How to Fail at Flirting

by Denise Williams

  I typed a reply, pushing doubt out of my head.

  Naya: Hi.

  I started adding a follow-up message, typing and deleting How are you? What’s going on? and New phone. Who dis?

  Jake: Listen, Gladys, I met someone while I was in Chicago.

  Jake: I’m not sure she even wants to talk to me.

  Jake: But she was pretty great, and I can’t get her out of my head, so I’m trying.

  Naya: So awkward, but this isn’t Gladys.

  Jake: Oh my God, Myrtle . . . don’t get the wrong idea.

  Jake: Kidding. I gave up the harem of senior librarians.

  Jake: Just realized this joke makes me sound like a womanizing asshole.

  Jake: I hope you’re laughing.

  Naya: I am and I’m 99% convinced the librarians aren’t real

  Naya: It’s nice to hear from you.

  I couldn’t stop the grin from spreading across my face.

  Jake: So, it turns out I need to come back to Chicago next week for work.

  Jake: Can I see you? Take you to dinner?

  I paused again, my fingers hovering over the keyboard while I bit my lower lip. I should have responded with one of three things. Option one: No, I can’t put my career at risk. Option two: No, we agreed to a few days and that’s it. Option three: You’re still married, and I can’t keep ignoring my moral compass.

  Naya: When do you arrive?

  Jake: Thursday morning.

  Naya: I can make Thursday night work.

  Jake:

  I have a date, a real date. I caught myself lifting my shoulders in a little dance and glanced around to see if anyone was watching my silly display. No one appeared to notice the grown woman moments away from doing the cabbage patch, and I returned to grinning at my laptop, the writing seeming just a little better on this pass.

  My phone buzzed again, and sweet anticipation of what Jake might say next flooded my system. I expected a fun text or something a little naughty, but unknown flashed on the screen. I froze, clutching the edge of the table.

  Unknown: Found some old photos. Remember this one?

  As the image of my naked body filled the screen, my blood went cold.

  No.

  Davis had snapped the photo without warning, which he’d started doing several months into our relationship. At first, he maintained that it was fun to have sexy photos of me, like it was a game for him to take them without my permission, even though I told him to stop. By the end, he’d dropped the pretense and it was another in a long line of things he did to keep me on edge.

  Unknown: Not a very professional look.

  Unknown: Heard you’re close to tenure.

  Unknown: It’s such a subjective process, tenure review. So many outside things can influence their decision to promote you.

  No, no, no. I put my phone down and pressed my eyes closed. It wasn’t a threat exactly. Who am I kidding? Of course it’s a threat.

  The idea of anyone seeing those pictures made me shudder. It wasn’t even so much people seeing my body; it was him having control of who saw it. I didn’t know what to do to stop him. I couldn’t imagine admitting to someone else those photos existed. How could I face Joe or my students? Jake. He’d be horrified. I dropped my head into my hands and inhaled a few shallow breaths, trying to talk myself down. I’d never gone to the police or human resources after we split, convinced he’d just twist everything around to make himself look good and that no one else would think it was a big deal. And now, after waiting for so long, there’d be no way they’d take this seriously.

  I typed a reply before deleting the thread.

  Naya: Don’t message me again.

  Unknown: We’ll talk soon, pretty girl.

  The memory of his pet name crept over my skin. I looked around at the crowd in the coffee shop—the space bustled like normal, the friendly smile of the barista and the nutty aroma of brewing coffee undisturbed by this unexpected interruption. Wrapping a shaky hand around my coffee cup, I tried to take a drink, but it did nothing to quell the rising panic.

  I shouldn’t have responded and given him the satisfaction of getting under my skin. Goose bumps rose on my arms.

  Jake will be here soon. Jake will be here soon.

  I realized with striking clarity the last two times I’d freaked out about Davis, I’d run to Jake, someone I barely knew. Here I was thinking he could save and protect me, but that wasn’t a solution. It wasn’t even in the ballpark of a solution.

  I took another sip of coffee, trying to swallow the worry and panic and fear along with the milk and espresso. I’ll deal with it. I always deal with it. I’ll just be careful. I can weather this.

  I packed up my things and hurried for home, longing for the safe comfort of my locked door.

  Twenty-four

  By the time Thursday arrived, I’d managed to pull myself together and had even been able to sleep a little each night. When fear or worry bubbled up, I’d repeat my mantra—I’ll deal with it—and push the anxiety aside, convincing myself if I didn’t acknowledge it, it didn’t exist. I met Jake in my building’s lobby, and at first glance, I felt safer than I had all week.

  He leaned against a pillar and smiled from ear to ear when we made eye contact. He wore a white dress shirt with faint gray vertical stripes and gray suit pants. His face held the hint of a five-o’clock shadow, and his hair was a little shorter than it had been a few weeks ago, but his lips were the same—full and very kissable. I was glad I’d suggested the lobby—if he were at my door, I would have just pulled him inside.

  “Hi.” I smiled tentatively, and we stared at each other for a moment. Well, what do we do now? Something between a handshake and dry-humping in the lobby? I reached to his shoulder and kissed his cheek, immediately questioning if I should have gone for it and brushed my mouth to his.

