Naya: Yikes. Intimidating . . . Don’t screw up.
Naya: Wait, everyone in the background is in pink T-shirts . . .
The dots appeared, and a photo came through, another selfie, but in this one, I could see his broad chest in a pink T-shirt, his muscles defined under glittery script reading Groomsman. My smile spread.
Jake: Offering you a glimpse into my own personal hell.
Naya: You look good in pink. Will you model it for me in person?
Jake: I would, if I didn’t plan to burn it.
Naya: You’re no fun.
Jake: That’s not what you said this morning.
* * *
I finished a few last tasks and locked up my office to head home, fingering the screen of my phone on the walk to my car. I opened the app to type a new message but paused, realizing I had nothing to say. Isn’t mindless texting something you do in a relationship? I slipped my phone back into my bag, because I was asking for trouble.
I’m asking for trouble either way, right? I pulled my phone back out when I thought back to his earlier texts that were cute and sweet. When I glanced up, I froze, nearly dropping my device.
Ahead of me, Davis was chatting with a tall brunette I didn’t recognize. His gait and the way he held his head at an angle, chin tipped up all the time, sent blood rushing through my ears. He looked over in my direction, and our eyes met. A look of surprise crossed his face, and he paused his stride, then smirked. A chill wound up my spine as he raised his eyebrow, tipped his head slightly, then returned his gaze to his companion.
Terror stole my breath, and I took a few steps back, lingering in the doorway of a nearby building. My cheeks burned, and my heart thudded at that familiar, derisive expression.
He’s not supposed to be here.
The panic that coursed through my body was worse than it had been in years, and I struggled to keep myself from shaking as adrenaline flooded my system.
He and his companion laughed as they turned a corner and disappeared from my sight, but I worried he’d come back or wait for me. The image of him lingering by the car with no one around left my hands trembling, and I clasped them together. I never got around to taking that self-defense class.
Still, I didn’t move. Each time I’d run into him after we split, I’d cowered and tried to make myself invisible. That doesn’t belong in past tense. I’ve been trying to make myself invisible ever since.
I took a deep breath and tentatively stepped out of the doorway, glancing around and listening for voices from the parking lot. When I heard none, I grasped my phone and sprinted toward my car.
I wish Jake was here.
The thought ricocheted in my head. Jake thinks I’m strong and know what I want. I straightened my spine to tamp down the nervous energy threatening to overtake my body. When I reached my car, the lot was nearly empty, and Davis was nowhere in sight. Still, I slammed the car door and locked it within seconds. I didn’t take a full breath until I was out of the parking lot. Even then, the hairs on the back of my neck stood on end, as if he was watching me through the car windows, waiting and scheming.
* * *
My unease hadn’t settled by the time I stepped into the restaurant near Felicia’s where I was picking up food. Across the room, an older couple read a newspaper together and a young mother tried to wrangle a squirming toddler into a high chair. My heart clenched, and I exhaled a breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding.
I’d built my career by staying late, doing more, working longer hours than others, and leveraging everything I could. I didn’t regret it—I did, however, wonder who would read the paper with me when I was old and if I’d missed my window to have my own wriggling toddler.
Thirty-three’s not so old, is it?
I watched a group of teenagers giggling as a handsome waiter exited the kitchen carrying a tray of sizzling fajitas. A man in a suit behind them rolled his eyes and looked at his watch, a bit more dramatically than was necessary.
My phone buzzed in my pocket, and an unknown number with an out-of-town area code flashed on the screen with a text.
Unknown: It was nice to see you today.
Unknown: Jill Jameson said she and you were discussing me.
Unknown: Good to know you’re still thinking of me, pretty girl.
I shivered and looked around the diner, but I knew he wasn’t hiding there somewhere. He didn’t have to. With those messages, I felt like he was standing next to me regardless.
Seventeen
Felicia’s kids had fled to the playroom after dinner, and we stretched out in her toy-strewn living room. A shock of hair from a doll’s head precariously dangled out the side hatch of a toy helicopter on the end table next to me. The chaos of their house was always calming.
I’d sat in the restaurant parking lot with my eyes tightly closed and my phone shoved in my bag, as if the darkness of my purse could swallow up the texts. I willed myself to calm down and put it out of my head. Felicia would know something was up in an instant if I didn’t lock away everything I was feeling, and I hated her worrying about me. Put on a happy face.
“Turner, you have no idea how bad I felt that both of us had to bail on you Tuesday.”
After playing with the kids and joking with Felicia, my body had relaxed. Even if my life was in tatters, their house was safe. “It’s okay. I understand. Aaron had to be with his mom, and I didn’t want to catch your stomach flu, that’s for sure.”
She groaned. “I don’t want to think about it. I even had to miss my workout with Wes the sexy trainer, and you know how bad it had to be for that to happen.”
