How to Fail at Flirting

by Denise Williams

  I should have.

  “I could go for some lamb vindaloo. That would mean we’d have to get up from the couch, though.” Jake rubbed his thumb over the arch of my foot, and I let out a low moan.

  “Good thing they deliver.”

  “Clever girl,” he said with a wink. Just then, his phone buzzed on the coffee table and he glanced down. His expression lost its playfulness. “Sorry, it’s Carlton. Let me take this real quick.” He slipped onto the balcony.

  As the glass door slid closed, I got up to find the menu in a kitchen drawer, where I thumbed through the embarrassingly large stack of carryout menus. My kitchen was pitifully underutilized, and I couldn’t claim skill with anything beyond boiling water and toasting bread. It might be nice to be able to spend time in the kitchen, versus always going out or digging through takeout menus. To do: Learn to cook. I smiled, imagining his surprise if I whipped out an apron. To do: Learn to cook Jake’s favorite meal.

  I was still grinning and thinking about my plan when I noticed him pacing and running his hand over the back of his neck while holding the phone to his ear. He gripped the railing of my balcony and looked out over the city intently for a few moments before coming back inside.

  “Something wrong?” I asked.

  He let out a heavy sigh and sank back onto my couch, patting the cushion next to him. “I need to talk to you about something. Two things, now, I guess.”

  I wrapped my arms over my stomach and abandoned the menus on the counter. No good conversation ever starts like that. “What’s going on?”

  His voice was earnest, and I tensed. “I was going to tell you last night, but we started talking about everything and it didn’t seem like the right time, but then Carlton called . . .”

  “Tell me what?” My mind raced at full speed in twenty different directions. “Is this about work? You know something?”

  “Yes.” He paused, leaning forward, his forearms on his knees. “We’re meeting with the president on Monday to go over our initial findings.”

  I nodded, urging him to get to the point before my heart jumped out of my chest.

  “What is it?” The blood in my face drained. “Are you recommending my department gets cut?”

  His brow furrowed. “We’re not making any hard recommendations, yet.”

  My entire body pinged with anxiety. “You’re making a soft recommendation my department be cut?” I raked my fingers through my hair as I stood. This is one of the few programs in the country where I can do the work I want to do, and I’m so close to tenure. The possibility of having to start over left my chest tight.

  “You know the education departments have struggled,” Jake reasoned, his tone like the one you might adopt to calm a screaming child or an agitated dog. “From a financial standpoint, there are issues, and the institution is shifting focus to business, engineering, areas like those. Teacher education is outside that. That can’t be a surprise.”

  Had I expected him to go to bat for me? Part of me had. In the back of my mind, I’d assumed he’d look out for me, even though I had been the one to specify that we should keep the office and the bedroom separate.

  I stood, pacing. “We’re not cogs in a machine. It’s not all about revenue.”

  Taking a deep breath, he responded in an even tone, blue eyes trained on me. “It’s not all about revenue . . . but it’s somewhat about revenue. You know that.”

  I opened my mouth, fists balled at my sides. “Yes, but—” I expected him to interrupt—I was used to men interrupting—but he just watched me. “But you can’t reduce education to money. It’s so much more than that. It’s the creation of knowledge; it’s young minds finding purpose. We need teachers.”

  “A university is still a business. It takes money to introduce those young minds to purpose, and the department is a drain on resources. It’s naive to think otherwise.”

  Condescending. Now he sounds condescending.

  “I’m not naive,” I spat back. “I know revenue is involved. I’m not stupid.”

  “I never said you were stupid.” His voice remained even, resigned, almost pitying, and it sent a surge of fire through me. “Naya, you’re acting like I was the one who decided all this. And even if I was, it would still be the right decision. I’m sorry, but that’s just the reality.” He looked up at me from the couch, his expression plaintive. “I wanted you to have a heads-up, is all. We’ve looked at a ton of data, and your department is in trouble.”

