How to Fail at Flirting

by Denise Williams

  “I know you guys had a bad breakup. You want to—er—talk about it or anything?” Joe had gone to bat for me on campus, but we’d never talked about it, not in any real way.

  Regardless of the cuts, if Davis got hired, I’d have to leave. I wouldn’t survive if he had any control and I wouldn’t be able to say anything without risking him releasing those photos or God only knew what else. “I’m good, Joe. Thanks for the heads-up.”

  When I left his office, I stopped in mine to grab a few files I wanted to review at home. Plucking folders from my desk and dropping them in my bag, I paused to consider what Joe had said about Davis. He’d gotten a good job at State, and it seemed strange he’d be trying to come back. I flipped open my laptop to search for his name. The results populated quickly on the website:

  Davis Garner, Business College Dean, and

  Caroline Rhodes, Vice President for Research, Considered for Provost

  Garner’s Record of Scholarship and Service

  Makes Him Strong Candidate

  Garner Favored as Provost Selection

  Rhodes Selected as State’s New Provost

  I glanced at the text of the articles documenting Davis’s attempt to secure one of the most senior positions at State overseeing departments and several centers. He’d been bested by a woman publicly. He must have been furious.

  Davis had always loudly declared himself a feminist, calling for equal treatment and touting his many years of mentoring junior faculty members who were women. It was an act. He’d subtly chip away at accomplishments made by female colleagues, and I always wondered if he mentored so he could have a steady stream of women looking up to him. He liked people being reliant on him, especially women.

  Publicly, he always complimented my work, said how proud he was that his girlfriend was part of the strong community of women making inroads in STEM. In private, he questioned my research, insinuated I was unqualified, and shamed me for not spending more time on things he thought women should, like fashion, cooking, and housekeeping. Caroline Rhodes getting selected for that position ahead of him would send him to the edge. Is that why he’s creeping into my life again? To control someone? He hated appearing weak or unwanted. Once, my team beat his at a faculty softball tournament. He’d given me the silent treatment for hours after until he’d pulled up an article I’d recently had published in a less prestigious journal, telling me everything that was wrong with my writing, my research, and me. Then he’d made me repeat back to him all the things wrong with my work until the words started to feel true.

  My phone buzzed, and I cringed as I grabbed the device, expecting the unknown number to flash on the screen. I felt his fingers on my skin and shivered before flipping the phone over.

  Jake: Would you prefer flat iron steak or salmon for the gala?

  I exhaled a relieved breath, the curiosity about Davis’s return ebbing away from the forefront of my mind. I shook my head, willing away the memory of the last time I’d played softball. I had been a good player, and I added Rejoin the team to my list. Assuming there’s still a department next year.

  Naya: You’re a fancy date. Steak, please.

  Jake replied with a GIF showing SpongeBob SquarePants in a monocle, and I laughed.

  Jake: I only have a few minutes, but what’re you up to?

  Naya: Just finished talking to Joe.

  Jake: You’ll have to tell me how he took it when we have more time. I can’t wait to see you on Saturday.

  I considered replying that Joe had taken it surprisingly well since I hadn’t told him the whole truth. I decided against it. I had time to tell Joe more when I knew where things stood between Jake and me, and I didn’t want to tell Jake more about work. I could keep everything compartmentalized.

  Naya: Will you meet me at the airport wearing a top hat?

  Jake: You want me to meet you in my tux?

  Naya: No, just the top hat.

  I sat back in my chair and smiled, rereading the brief exchange. The interlude had momentarily lightened my mood. Still, an uneasiness simmered in me, and I realized this was another moment split between Davis and Jake, as if my feelings about them were two opposing forces: fear and love? I minimized the search engine on my laptop and pushed the thought aside, hoping the uneasiness was just paranoia.

