How to Fail at Flirting

by Denise Williams

  “How do you feel?” He glanced down at me as the movie began.

  My head was fuzzy, and heat rose on my cheeks. “Guilty.”

  He opened his mouth to say something, then closed it. Instead, pausing the movie and setting the laptop aside, he pulled his wine-colored sweater and undershirt over his head, revealing the light smattering of hair across his chest and the thin trail down his firm stomach.

  He moved down the bed to tug at my oversize sweatpants, the thick fabric slipping down my legs under his grip.

  “What are you doing?”

  “We’re getting naked so you can stop feeling guilty.” Jake grinned and tossed the sweatpants on the floor next to his sweater, reaching to pull the blanket up over my bare legs.

  “This would be so erotic if I wasn’t struggling to breathe and keep my eyes open.” My breath hitched as he tucked the blanket around my legs.

  Returning to my side, Jake stretched his arm behind me, gently pulling me to him. “Now, c’mon, woman, I’ve waited almost thirty years to see these movies.”

  I love you.

  It popped into my head out of nowhere, and I bit back the words, if not the feeling. Where the hell did that come from? It was the cold medicine taking effect, of course. It was his body, which I was so drawn to, even in my drugged and achy condition. It was me clinging to something when my job was unsteady, and Davis’s presence was a snake slithering back into my life. It was my inexperienced heart playing tricks on my mind.

  I bit my tongue and watched the screen, but my eyes drooped before the introductory text was finished scrolling across the screen, and I rested my head against his bare chest. “Why did your wife let you go?” I’d closed my eyes, breathing him in as the medicine took effect.

  He didn’t answer for a few moments but then said, “Lots of reasons, probably.”

  “You got Sudafed and Star Wars for me in Cincinnati,” I murmured, as the heavy drowsiness took hold. “Guys don’t do that.”

  He shrugged, the motion rocking my head gently. “I never did anything like this for her.” His voice was quiet and sounded distant as I drifted off.

  Why not?

  Twenty-seven

  When I returned to Chicago Sunday afternoon, I decided to keep my promise to join Felicia for her session with a personal trainer. She’d convinced me it would be good to try something new, and the kickboxing instructor she called Wes the Sexy Trainer agreed to train us together. Ironically, I felt good for the first time all weekend when I boarded the plane home.

  Felicia stretched on the grass as we waited for her trainer. “Please tell me you rallied overnight and enjoyed your sexy weekend.”

  “I was sick as a dog the entire time. Asleep half the time and drugged up for the rest. I never even left the room.” I reached a hand behind my head and stretched my triceps. “I’ve never been so embarrassed in my life.”

  “What did he do?” Felicia raised an eyebrow as she straightened and adjusted her ponytail.

  “He bought me medicine, warm pajamas, and streamed Star Wars.” My smile widened. “He snuggled with me and watched fucking Star Wars,” I repeated, more to myself than Felicia, shaking my head.

  “He took care of you the whole weekend?” Her voice lilted, the disbelief obvious.

  A light breeze swirled around us, and I cast a quick glance at a couple jogging by, their strides in sync. “I kept insisting he go or at least get a different room, but he stayed.”

  “That’s boyfriend-level shit—you know that, right?”

  “We’re not labeling anything.”

  “Well, no matter what you call him, it’s about time you were with a good guy. Why don’t you make it official and have that dreaded defining-the-relationship talk?” Felicia stood, brushing dirt and grass from the tight pants that showed off her curvy but toned figure. She had always been beautiful, but I’d never seen her this muscular.

  “I see you looking,” she said, smacking one of her butt cheeks. “Take it in, girl. I’ve been telling you Wes is a miracle worker.”

