sexy guy who wanted me, who was funny and polite and ready to go, and I spoiled our night by throwing up. Shaking my head, I tried to quiet old memories.
Why did I think I could do this?
A third text came through. I didn’t want to look. I knew it would be pity or a request to never contact him again. Instead, I tucked the phone into my bag before stepping out at my building.
Later, I steeled myself to open the message with timid fingers.
Jake: BTW, what’s your real name?
Five
The next morning, I stretched under the sheets while texting Felicia.
Naya: Status update? Are you still alive?
I squeezed my eyes shut and tried to block out the headache and memories of the night before. A torrent of embarrassment hit me at the thought of being so drunk I’d had to throw up in the middle of making out with a guy. A hot guy. To do: Delete Felicia and Aaron’s list.
Felicia: Barely.
Naya: What do you need?
Felicia: This might be Ebola. Stay away. Is it wrong to ask the CDC to quarantine my kids?
I tapped out a message reminding her to let me know if she needed anything later and toggled to the messages from Jake. The photo he’d sent from the observation deck popped up. Despite my mortification about how the night ended, the picture stirred me unexpectedly. My face showed a playful expression, and I zoomed in, almost not recognizing the woman smiling back at me.
I’d left his last message unanswered, and a mixture of guilt and misgiving crept through my mind. He seemed like a nice guy, and I felt bad giving him a fake name and not responding to his messages, but there was no way I could face him. There was a decent chance I wouldn’t attempt flirting ever again.
Climbing out of bed, my stomach roiled. I needed a hot shower and Tylenol. As I clambered toward my bathroom, I paused and grabbed my phone, shooting off a quick text because why not embarrass myself further?
Naya: I had fun, too, and I’m sorry I bolted. Good luck with the wedding.
The hot water cleared my head as I let it run over me. I had to give an exam that morning, but otherwise I had an entire day to focus on writing. I trailed a soapy hand over my belly and up my chest. Or maybe to allow myself to think about Jake, whose kisses had made me forget what time zone I was in. This has to stop. I squeezed my eyes shut, willing the vivid memories away. I’m never going to see this guy again. Focus.
When I emerged from the shower and wrapped myself in a towel, I felt relatively more human, but a dull ache remained behind my eyes. I glanced at my phone, but there were no new messages. Acrid disappointment settled in my chest more than I wanted to admit, but when my phone buzzed a moment later, I hurried across the room and clicked on the notification without looking.
Reminder: ED 205 Final Exam; 2 hours.
I tossed the phone on my bed and began pulling clothes from my closet, once again chastising myself for my behavior, and for my continued glances at my notificationless device. Giving a final exam while hungover and sexually frustrated. What a perfect metaphor for my life right now.
* * *
“Ten more minutes,” I announced. The room was almost empty as the last few students hurriedly scribbled out their answers. I glanced up from my perch at the front of the room.
Quinton or Quenton looked like a deer in headlights. Color had drained from his face, and his foot tapped incessantly on the tiled floor as he appeared to read and reread the questions.
Called that one.
I glanced at the clock and fiddled with my phone as more students finished and filed past, dropping their exams on my desk. Words with Friends and scrolling through social media didn’t stop me from looking for a text reply continuously, though.
What do I even want him to say?
Felicia: Can we discuss how my mother-in-law was taking a pole dancing class?
Felicia: Also, I didn’t ask earlier. How was your night?
I took a large gulp from my water bottle, still trying to rehydrate.
Naya: Unexpected.
Felicia: What does that mean?
Felicia: Crap, I gotta go. Kid emergency. Call me later!
With a few minutes left, Quinton or Quenton—His last name is Sterling—was the only one left, and I decided to be kind. “Do you need an extra ten minutes?”
He nodded, a harried and flustered expression crossing his normally smooth face as he scribbled in the exam book.
I started organizing the completed tests, mentally creating a to-do list for all the end-of-term things that needed to happen after I finished grading exams. Lists. My head still ached with a dull throb. I toggled to the photo of Aaron and Felicia’s list, my thumb hovering over the delete button when the notification indicator flashed.
Jake: A night of drinking was easier 10 years ago, wasn’t it?
I stared at the screen, unsure how to respond and trying to silence that negative voice in my head and the embarrassed voice in my heart. The voice crying out from my neglected lady parts won, though.
Naya: Feeling a little green?
Jake: A little of every color. Are you feeling better?
Naya: Only slightly colorful.
Jake: Hue are lucky.
Naya: Aww . . . you are in-tint on making me laugh.
Jake: I’d like to try. Will you go out with me tonight?
My thumbs stilled as I reread his question. A giddy anticipation and a sinking feeling pulled at me with equal force.
Jake: I can buy you dinner, you can demand I confront a phobia, we’ll make out in the back of a cab . . . normal date stuff.