  “Shall we?” He motioned to the door. Our arms grazed periodically as we made our way to the exit and the bustling street beyond. As we waited for the car to arrive, he spoke in my ear. “What’s at the bottom of the ocean and shivers?”

  I tipped up my chin, awaiting the punch line.

  “A nervous wreck.”

  I rolled my eyes, my lips quirking. “A joke already?”

  “You like my jokes.” He held the door of the car for me to slide in. Once he was settled next to me, he added, “And I was nervous to see you again.”

  “Me, too,” I admitted as I gave the driver the address of the restaurant.

  “And now?” He raised his eyebrows a fraction of an inch.

  “The joke helped.” I downshifted into small talk and kept reminding myself it was a bad idea to reach across the seat and pull his face to mine.

  The restaurant was cozy without feeling claustrophobic. We settled at a table near the back, the lighting low while soft music hummed under the muted buzz of a multitude of private conversations. My knee bounced under the table, and we ordered wine. I set a hard limit of two glasses and renewed my commitment to avoiding gin. Though, after a few beats of awkward silence, I wondered if I should up my consumption of liquid courage. Does he want sex or something more? Instead, I said, “I googled you. You didn’t tell me you were such a big deal.” That was an understatement. Hundreds of results popped up, heralding him as some kind of virtuoso who’d consulted all over the world. From what I could decode from the financial jargon, he sounded like the second coming of Alexander Hamilton.

  “I assumed searching was against the rules,” he said. “What if you saw something you didn’t like, and I wasn’t able to explain?”

  “I already know about your hemorrhoids, your wife, and the librarians. What more could there be for me to learn? That said, you didn’t tell me you were the guy.”

  “I’m not the guy. Just a guy. I did well at my last firm,
but running our own shop is a whole new challenge. I enjoy it, but Thurmond is one of our first big accounts, and, I’ll admit, we need it to go well.”

  Some of it going well is recommending people get fired, right? I pushed down the thought.

  “I haven’t searched for you yet,” he said, shifting focus from himself and sipping his wine. “What will I find?”

  “Are you worried?” There wasn’t much to find about Naya Turner. I was more concerned that he’d learn how unremarkable I was.

  “No, but can you give me a hint? You don’t run a drug cartel on the side or have a thriving porn career to fund your research, do you? Not deal breakers. I’d just like to be prepared.”

  “I gave up the cartel months ago. Who has the time?” My joke earned me a chuckle, and my knee stopped shaking under the table. I loved that he appreciated my sense of humor. I could be silly with him. “I think you’ll mostly find work things.”

  “That’s okay—we haven’t talked about work yet.”

  “Speaking of work . . .” My stomach oscillated between knots of anxiety and flutters of excitement with every thought of Jake and my job.

  “I spared Muriel the finer details of our time together.” He flashed a high-watt, crooked smile. Jake must have noticed my tense expression, because his tone sobered. “She said it was a bad idea, but—”

  I stiffened. “Oh. I see.”

  He hurried to finish his statement. “She said it’s a bad idea in general but wasn’t talking about our specific situation. She doesn’t have your name, because I don’t know your last name. Muriel gave me quite the ass chewing for that, by the way.” His voice was calm. “She said it’s not an explicit rule, not something in writing. I think as long as we’re careful, we should be able to avoid complications.”

  “So, what does that mean?”

  “Basically, it means we’re being naughty.” His smile was easy, even as nerves tingled up the back of my neck. “But we’re not technically breaking the rules. It might also mean you should tell me your last name so Muriel stops giving me the stink eye.”

  My laugh was hollow as I tried to reconcile my anxiety with my desire to throw caution to the wind.

  “I know it’s not ideal.” His voice became more serious. “But I’m working with aspects of the project unrelated to you, and Carlton will head up the team examining the departments. So, I’ll have no say in that analysis, at least not initially.”

  “So Carlton knows?” Panic overtook me. I didn’t even know the man, but my stomach clenched at the idea of him judging.

  “Sure. He’s my partner. The conflict would only ever be an issue if we kept it secret and things looked off-kilter. And they won’t be off-kilter. I like you, but I am good at what I do, Naya. I wouldn’t show you any favoritism professionally.”

  His expression was uncharacteristically serious, and I caught a glimpse of the management consultant who’d shown up in my google search. Cool, purposeful, and professional. His assertions eased my nerves.

  “Good. I wouldn’t want you to.”

  “If you’ll take a chance with me, we’ll keep it professional for work,” he added. “For example, if I were calling to ask about grant applications, I wouldn’t also ask you if you’re wearing any of your fancy underwear.”

  “Does that mean you plan to keep calling me?”

  “Absolutely.” His brows raised as our gazes locked.

  I lowered my voice and leaned my head close to his. “Are you asking about grant applications now?”

  His grin widened as he slowly shook his head.

  “So, I can tell you, I am wearing the fancy underwear.” In my head, Felicia whooped and hollered, Get it, girl!

  He set down his glass. “I’d love to get into the details of that. Is this a yes to taking a chance?”