  I laughed and swatted at her myself while my mind digested her suggestion on defining things. I remembered curling against him in the warm bed the first night before the medicine kicked in, feeling safer and more content than I could remember ever feeling. His chest and abs had been hard and warm under my hands, and the weight of his touch on my shoulder reassuring. The rest of the weekend had been fine, but we hadn’t shared that level of intimacy, between me being asleep and not wanting to get him sick. I’d awoken that morning, feeling better but next to an empty pillow. He left a simple note on the dresser with a glass of water and two of the gel caps I’d been taking. Hope you feel better—didn’t want to wake you! —J. I didn’t quite know how to interpret that—it wasn’t overly sentimental or romantic. Maybe this was a natural, if unsatisfying, end to a fling.

  “I’m not going to make him define anything after he had a front row seat to my one-woman show, Phlegm, Night Sweats, and You.”

  “Are you worried he’s going to peace out because of some snot?”

  “Maybe,” I mumbled.

  “Do you remember throwing up on him the first night you met and him still calling you?”

  I cringed at the memory. “Near him.”

  She rested a hand on my shoulder for balance, reaching back to stretch her quads. “You’re a badass, hot-as-hell, fucking brilliant doctor, not some insecure high school girl. Man up!”

  “Do you know how rife with toxic masculinity the phrase man up is?” I challenged, mirroring her pose. “It implies that to be courageous is to be a man.”

  “Do you know how annoying it is when you change the subject?” Her tone was smug.

  “I’m just saying, we don’t need to insert men into every aspect of our language.”

  “Okay, ovary up. Fallopian forward. Vulva with a vengeance.” She sighed dramatically, moving out of the stretch, and I stifled a laugh as I was reminded why we had been friends for so long. “Nay, you like him. Don’t tell me you don’t, and he sounds amazing—like unbelievable, and I’m kind of worried you’re delusional and making him up. So, woman up. Person up. Have the talk.”

  “You’re right.”

  “I know,” she answered. “Between taking care of you when you’re sick and what you’ve told me about his tongue, it sounds like this guy could teach a master class. Can you give Aaron his number?”

  She looked over my shoulder and waved at the man jogging toward us.

  “I’m sure Aar would love to hear you say that.”

  “He’d get over it.”

  “Hey,” the trainer said, holding out his hand to me. “I’m Wes. Glad you could join us.”

  Felicia hadn’t been exaggerating—this guy was gorgeous, and I’d have been smitten if my sexy stranger weren’t in the picture. He was younger than us, maybe midtwenties, with broad shoulders and striking hazel eyes.

  “Wes is amazing, Nay. I credit him with getting my body back after the twins.” Felicia shadowboxed near him, and he blocked her jabs.

  I should learn how to do that. I made a note to ask Wes later about the self-defense classes Felicia told me he taught. I’d been thinking a lot lately about what I’d do if Davis came back for good. I wondered if knowing how to fight would make me feel stronger and more prepared to face him.

  Wes blocked one final jab from Felicia and pulled a stopwatch from his pocket. “You never lost your body; you just decided to change it. All I did was make you do the extra intervals.”

  “Wes, Naya is my oldest friend. It’s her first time, so you’ll take it easy on both of us, right?”

  He laughed. “That’s not what you pay me for, but we’ll ease into things, Naya.”

  “I can handle it,” I said, bouncing on the balls of my feet. “Hit me with what you’ve got.”

  “Okay. I like you.” Wes pointed to
a grassy area nearby. “We’re starting with Felicia’s favorite. Burpees.”

  Felicia groaned, but we walked the few feet, and she said over her shoulder, “I knew you’d like her. I would have set you up years ago if it weren’t for that girlfriend of yours. Katie? Kendell?”

  “Kelsey. Soon to be a fiancée, though, I hope. Bought a ring a few days ago.” As we congratulated him, color rose on the trainer’s cheeks, which was kind of adorable. His affection for the woman was evident. She was probably a nice, uncomplicated person. I wondered what Jake looked like when he told someone about me. If he told someone about me. And since whatever we were doing might end up being career suicide, would I want him to tell anyone?