Jake: You said you were looking for a one-night stand, but since that didn’t work out . . .
I told him that? Farewell, gin. It’s been real.
Naya: I was so drunk last night. I shouldn’t.
Jake: You left your sweater in my room. I could give it back to you.
The squeak of boat shoes on the tile pulled me from my phone as Quinton or Quenton slumped toward me, handing me his exam with a sullen expression.
“Is there, like, any extra credit?” he asked without making eye contact.
“This is the last day of class,” I said, my eyes doing a quick skim of the slashes and scratch marks across the first page. I added, adopting the kindest tone I could, “Sorry, but there aren’t any opportunities for extra credit at this point. Maybe you did better than you think.”
“I doubt it,” he mumbled, turning to saunter out of the classroom. “See ya, Dr. Turner,” he called over his shoulder with a two-finger wave. His swagger only faltered for a moment, then he adjusted the sunglasses on his head and strode out into the world. Maybe I could learn a thing or two from Quinton or Quenton.
Jake: I could sweeten the deal with a joke.
Jake: Who tells the best egg jokes?
Jake: Comedi-hens.
I shook my head and gathered the exams in a pile to walk the short distance back to my office. As I stood, I felt a little taller and, just a little bit, like things might be okay.
Naya: I’m convinced.
As I stepped into the hall, my phone rang. “Hey, Joe. What’s up? How’s the conference?”
“Naya! Thank God. Are you free tomorrow evening?” He sounded flustered. A cacophony of chatter raged in the background.
“Everything okay?”
“I’m supposed to attend an event hosted by President Lewis tomorrow night. All the department chairs are required to be there, but I’m stuck in Miami. I doubt I’ll get out in time. Can you attend in my place?”
“What kind of event?” I stepped inside my office. I wanted nothing to do with a stuffy gathering of department chairs.
“He’s keeping it hush-hush, but every department needs to be represented, and it’s at the Barth.” Joe sounded frustrated, his words clipped, and he said something away from the phone. Barth House was the president’s mansion. An opulent, columned monstrosity that I tried my best to avoid. The university was a little bit like my high school cafeteria. I learned quickly where I belonged and rarely ventured into the orbit of the popular crowd.
“I don’t know. Shouldn’t someone more senior go?”
“Normally, I’d say yes, but no one is in town. I’m begging you, Naya.”
Maybe being seen at the event would show others on campus I was trusted and important. It couldn’t hurt to mingle with the people who might have a say in my promotion, especially not knowing what was coming. “Okay, boss.”
To do: Figure out what to wear to this thing.
Six
Wait, he asked you out after you threw up on him?” Felicia’s voice rang out through my phone. “Is this a fetish or something?”
I pulled the device away from my ear while trying to keep my towel from slipping. My anxiety at full throttle after arriving home late, I pushed the clothes hanging in my closet aside as I grew frustrated with my lack of date-appropriate apparel. “I didn’t throw up on him. Just . . . near him.”
“Oh, Nay.” Felicia adopted her you’re hopeless tone. “Where do I start?”
“I don’t have time for the lecture, Fel. We’re meeting in, like, an hour, and I’m freaking out.”
“Okay, okay,” Felicia laughed. “What has you so riled?”
“What if he expects sex?”
“Isn’t that why you’re going out with him?”
“No!” I paused in my comparison of two sweater sets. “I mean, maybe? That’s all I wanted the other night, but then he was sweet.” And he’s funny and has kind eyes and I felt safe with him.
“Candy is sweet, but dick is better.”
I laughed, despite my rising panic. “God, Fel. Who says that? Please, be serious. I’m minutes away from losing it.”
“Calm down. If the guy wants it and you don’t, he can go home alone and get acquainted with his right hand.”
“That’s not what has me worried.” I sighed, hanging both sweater sets back in my closet. Shapeless cardigans for a date? C’mon. “I don’t know. You guys talked me into that list, and now I kind of want to try.”
Felicia was silent for a beat, and I imagined her biting her lip, brows knit on the other end of the line as she weighed out how to best advise me. “Here’s what you do. Take a few deep breaths when you start to get worked up. You said he’s here just for the weekend, right? You’ll be careful, so best-case scenario, you have some consequence-free fun. Worst-case scenario, you have an awkward, sexless date. Either way, he leaves town in a few days and life goes on.”
“You’re right,” I huffed, pulling a mint green tank top from the back of my closet. It was a relic from a shopping trip with Felicia, and I’d never even taken the tags off. Stroking the thin knit fabric of the back and letting the sheer, wispy overlay slip between my fingers, I nodded my head. “You’re right. I’m overthinking this.”
“It’s what you do best. Where are you going, anyway? Somewhere public in case he ends up being a sociopath?”