  My fingernails dug into my palms, and my lips pressed together.

  “Can we please just talk about this?” he asked, his voice low and steady.

  “We are talking.”

  “Calmly?” He paused for a beat. “This is my job, Nay.”

  The slate gray walls of my living room were closing in. Jake inhaled deeply, and the crease between his eyes deepened. “I don’t want to fight with you.”

  “This is everything I’ve worked for. We’re talking about my livelihood and my passion.” I sounded frail and chastised myself, but I wanted to fight. The old me would have stayed quiet, but I’d spent too many years with my fists tucked away, and I wouldn’t be left defenseless again. “I’m sorry if I’m being too uppity for you, but you can’t just drop this and expect me to roll with it.”

  His chest heaved, eyes flashing. “You’re acting like I . . . I don’t know.” He closed his eyes, pressing his thumb and forefinger between his eyebrows, trying to take control of his own emotions. “Like you thought we would just ignore real problems.” His calm demeanor began to crack, an edge bleeding into his voice.

  My heart thrummed in my chest, and tears stung the backs of my eyes. He’s right.

  I’d been trying to engage Joe and others in conversation about our shortcomings to no avail, but hearing Jake say it was like an elbow to my solar plexus. I swallowed hard and blinked.

  “Can’t you put the smallest amount of trust in me to not screw you over?” His eyes caught something on my face and softened. He reached for my hand, but I shrugged away.

  “You just told me you were going to screw me over.”

  Jake groaned and scrubbed his palms over his face, frustration etched in every muscle. “Why are you being so unreasonable? I’m not screwing you over. That’s not what I said at all. I wanted you to know the way the wind was blowing. Can you please just listen?”

  “Don’t talk to me like that.” What upset me was knowing the person I wanted most to think I had it all together was witnessing and identifying all the cracks, and he didn’t understand why that was such a big deal. I’d never seen him angry, and seeing his neck redden and his features harden brought back old fears.

  “Talk to you like what?” His voice was edgy, notes of frustration lacing each word.

  I walked toward my bedroom, ignoring his question.

  “Dammit, talk to you like what?” He repeated his question and tried to tug me back to face him.

  “Like a condescending asshole.” I shrugged away from his touch, shuddering at how much Jake tugging me made me think of Davis.

  “Unbelievable,” he muttered, linking both hands behind his neck, his biceps tensing. “I’m not being condescending; I’m just trying to give you information.”

  “Telling me I don’t understand condescension is condescending.”

  “Nay, I know what you do is valuable. I tell you all the time how much your work impresses me, how important I think it is.”

  I swallowed back tears, because he did say that often. I thought back to brunch with his friends and how he’d told Tyson and Eric about my research, but I wondered if he’d really been listening when I talked about my career and what it meant or if he’d just been appeasing me.

  He hung his head at my icy stare, squeezing his eyes shut and muttering, “This is not how I wanted this conversation to go.”

  I balled my hands a
t my sides. “I’m sorry I didn’t follow your script, but I get upset when someone I’m fucking tells me what I do is worthless.”

  At my statement he stiffened. “I didn’t ever tell you that. And I’m just”—he motioned between us—“someone you’re fucking?”

  A stony silence hung between us.

  You’re so much more than that. My body tensed, but a part of me wanted him to feel as unsteady as I did . . . and I didn’t answer.

  Hurt flashed across his face before he adjusted his expression to something resolute. “You know that’s not true.” He stepped forward, and I backed against my doorframe. “And this guy who hurt you, who messed with your head? I’m so sorry—so angry—you had to deal with that, but I would never hurt you. Never. How do I get you to realize that I’m not like him?”

  “I know you’re not like him.” Jake was so far from Davis, they were barely the same species, and yet, I couldn’t stop holding my metaphorical fists up to protect myself from the next blow, because, for the first time, Jake was angry and pointing out the things in my life that were wrong. “I know you’re not like him,” I repeated, as much to myself as to him.