Felicia never exercised when we were kids or through college. She was one of those annoying people who didn’t work out, gorged on whatever she wanted, and maintained a great figure. After the twins, though, she’d struggled to feel good about her body and started working out with a personal trainer. I was a little jealous—she looked great, of course, but she’d tell me about all the new things Wes was getting her to do: kickboxing, weight lifting, and even Pilates. I kind of wanted that, too.
“So, tell me about your date!”
I leaned back further into the comfortable couch and took a sip of coffee. I needed the caffeine after the late nights and the exhausting day. Despite everything else, a smile crossed my lips at the thought of Jake. My mind drifted to how his hips felt pressed to me during the dance lesson and the way his eyes kind of danced when he laughed. “I had a nice night.”
“Did you sleep with him?” She eyed me. “You have no poker face. You slept with him. How was it? What happened?”
“It was . . . nice.”
Her lips quirked up. “Bitch, you know that level of detail is insufficient. I can tell from your dopey expression that you’re underselling.” She pushed her hair off her shoulder and sat up straight.
She listened intently as I described everything from him showing up with my sweater to kisses on the Ferris wheel and the night in his hotel room.
“Wow,” she responded. “That’s intense, Nay. And he’s good with his hands?” Felicia waggled her perfectly shaped eyebrows. “Like, on a scale from Aiden to your wildest, porniest dreams, where would he fall?”
I laughed, remembering clumsy, fumbling Aiden Howard, my date to the senior prom who had finished in his pants without warning after I barely touched his zipper. At least we’d already taken photos. That tux never stood a chance.
“He’s—” I searched for the right word, remembering how Jake’s voice dipped low and got kind of gravelly and how he’d rubbed my back when I got sick in his hotel room that first night. “He’s a class unto himself.”
I paused again, taking a drink of my coffee. “And then last night . . .”
Felicia’s jaw hit the floor when I explained the president’s announcement and finding out Jake owned the consulting company.
“Are you allowed to hook up with him?”
“Probably not.” The anxiety that had been lingering at the base of my neck all morning returned. “He came over after the event. We talked about it.” I glanced at my mug to avoid her scrutiny.
“You talked?” Felicia asked before her eyes opened wide and her face lit up. “You were right and properly serviced last night, weren’t you?”
I nodded, pressing my lips together to pull in my smile, and holding up three fingers. “And then again this morning.”
“Shit, Turner. When you step out of your box, you really step out.”
“I know, but . . .”
She gave me a knowing look. “It was that good, huh?”
“It was so far beyond good.” Flashes of memory danced in my mind. “But it could be so bad for me if anyone found out.”
Felicia sat back in her chair. “It doesn’t sound like you’ll be doing much besides tangling the sheets. You can keep it quiet.”
“I hope so.”
“Girl, this is big. You’ve been so closed off, especially with men. And I get it after what you went through, but . . .”
I nodded, doing my best to push that thought from my head again. Instead, I pulled up the photo of Jake and me from that first night and handed her my phone. “I’ve never reacted to someone like I do to him, and he’s . . . generous.”
“Shit.” She exhaled slowly with a grin. “Does he have a brother?”
“You’re married.”
“I’ve been married a long time.” Felicia laughed. “Gonna see him again?”
“I hope so. He’s here through the end of the weekend, but he’s in a wedding tomorrow.”
She took another sip of her coffee and shook her head. “I’m glad he’s good in bed. You deserve some quality action after your re-virginizing dry spell. Not that guys before that were anything to write home about.”
That made me wince, remembering the guy I’d been with in graduate school and how he’d spend two minutes groping my breasts with kind of a honking motion before moving on to the main event. Foreplay? Schmorplay. It left me not only unsatisfied, but frustrated and embarrassed, like there was something wrong with me.
I set my cup down. “It’s weird. I feel . . . good with him. Not at all self-conscious. It’s like I can get out of my head.”
Felicia’s boys flew into the living room and simultaneously screamed for her attention. While she played referee, I warily pulled my buzzing phone from my pocket. If it kept buzzing without me answering, Felicia would know something was wrong.
Jake: Thomas wants to celebrate his last night of freedom by drinking all the whiskey in Chicago.
Jake: Am I a bad groomsman if I ditch this fool to be with you?
Naya: You must stay with your groom, for better or worse.
Naya: Isn’t there a bros before hoes clause in the man code?
Jake: The loophole to that clause is a gorgeous woman who thinks I’m cute.
I closed the text window and looked up to see Felicia’s self-satisfied smile.
“Who’s that?” She sipped from her cup, giving me a knowing look over the rim.
“Shut up.”
Eighteen
I set my glass on the counter and tied my robe. The scent of the lavender-infused candle filled my small bathroom and wafted into the bedroom. My muscles had relaxed after dinner with Felicia and the kids and two glasses of wine, but I was still a little jittery from seeing Davis and getting his texts. Outside my window, the streetlights cast circles of golden light over the uneven sidewalks below.
My phone chirped, and I spun to retrieve it from my nightstand, hoping it was Jake. It was, though on the screen was a photo of four scantily clad women doing shots with a guy who looked to be around forty.