  Wes explained how we’d fall to a push-up, then jump back up to do it again with a hop. He demonstrated the move effortlessly, and Felicia gave me a quick raised eyebrow as she eyed his backside. Thirsty.

  When Wes returned to his feet, he took a step back. “You ready?”

  Felicia and I shifted into the position, and we started the workout, falling in sync and grunting as we got back to our feet, time after time.

  “These are the worst,” Felicia huffed.

  “If you complain again, I’ll add ten more.” Wes counted our reps, encouraging us.

  “Tyrant.” Felicia only insulted those she loved—well, okay, she insulted everyone, but she was only this way with people in her circle.

  I liked Wes, too, and I was already enjoying this workout. I ran every day, but with each push-up and every jump, I got a reminder that I was strong enough to do more. The grass under my hands and the moment of weightlessness when I hopped, the sweat running down my face—I wanted to bottle the feeling.

  “I’ve got ten more in me.” I grinned through my breathless huff and ignored my best friend’s violent glare.

  * * *

  After an hour in the park with Wes and Felicia, I’d collapsed on my couch, exhausted in the best possible way. Wes had already sent me the information on the next self-defense class he was leading, and my friend forgave me for the extra ten burpees . . . eventually. I’m making plans. I’m going to be okay.

  Naya: Dear Florence Nightingale: Did you make it home safely?

  I glanced down at my phone, awaiting a reply to my text to Jake several hours before. Between anticipating messages from Jake and fearing new texts from Davis, each buzz and notification was a double-edged sword. Davis had contacted me a few more times, always with veiled threats or general creepiness, sometimes with a photo or just a reminder he had them. I hadn’t blocked him, worried he’d somehow retaliate, making things worse. I also couldn’t bring myself to add him to my contacts, so every unknown number gave me pause.

  Jake: Dear Typhoid Mary: Sorry, got distracted with a work thing and forgot to reply. How are you feeling? Sincerely, Nurse Ratched

  I leaned back into the couch.

  Naya: Dear Dr. Strangelove: Good. Do you feel sick at all? Sincerely, Patient Zero

  Jake: Fit as a fiddle. I am glad you feel better.

  Naya: I’m still horrified that I ruined your weekend.

  Jake: You didn’t. When can I see you again?

  Naya: You left my side like twelve hours ago.

  Jake: So . . . soon?

  My stomach flip-flopped as I read and reread his response with the smile of a woman whose fling wasn’t over yet. Do people still say booyah?

  Jake: Do you own a formal gown?

  Naya: Yes to seeing me soon. No to owning a formal gown. Why?

  Jake: Are you willing to get one? I’m on the board of directors for a charity here, and they’re having their annual gala in a few weeks. Want to be my date?

  Naya: Will you wear a tux again?

  Jake: I will. If it sweetens the deal, I promise to do a little dance for you when I take it off.

  I chewed on my lip, already opening a travel site on my laptop to search for flights. To do: Buy a dress.

  Naya: You *are* a good dancer . . .

  Jake: Is that a yes?

  For some reason, visiting him on his home turf felt infinitely weightier than meeting in Cincinnati or him being in Chicago. I couldn’t deny the growing feelings for Jake that consumed more of my thoughts than I wanted. Going to North Carolina, to his house, for the sole purpose of being together . . . that meant this was real. That meant I was really risking my professional reputation.

  Naya: I’d love to.

  I had to come clean at work.

  Twenty-eight

  Joe’s anxiety over the president’s plans had brought us all into the office on a humid Wednesday morning a few weeks later. We scattered during the summers, so the fact that everyone was there hammered home how serious this was. Joe’s voice was his trademark gruff with some added exhaustion thrown in. “I guess the consultants have been examining data for months already.”

  So, that one rumor was true. Jake hadn’t indicated anything.

  Joe drummed his fingers on the table, color rising on his neck. “I was asked to join a committee that will advise the consultants as a sounding board. We meet next week, and that’s all I know.”