  “Then why are you acting like this news is aimed at you? I know it’s not good news, but it’s not personal, Naya. I get it feels personal, but you have to see it isn’t.”

  I understood everything he was saying, and I wanted to agree, to sit down rationally and talk through what was coming, but every time my mind leaned in that direction, I remembered my lowest points with my ex. I was so far into the hole I’d dug, I couldn’t see a way out. That helplessness was the sensation crawling over me as I stood in front of Jake, tears threatening to fall. I wanted to sweep it away, but the memory of that darkness surrounded me.

  And it always will. That’s the real problem.

  My voice cracked. “Because I’m broken, okay? I’m a broken goddamned mess. It’s been years and I can’t let it go and I am sick to death of being scared. And the job we’re talking about is the only place I’m worth a damn, and if I don’t have that, I don’t know what I am.” I gulped in a breath. “I’m fucked-up, Jake. I’ve been trying to hide it from you, but I can’t lose the only thing I’m good at, the only place I matter. I’m broken, but I have this one thing, this one place, where I feel whole.”

  Jake’s face was horror-struck, his features frozen. He tried to pull me into a hug, but I shied away. Pity bled into the edges of his expression, and my stomach soured. “You matter to me. We can fix—”

  “You can’t put me back together.”

  He raised his voice, trying to talk over my interruption. “I’m trying to say we can fix—”

  I exploded at him. “I’m not some problem you can just fix!”

  When he slapped his open palm against the doorframe, the sharp crack of skin against wood filled the space and I jumped back, the hairs on my arms standing on end. “Damnit, Naya. I’m not trying to fix you. I’m trying to tell you I’m in love with you!”

  He pulled his hand back as if the wood were hot, realizing the power with which he’d hit the frame, the violence in the act. “I’m sorry.” His voice softened. “God, I’m sorry. I didn’t plan to yell that and scare you. I didn’t even plan to say it yet, but I am head-over-fucking-heels in love with you, Naya.” He raised his palms, slowly bringing them to my face as if giving me the chance to push him away. When I didn’t, he cupped my face gently in his hands. “I love you.”

  He’s in love with me.

  I’m overreacting.

  “Sweetheart, you’re overreacting, just like always.”

  He’s in love with me.

  I slid my hands to his wrists, and his expression shifted to something resembling hopeful—not a smile, but the tension dissipated, and he searched my face before meeting my eyes.

  “Naya, I . . . You’re not broken. I want you to feel whole. I want you to feel whole with me. You’re perfect. You’re everything.” His fingertips were warm against my skin. His voice was almost a whisper. “Will you say something?”

  Calm down and say it back. I love you, too. I wanted to say it, more than anything, but I didn’t. I couldn’t.

  “What was the second thing?” I asked, my voice small.

  “What?”

  “You said you had two things to tell me. What was the other one?”

  Just tell me the second thing doesn’t matter. Give me a reason to let this go.

  His face blanched.

  No. No. No.

  “When Carlton called . . . it was to let me know he let it slip to President Lewis about you and me when they had lunch yesterday.”

  My mouth dried, and I closed my eyes. My hands fell from his wrists. “He let it slip. What does that mean?”

  Jake spoke quickly, the words spilling out. “Lewis wanted to know why we’d structured the process the way we had, with the two teams—he was curious—and Carlton mentioned we were in a relationship. He assumed Flip knew, that you or your boss had told him. I thought you had, I swear.”

  Damn it! This was my fault, and it was too late.