Jake: Remember the woo-hoo girls from the night we met? Their clones are here.
Naya: Are you mixing and mingling?
Jake: I am texting you.
Naya: Let me guess . . . you’d prefer an intimate, dignified gathering of gentlemen, sipping scotch in high-backed chairs while smoking cigars? Discussing policy and finance?
Jake: Because I’m a railroad tycoon from the 20s?
I carried my phone to the bed and lay back against the pillows, a grin on my face as my thumbs moved across my screen.
Naya: Or a modern-day railroad tycoon.
Jake: Do not pass go. Do not collect $200.
Naya: Ba-dum-dum. What would you prefer to be doing?
Jake: Anything involving you.
I read and reread the last text, goose bumps rising on my skin and my thighs clenching.
Naya: Skydiving? Bungee jumping? Basketball?
Jake: You’re funny.
My fingers danced over my collarbone, and I remembered the taste of dulce de leche and scotch. My thumbs hovered over the screen in a temporary text paralysis. Arousal unfurled from low in my belly and spread out to my fingertips, which rested over my racing heart. I slid my thumb over the screen, unsure where this boldness was coming from all of a sudden. The ache between my legs definitely had something to do with it, but it was more knowing somehow that Jake would not judge me, that he’d go with me down the rabbit hole.
Naya: Something naughtier?
Naya: What’s on the table?
Jake: My jaw. Are you sexting me?
His last messages sent a jolt through me, and my center pulsed. I didn’t exactly know what sexting entailed, but something told me Jake would be good at it, and I wanted to find out.
Naya: Which emoji am I supposed to use?
Jake: I’m no expert, but . . .
I watched the three dots disappear, and then the cake emoji popped up on the screen. I laughed, the sound filling my bedroom, and an oddly gleeful feeling mixed with my arousal.
Naya: How did you know that would get me so hot?
Jake: Lucky guess. I like getting you hot.
Jake: Makes me imagine all the different ways I could . . . warm you up.
My nipples tightened to hard buds under my robe at the memory of his big hands pulling my body against him, the firm way he’d held me to him, and his dimples, deep divots that appeared when he smiled. All of it pushed me on.
Naya: Between that and the cake, you’re really succeeding.
Jake: Was it mostly the cake?
Naya: How do you know me so well?
Naya: I’m just about to get in the bath and am all alone imagining you warming me up . . .
Jake: Whatever will you do?
I snapped a photo of my fingers on the tied belt of my robe, and hit send along with the message Ten fingers, remember?
Being bold was natural with him. Of course, being behind a screen made it easier, but I had this sense he wouldn’t think badly of me, that I could be this person with him without any real consequences.
Jake: You’re killing me.
Jake: Are you touching yourself?
I grazed my free hand between my breasts, the tip of my middle finger over one pert nipple. Him asking felt so intimate, like he could see me. The thought of his eyes on me was more exciting than I would have predicted.
Naya:
Jake: I want to continue this conversation, but I’m in public. The thing you’re tempting me to do would get me arrested.
Naya: I don’t want to be responsible for yet ANOTHER man landing in jail for public indecency.
Jake: So, you have a pattern. A dirty pattern.
Naya: Hence the bath.
Jake: There’s a nice tub in my hotel room if you wanted to use it. I could meet you there in an hour.
Jake: I’ll have the desk give you a key.
Naya: Are you asking me to keep my fingers at bay?
Jake: N
ot at all. Not even a little. Just asking you to bring them closer to me. I just need to get the groom home safe.
Jake: I’d love to see you tonight. Will you consider it while I corral him?
Naya: Ok. Think of railroad tycoons and baseball in the interim.
Jake: There is a 0% chance of me thinking of anything besides you and your ten talented fingers.
Nineteen
I’d been lying on the luxurious hotel bed for ten minutes, dressed only in the pink groomsman T-shirt I’d found tossed over a chair. The fabric smelled faintly of Jake’s cologne and his natural scent. A quick rap on the door and the beep of the lock drew my attention forward.
I’d envisioned doing a sexy slink to the end of the bed on my hands and knees and saying something breathy and alluring when he opened the door. What I actually did fell a little short of that, but Jake didn’t seem to notice. “Hi,” I said with a small, awkward wave. Smooth.
The surprise on his face made me wonder if he hadn’t expected me to take him up on his offer. “You’re in my bed . . . in my shirt.”
I lifted my chin and shifted, as if to climb off the mattress. “Maybe I have the wrong room. I was supposed to meet an old-timey railroad tycoon.”
He stood at the foot of the bed, mouth slightly agape, before crawling toward me. He looked up, heat in his eyes, and his fingers grazed reverently over my hip. “I’d have a joke for you, but thinking about your fingers has consumed all my brain power.”
My skin tingled under his touch, and my core was increasingly wet with every caress. My anxiety began to calm, which was happening more and more often with his hands on my body.
How to Fail at Flirting Page 10