  I nodded as the waiter returned. While we ordered, I weighed what he’d said. Many things about it were appealing. Under the radar meant casual, out of the spotlight, and away from prying eyes. I took a gulp from my wine when the waiter left. I tried to push all thoughts of work from my head. “I was surprised when you texted.”

  “I wasn’t sure I would until I hit send.” He paused, his palms moving absently over the tablecloth.

  My eyes fell to those big hands, and a fleeting memory of their weight on my hips made me squirm in my seat.

  “I thought about it.” He tapped the table before making steady eye contact with me. “Thought about you, a lot, after I left. I just wasn’t sure what to say. You seemed set on saying goodbye, and no one ever shares the protocol for these situations.”

  I lowered my voice and leaned forward. “I mean, what is the etiquette after having the best sex of your life with a relative stranger?”

  His gaze tripped on my lips before flicking down. “The best, huh?”

  Crap. What if he thought it was just average? I nodded, my face warming.

  “Funny. I never thought of you as a stranger.”

  “You don’t know my last name.”

  “You could tell me your last name. Then I’d know with whom I had the best sex of my life.”

  I released a breath, a nervous, twitchy energy coursing through me. I wanted to touch him and kiss in the middle of this upscale restaurant . . . and I wanted to run away and hide, too.

  His expression softened, and he twisted his mouth to one side, a dimple appearing on his cheek. “I’ll go first. My full name is Jacob Carson Shaw. I’m thirty-six years old and from a town near Seattle, I run a management consulting firm, I have an MBA from Duke, I live in Raleigh, North Carolina, and my social security number is—” He stopped as I pressed my fingers to his mouth. His eyes twinkled, and he took my hand in his, pulling it away from his mouth. “And I like you,” he finished, his thumb rubbing over my palm. “I want to get to know you.” He raised his eyebrows. It was my turn.

  “My full name is Naya Michelle Turner. I’m thirty-three years old, and I grew up in a small town in Iowa. I’m a professor specializing in math education, and I earned my PhD at the University of Illinois at Chicago.” I bit my lower lip and tried to gauge his reaction. “And I like you, too.”

  “It’s very nice to meet you, Dr. Turner.” Jake laced his fingers with mine over the top of the table, and my defenses started to crumble.

  Over his New York strip and my chicken piccata, he told me about a recent trip that went wrong in every way, ending with a fistfight between the CFO and a member of the board of directors. I shared how my newest project involved interviewing fourth graders and that a particularly precocious nine-year-old boy decided I should be his girlfriend and join his kickball team.

  “I didn’t realize I had such fierce competition.”

  “I’m popular with the under-ten crowd.”

  “Did you join the team?”

  I laughed, finishing my wine. “I was wearing the wrong shoes.”

  “Sounds like the kid had skills, though. I should take notes.”

  “Are you asking me to be on your kickball team?”

  Jake wiggled his eyebrows. “Maybe. What’s the shoe situation?” He glanced surreptitiously under the table, and I felt his gaze on my bare legs and down to the navy stilettos I’d paired with a white sleeveless dress. It was a quick sweep, only a second or two, but I flushed knowing he was following the lines of my body. I’d spent a long time trying not to be noticed, but this was nice. It was more than nice; it was arousing. He looked back up and subtly shook his head as the waiter began to clear our plates.

  I grinned, loving the playful expression on his face. When the waiter stepped away, I responded, “Verdict?”

  “Not great for kickball,” he said, his gaze traveling over my legs again, this time with a longer sweep. “But I can think of other games we could play.”

  “There’s a joke in there about rounding bases,” I said with a sly smile, enjo
ying his laugh.

  “Let’s get out of here and see.”

  We’d barely exited the restaurant when Jake pulled me to him against the brick exterior of the building. His hard chest against my breasts, I gripped his biceps as if holding on for dear life. Maybe I was. The way he searched my face, gaze heating as his hand slid to the back of my head, I was in trouble. My eyes drifted closed, and his mouth was on mine. He tasted like the mints they delivered with our check, his lips and tongue insistently ravaging my own. Vibrations buzzed through my body as the kiss deepened, hunger and passion swirling between us as our tongues danced.

  We pulled apart, chests heaving. His voice was gravelly and low. “I’ve wanted to do that since I first saw you.” He slid a hand from my neck down my spine, sending another tingle through my body.

  “I guess it’s a good thing we’re not strangers anymore.”

  Twenty-five

  Jake’s warm breath puffed across the back of my neck as I emerged from sleep to find his body curled around mine, the weight of the comforter surrounding us. Sunlight peeked through the clouds, and I flexed my toes. We’d been up until one in the morning, but I didn’t feel groggy. I felt fresh and new and like a fuller version of my old self.

  I padded to the window to admire the spider’s web of quiet streets in the early-morning sunlight. Skimming my fingers over the smooth surface of the glass, I took in the expanse of the view. I’d left my small Iowa town to move to Chicago at eighteen, and it had felt like home ever since. I knew I could live somewhere else if I had to search for a new job, but where would I go? The thought of leaving this city was exhausting.