  Twenty-nine

  I arrived in Raleigh in the late afternoon the day of the gala, and Jake met me at the airport wearing a plastic novelty top hat. He picked me up and kissed me in the middle of the baggage claim. Add some eighties pop song and I was in the last scene of my very own romantic movie.

  His lakeside house was a spacious two-story surrounded by poplar trees in a quiet, upscale neighborhood. I knew Jake was successful, but seeing his place hammered home for me what he might have to lose if the Thurmond project went south. His bathroom, like the rest of the house, was clean and orderly. My man liked organization. My man. I rolled the phrase on my tongue, testing it out.

  The light blue color of the floor-length dress popped against my tan skin and hugged my breasts, revealing what Felicia had said was a tasteful amount of cleavage. It also matched Jake’s eyes, which was what first attracted me in the store. I turned again, inspecting the back of the gown before turning to my bloodred lipstick the young woman at the makeup counter had sworn was fire with my skin tone. She was right—it was so much bolder than the neutral shades I normally wore, but I loved it. I’m going to stand out . . . and I’m excited about it.

  I was greeted at the bottom of the stairs by Jake leaning against the kitchen counter, one ankle crossed over the other, checking something on his phone. The outline of his developed shoulder muscles filled out the white shirt in a way that warranted poetry.

  “Am I fancy enough to be your date?” I twirled, the dress swishing around my strappy silver heels, as Jake turned. I wasn’t worried what he’d think, because I knew he wanted me there, not to show me off, but to be by his side. I grinned as I came out of the twirl, that realization fresh in my mind.

  He moved toward me, his hands landing on my waist and his smile mischievous. “Very fancy. Maybe we should skip this thing.” He lowered his full lips to my jaw and dropped kisses down my neck as his hands slid over my backside.

  “Hey, this dress was expensive. I can’t have you tearing it off me.”

  “Give me more credit than that. I’d ease it off slowly,” he said, planting sweet little kisses by my ear before lightly sucking on the left lobe. “And I’d place it gently on a padded hanger before even thinking of pleasuring you. You’d beg, tell me you want me, but I’d say, ‘No, Naya, you know this dress is my first priority, and I’ll be back in twenty minutes after I run it to the dry cleaner.’”

  I giggled and pushed against his chest. “That’s all I ask.”

  Jake brought my hand to his mouth, brushing his lips over my knuckles. “You look beautiful.”

  I took his arm and let him escort me out to his sleek black BMW in the garage.

  “I’m so glad Gladys, the librarian, had to cancel on me,” he commented as we pulled on seat belts.

  “You two had a falling out?”

  “No, she found a much younger man. Can you believe it?”

  “Don’t hate the player.” I enjoyed how he settled his palm on my thigh and rubbed circles as he laughed along with me. “Her loss, my gain, though.”

  * * *

  We pulled up to a stately mansion as elegant as any place I’d ever been. The redbrick pathway led to stairs nestled between huge white columns, up-lit from behind pristine rosebushes. All around us, women in flowing gowns and men in tuxedos moved into the opulent structure or milled about in the gardens visible from the front of the house.

  My jaw must have dropped as Jake took my arm and helped me out of the car, handing the keys to the young valet.

  “I’m a little out of my dep
th,” I whispered as we made our way toward the front entrance. That was an understatement. This place could have been a plantation house, and I was surrounded by a lot of very wealthy people.

  Try something new. Check.

  He pulled me closer. “It’s easy. Laugh at their jokes, especially if they look rich and ready to donate, take liberal advantage of the open bar, and no matter how amazing the time-share looks at the silent auction, don’t bid on it.”

  “Do you speak from experience?”

  “Branson wasn’t really my thing.” He nodded to another young man holding the door for us as we entered an immaculate ballroom draped with lush fabrics and filled with sprays of flowers. “And stick close to me. That doesn’t have anything to do with navigating the gala; I just like having you close.” He dipped his head toward mine, brushing his lips against my ear, his hand resting on my lower back. “I’m glad you’re here.”