“Who’s a sosopath, Mommy?” Felicia’s daughter Emily’s voice came through the phone.
“Aunt Naya’s boyfriend, sweetie. Don’t worry about it.”
“Aunt Naya’s going to kiss a sosopath!” Emily’s shout faded as she probably ran down the hall to tell her brothers.
“Thank you for that,” I muttered, opening my top left drawer. The stores of fancy underwear were on the left—lace and satin arranged by color. The everyday cotton in white and earth tones were on the right. My hands hovered before I reached for a pair of mint-colored satin panties and searched for the matching bra. Can’t hurt to be prepared.
“So, where are you going?”
“I suggested Navy Pier. I figured it would be crowded with tourists.” I clipped the tags from the shirt and pulled it over my head. The cotton hugged my body, but the sheer overlay cascaded gently over my curves to my waist.
“Well, that’s definitely public.”
I pulled a flowy black skirt over my hips and slipped my feet into a pair of strappy gold sandals. “Okay, I feel better. You’re right. I should finish getting ready. Talk to you later?”
“Sure. And it should go without saying, but try not to throw up on him. It’s been a long time since you dated, but just for the record, that’s too casual.”
Seven
The sun hung low in the sky, and the crowded pier was awash in a warm, golden light. My heart raced, and I closed my eyes, taking a moment to psych myself up. Breathe. Breathe. The driver eyed me suspiciously, so I hurried out the door with a quick thanks and scanned the crowd for Jake.
“Hey.” His broad smile greeted me as soon as I turned. The dimples. Those lips. “I was a little worried you’d change your mind.” He looked relieved, and I didn’t know why that made butterflies flutter in my stomach.
“I couldn’t let you keep my favorite sweater.”
He had the arms of the pink fabric draped over his shoulders and loosely knotted over the top of his blue-and-white button-down shirt. “What do you think? Pulling it off?” He stepped back so I could admire the accessory.
My smile broke into a laugh, and I shook my head.
“No?”
“Not even a little.”
“Damn.” He gently pulled it from his shoulders, his fingertips brushing mine as he handed it over. “That’s okay. It looks better on you anyway.”
I caught the faint whiff of him on the fabric—the scent of sandalwood mixed with the hotel’s soap. As we strolled down the walkway, I added, “Carnation pink just might not be your color.”
“You’re probably right, but it made you smile, so worth it either way.”
I dipped my head and bit my lower lip.
“Sorry, I seem to get extra cheesy around you.”
When I glanced up, the idea he was a little unsure made me feel more at ease. I didn’t want cocky. I’d been down that road before.
“Nah, you’re Gouda.”
His stare was blank for a beat, and I worried I’d said something stupid, maybe letting my quirkiness out of the bag a little too soon, then the edges of his eyes crinkled to accompany his low and sexy rumbling laugh.
“A cheese pun. You might be the coolest woman I’ve ever met.”
I knew a blush was rising on my cheeks, so I looked out towar
d the water of Lake Michigan glistening under the sinking sun. “I don’t give those puns to just anyone, so feel honored.”
“I do. Any other secrets up your sleeve? Perhaps your real name?”
I laced my fingers together, twirling the small gold ring I wore on my right middle finger. There really wasn’t any danger in him knowing my first name.
“It’s Naya. Like a papaya.”
He smiled at the device I’d used since I was a kid. “Nice to meet you, Naya like a papaya. Have you been here before?”
Since I’d never told him I actually lived here before insisting we not share details, I stumbled for a moment on the question. On one hand, I was still kind of anonymous with him not knowing where I lived. On the other hand, I was lying to him.
“I haven’t been here in a long time.” Not exactly a lie. I avoided crowded places.
He laced his fingers through mine, an intimate gesture that made me feel strangely girlish. “Let’s explore, then.”
His hand was so much bigger than mine, and a strange sense of contentment pooled around me. That was ridiculous, but still, his fingers wrapped around mine in this solid manner kept my doubts at bay as we wandered the pier. Walking in the warm night air, I was comfortable, and our conversation fell into an easy give-and-take. I pointed to the Ferris wheel and told him my favorite thing as a kid was when the carnival came to town and I could ride one. I always loved being on top of the world like that. He told me about his big family as we ate tacos from a food truck, and I made him laugh, telling him about my cousins trying to teach me, the lone girl, to pee against a tree when I was a kid.
“I never quite got the hang of it.”
“I have no words.” As we neared the water, the breeze picked up, whipping my hair onto my face, and he leaned over to tuck the strands back for me. It was the kind of romantic gesture I’d convinced myself I didn’t want, three years ago when I’d decided that men weren’t worth the risk. But with his fingertip lingering along my ear, a flurry of sensation ran up my spine, taking me back to the taste of his kisses.
How to Fail at Flirting Page 5