  Anita, one of the senior professors and kind of a legend in our field, piped up. “So, what are we supposed to do?” Her voice was pinched and reedy. I remembered revering Anita as an academic superhero when I was new. She was one of the first women to make big strides in studying math learning and technology, and I’d hoped she’d be a guide and friend. I was out of luck. In addition to being brilliant, my colleague was competitive, self-involved, and uninterested in mentoring. At the height of rumors spreading about me on campus, she told me I was foolish to get involved with another faculty member, and that I deserved the flak I was receiving for being so reckless with my career. At the time, I wanted to lash out and tell her it wasn’t my fault, that he was a monster, and that her blaming me was not how women should support one another. Instead, I’d soaked up her admonitions like a sponge, absorbing her words and dismissing the idea we’d ever work together or that I’d ever be in her league.

  Joe shrugged. “There’s nothing we can do right now except keep writing, publishing, teaching, and doing what we do.”

  Anita harrumphed, and we all began packing away laptops and notes.

  No more putting it off.

  “Joe, you have a minute?”

  He nodded, and I followed him down the stairs to his office. As we walked the short distance, I ran through what I’d planned to say in my head, worry prickling at the back of my neck.

  “What a mess,” he grumbled, and I wasn’t sure if he was referring to his office filled with chaotic piles of debris or the situation with the potential cuts. He sat heavily in his chair and cleared a small space on his desk between us with a brush of his arm. “Oh, before I forget, Elaine wonders when you’re coming over for dinner again. She misses you hanging around.”

  The thought of Joe’s wife, the most organized and orderly person I’d ever met, made me smile. Early in my career, I’d spent a lot of time at their house, joining the two of them for dinners. In a way, they’d been like a second family. “I’ll text her and figure out a night in the next couple weeks.”

  He nodded. “So, what did you need?”

  “I need to tell you something, Joe.” His face fell, and I cringed but continued. “One of the consultants. I know him.”

  Relief seemed to wash over him. “Oh, did he tell you they were coming here ahead of time or something?”

  “No. It was a pretty big coincidence, actually. We—uh—we’ve actually gone out a few times.” That felt wildly insufficient to describe things with Jake, but I wasn’t sure how else to phrase it.

  Joe’s eyebrows raised in surprise. “Really? I didn’t know you were seeing anyone.”

  “I mean, we’re, um, we’ve just gone out some. It’s not serious.” I
didn’t feel right about that response, but I again didn’t know how else to phrase things.

  “I don’t think it really matters, Nay.” Joe echoed Jake’s words. “From what I understand, your knowing him shouldn’t be important.” His words should have comforted me, but I hadn’t shared the whole truth. “Don’t stress about it.”

  “I have this sense that our department might be in trouble, and I worry there might be a conflict of interest.”

  He raised his eyebrows, and I knew him well enough to realize the action meant what do you want me to say?

  “I wanted to make sure you knew, was all. I worry it will look like we’re not being evaluated fairly.”

  He sighed. “I’ll make sure I mention it up the chain if I think it might be an issue, but for now, I’m not worried. There’s nothing wrong with having gone out on a few dates. You’re not marrying the guy or anything serious, right?”

  That was the time to set the record straight. We’re kind of seeing each other. Just say it.

  Something seized my voice, and I chickened out. In part, I didn’t know how to phrase it. Well, boss, we’re sleeping together and texting like high schoolers, and he bought me pencils and sweatpants, so you connect the dots. Then, can you tell me what you come up with?

  “Good, then.” Joe shuffled a few papers around, and his attention caught on a Post-it note before he looked up again. “Oh, and I found out why Davis might be on campus. I guess he and the president used to work on some national task force together before Lewis got here. Apparently, they’re all buddy-buddy. Maybe Davis is being recruited.”

  I puffed my cheeks and let the air drain slowly from between my lips. I wanted to be shocked, but I’d never been able to shake away my suspicions that his presence wasn’t temporary. I glanced away from Joe, hoping he didn’t read the panic on my face.