  “I’m glad, too.” We locked eyes, both grinning, and I slid my hand to his.

  The charity was for leukemia research, and the speeches from doctors and survivors moved me to tears. Jake’s arm came around my shoulder when he noticed me wiping a tear from my eye, wordlessly offering comfort.

  After that, he never stopped touching me. Whether it was his thumb stroking my knee through the fabric of my dress, his arm around my shoulder, or his lips brushing against my temple and cheek, the contact was subtle and sweet. A spark zinged through me every single time.

  Once the program was over, we were mobbed by people wanting to talk to my handsome date. Jake seemed to know everyone, and laughed at all their jokes, whether delivered by someone funny or by someone rich.

  “You’re so good at the schmoozing,” I whispered as we left a group of people to head to the dance floor. “I had it in my head you were shy.”

  Jake chuckled. “Do you think I have them fooled?”

  “I think you have me fooled.”

  “You get the real me,” he said. “I can be the person out front when I need to, but I much prefer to be behind the scenes or one-on-one.”

  “You’re good at one-on-one.” I rested my palms on his shoulders as we reached the dance floor, and his hand settled on my waist. Around us, couples swayed, their conversation a low hum over the music from the quartet onstage.

  “It’s a cause I believe in. I started volunteering at hospitals as a Boy Scout, and I never stopped.”

  That he’d been volunteering to help kids with cancer and their families for a couple decades made the feelings squeezing my heart even stronger. I wasn’t ready to acknowledge them or fixate on what flaws of his I had to be missing. Instead, I asked, “You were an honest-to-God Boy Scout?”

  “Eagle Scout, actually.” His crisp scent filled my nostrils, and I leaned in, noticing the way his eyes crinkled at the mention of the accomplishment. “At first, it was a way for my dad and me to spend time together without all my sisters, but then I got into it. I told you I was a nerdy kid.”

  I shook my head with a smile. “You’re a nerdy adult, but I told you, I like nerds. And you’ve been volunteering all this time? That’s incredible, Jake.” I tipped my head up, unsure if I was hoping to kiss him or let all my feelings spill out, but I didn’t get the chance to do either.

  “And who might you be, pretty lady?” A man with thin white hair and slurred speech approached us at the edge of the dance floor, and I pulled back, startled.

  “A little something on the side, huh, Shaw? Haven’t seen your wife tonight.” He swayed, leering at me unabashedly.

  Jake shifted, placing more of his body between me and the drunk man. “No, Bertram. I’m separated from Gretchen.”

  The man looked me over again, and Jake’s body tensed next to me. “You’re light skinned, but your features sure look colored, or are we supposed to say African American now? I can never keep it straight what you people want to be called. I like pretty light-skinned girls, though.” He winked before turning back to Jake. “Didn’t think you had it in you, boy.”

  Jake’s eyes flashed, and one hand curled into a fist.

  I touched his forearm. Not worth it.

  Instead, I adopted a cool tone. “You’re welcome to just call me Doctor.” I stretched to shake his hand. “Naya Turner. Hello.” And “colored”? Seriously? What decade is this guy living in?

  “Bertram Harrison the Third.” The old man raised his chin, his voice taking on a more formal blustering tone, though his leering did not abate. That his racist and sexist comments were inappropriate seemed to be lost on him. Lord, give me the confidence of an old, rich white man.

  Jake pulled me to the center of the dance floor without another word to Bertram Harrison III. His palm rested on my lower back again, our bodies close, as I slid my arm up to his shoulder, my other hand in his. He muttered in my ear, his voice low, posture tense. “That fucking racist—”

  “I’m fine. He’ll still write big checks for kids with cancer, right? I assumed he was one of the rich ones.” I gave a small smile, warmth rising within me at Jake’s instincts.