  Jake reached for my arm, and I whipped it away and pressed my palms to my eyes. “I told you, I fucking told you this would be an issue, and you wouldn’t listen.” The rage was stirring inside me, but I had nowhere to point it except at Jake, who stood in front of me, crestfallen. “You kept telling me it would be fine, it would be okay, and now, look. It’s not okay and it’s not fine. Do you have any idea how bad this is? Not only am I going to lose my job or be put in a corner somewhere, my reputation will be in the garbage, again. And your company—”

  His expression was muddled between frustration, sympathy, and affection. “I’m not worried about my damn company right now. This isn’t us, Nay. This is work. Can we . . .” His gaze moved to the ceiling before his palms slid down to my shoulders, then down and up my arms. “I’m sorry I didn’t take it as seriously as you did. But, God, can we just stop and talk it through? We can work it out together. I know we can.” He locked eyes with me. “We can, Nay. Please.”

  I wanted to melt into him, to rest my head against his hard chest and listen to his heartbeat. I wanted all those things, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that falling for him was what had landed me here. The years of sacrificing everything for work were about to be meaningless, again, because I let myself get wrapped up with a guy. But he’s not just a guy; he’s the guy. That was worse because I’d promised to never put a man ahead of my career, and here I was.

  His brows dipped, and I almost leaned into him before my spine straightened and I jerked away. Years. I’d rebuilt my career from the ashes of Davis’s slander. I cursed myself for ignoring my gut telling me this relationship was wrong. There I was, standing in front of the man I loved, hearing it might all burn down again.

  Sweetheart, you’re overreacting, just like always.

  “This may be your work, but it’s my life. It’s everything I’ve worked for. It’s everything I’ve sacrificed for. It’s my whole life.”

  The pain was recognizable in his eyes and the way the muscle in his jaw ticked. “Your whole life?” His voice was shaky, and his shoulders, normally so square, slumped forward. “Aren’t I part of your life, Nay?”

  I held his stare, and I knew he was flashing back to his wife cheating. Guilt and shame mixed with my anger and worry. I needed to protect him and to protect myself. “We started out as just sex. We should have left it there. Temporary.”

  “We had a connection from the first time we met, and you know it. Did you hear me just tell you I’m in love with you? You’re all I fucking think about. I love you, and I know you care about me, too. Why are you doing this?”

  I held myself rigid, afraid as soon as I moved, I would break.

  When I didn’t respond, his body tensed. “I don’t think this is about work at all. This is you getting scared and running away. It’s
what you do.” His voice flattened, and his words were sharp and bitter. “You did it the first night we met. Every real thing I know about you I’ve had to pry from your tight hold. And I let you hold me emotionally at arm’s length, because I knew you were worth it, figured someday you’d really trust me, and I thought we’d gotten there. When does it stop, Naya?”

  I squeezed my eyes shut again, trying to block everything out and keep myself in this moment. My heart pounded, and my mind spun. Jake’s accusations, Davis’s threats, the idea of packing up my cluttered little office. All the worry expanded, pushing everything else out of my head. “I can’t do this. I’m sorry. I’m sorry, but it’s not worth the risks.” I walked into my bedroom, closing the door behind me and flipping the lock before the tears came.

  “What does that mean?” Jake asked from the other side of the door. “Naya, what does that mean?” He banged on the door repeatedly, frantically, but I didn’t answer.

  I couldn’t face him. Eventually, he stopped knocking, though I could hear him sitting on the other side of the wood.

  Hours later, closer to a croak than anything else, his voice came from the hallway. “I’ll go. I’ll give you space. Will you lock the door behind me?”

  I leaned my forehead against the door inside my bedroom and said, “Yes.”

  Jake: I’m at the Marriott. Please call me.

  Jake: I’m sorry I lost my cool—can we talk?

  Jake: I love you. I need you.

  Jake: We can figure this out.

  Jake: Dammit, will you respond?

  Jake: I’m going out of my mind. It’s been four days. Talk to me.

  Jake: Please?

  Thirty-seven

  When I needed someone to take my side, I could always count on Felicia, no matter what. She was my “ride or die.” But when I needed a voice of reason who wouldn’t hesitate to disagree with me, Aaron was my man. That’s how I found myself, a week after my fight with Jake, sitting on the floor of their living room with Chinese takeout.