  “It’s not fine. I mean, he is one of our biggest contributors, but a pig. I can’t believe he talked to you like that. I should have—”

  “I know. It wasn’t worth it, though.” The length of our bodies pressed together on the full dance floor, and his hand rested protectively on my lower back while my palm skirted up his biceps. “I’m okay, I promise. I thought I actually handled it quite well.”

  “You did,” he said, his jaw muscles relaxing. “Masterfully. Certainly better than I would have, but does that happen a lot? People saying things like that?”

  I shrugged. “Sometimes. Not usually that overtly. I know others get way worse.” Some of the things hurled at Felicia over the years from people made my skin crawl.

  “I know Tyson experiences it all the time, but I thought as a woman, maybe . . .” He trailed off after bringing up his best friend, who I was going to meet the next day. “But even saying it, that was a dumb assumption.” Jake pulled me against him. “I’m so sorry.”

  I tried to lighten the mood, to communicate I wasn’t holding this incident against him. “He thought I was an escort,” I whispered, worried the elegant white-haired couple nearest us would hear. “Is the dress that revealing?”

  “No . . .” He glanced over my shoulder and glared, presumably at old Bert, before meeting my eyes again. “He’s just an ass. No one else would think that.”

  “Maybe they think I’m your accountant?”

  He took just a moment before he caught on to my playful tone. “Itemize me, baby.”

  “Your barber?”

  “I do like your fingers in my hair.”

  “Or your nurse.”

  “So many fantasies . . . I’d make sure they knew you were a doctor, though.” He spun me unexpectedly and then pulled me back to the solid wall of his chest.

  “That would be very nice of you.”

  He shrugged with a boyish grin. “I’m a nice guy.”

  “You are.”

  “Hey,” he murmured into my ear, pulling me to him. The puff of breath spurred on the low-level heat between my legs. “You’re dancing with me again.”

  “I am.” I lifted my chin and pulled his lips to mine. “It’s not so scary with you.”

  His gaze was hungry as his grip tightened around my waist. We shared a fleeting, intense look as we swayed with the music, our hands curled together. When we did that, he’d always sweep the pad of his thumb up the middle of my palm, a place I’d never known was an erogenous zone until him. That slow, soft touch felt like something special we shared, like when our hands were linked, it was him and me versus the world. I dragged my own thumb against the underside of his wrist, prolonging the connection but unsure what he was seeing in my face. I wasn’t sure if he could tell I was scared of this thing between us.

  I broke t
he connection, moving my thumb off his wrists and glancing away. “Now, we should find that old, racist drunk and hit him up for more money.”

  “You can’t look like that, touch me like this, and expect me to voluntarily talk to that arrogant windbag.” He dipped his head to my ear, and I melted into him, my entire body on full alert. “Really, I’d like to get out of here and . . .” His warm breath made me gasp—a small, involuntary sound escaped my lips. “Spend the rest of the night memorizing how every inch of you tastes.”

  I nodded, wide-eyed, as we started toward the exit, my heart and body open in a way I’d never experienced. I was dancing with him. I was wearing red lipstick. And I had no second thoughts about shutting down Bertram Harrison III. I was living the life I’d put on hold for so many years, the life I’d let fear keep me away from.

  I challenged myself to push work and other concerns out of my head, even if just for the night, and nodded. “Let’s go.”

  Thirty

  By the time we pulled into his garage and stepped out of the car, a heady anticipation had coiled low in my belly.

  He linked his fingers with mine. “Have I told you how glad I am you’re here?”

  “A few times.”

  “Only a few? I’ve been remiss. I’m so glad you’re here.”

  As we walked, I took in the dove gray walls and framed photos lining the hallway. I paused for a moment to admire one of Jake laughing, splayed out on a green lawn, covered with small children with matching gleeful expressions. “Your nieces and nephews?”

  He wrapped his arms around my waist and rested his smooth jaw next to my face. “All eleven. Love those little monsters.” I smiled at the photo again, the energy of his family jumping off the wall in such stark contrast to how I’d grown up.