How to Fail at Flirting(14)

    Jake: BTW, what’s your real name?





Five





The next morning, I stretched under the sheets while texting Felicia.

    Naya: Status update? Are you still alive?



I squeezed my eyes shut and tried to block out the headache and memories of the night before. A torrent of embarrassment hit me at the thought of being so drunk I’d had to throw up in the middle of making out with a guy. A hot guy. To do: Delete Felicia and Aaron’s list.

    Felicia: Barely.

Naya: What do you need?

Felicia: This might be Ebola. Stay away. Is it wrong to ask the CDC to quarantine my kids?



I tapped out a message reminding her to let me know if she needed anything later and toggled to the messages from Jake. The photo he’d sent from the observation deck popped up. Despite my mortification about how the night ended, the picture stirred me unexpectedly. My face showed a playful expression, and I zoomed in, almost not recognizing the woman smiling back at me.

I’d left his last message unanswered, and a mixture of guilt and misgiving crept through my mind. He seemed like a nice guy, and I felt bad giving him a fake name and not responding to his messages, but there was no way I could face him. There was a decent chance I wouldn’t attempt flirting ever again.

Climbing out of bed, my stomach roiled. I needed a hot shower and Tylenol. As I clambered toward my bathroom, I paused and grabbed my phone, shooting off a quick text because why not embarrass myself further?

    Naya: I had fun, too, and I’m sorry I bolted. Good luck with the wedding.



The hot water cleared my head as I let it run over me. I had to give an exam that morning, but otherwise I had an entire day to focus on writing. I trailed a soapy hand over my belly and up my chest. Or maybe to allow myself to think about Jake, whose kisses had made me forget what time zone I was in. This has to stop. I squeezed my eyes shut, willing the vivid memories away. I’m never going to see this guy again. Focus.

When I emerged from the shower and wrapped myself in a towel, I felt relatively more human, but a dull ache remained behind my eyes. I glanced at my phone, but there were no new messages. Acrid disappointment settled in my chest more than I wanted to admit, but when my phone buzzed a moment later, I hurried across the room and clicked on the notification without looking.

    Reminder: ED 205 Final Exam; 2 hours.



I tossed the phone on my bed and began pulling clothes from my closet, once again chastising myself for my behavior, and for my continued glances at my notificationless device. Giving a final exam while hungover and sexually frustrated. What a perfect metaphor for my life right now.



* * *





“Ten more minutes,” I announced. The room was almost empty as the last few students hurriedly scribbled out their answers. I glanced up from my perch at the front of the room.

Quinton or Quenton looked like a deer in headlights. Color had drained from his face, and his foot tapped incessantly on the tiled floor as he appeared to read and reread the questions.

Called that one.

I glanced at the clock and fiddled with my phone as more students finished and filed past, dropping their exams on my desk. Words with Friends and scrolling through social media didn’t stop me from looking for a text reply continuously, though.

What do I even want him to say?

    Felicia: Can we discuss how my mother-in-law was taking a pole dancing class?

Felicia: Also, I didn’t ask earlier. How was your night?



I took a large gulp from my water bottle, still trying to rehydrate.

    Naya: Unexpected.

Felicia: What does that mean?

Felicia: Crap, I gotta go. Kid emergency. Call me later!



With a few minutes left, Quinton or Quenton—His last name is Sterling—was the only one left, and I decided to be kind. “Do you need an extra ten minutes?”

He nodded, a harried and flustered expression crossing his normally smooth face as he scribbled in the exam book.

I started organizing the completed tests, mentally creating a to-do list for all the end-of-term things that needed to happen after I finished grading exams. Lists. My head still ached with a dull throb. I toggled to the photo of Aaron and Felicia’s list, my thumb hovering over the delete button when the notification indicator flashed.

    Jake: A night of drinking was easier 10 years ago, wasn’t it?



I stared at the screen, unsure how to respond and trying to silence that negative voice in my head and the embarrassed voice in my heart. The voice crying out from my neglected lady parts won, though.

    Naya: Feeling a little green?

Jake: A little of every color. Are you feeling better?

Naya: Only slightly colorful.

Jake: Hue are lucky.

Naya: Aww . . . you are in-tint on making me laugh.

Jake: I’d like to try. Will you go out with me tonight?



My thumbs stilled as I reread his question. A giddy anticipation and a sinking feeling pulled at me with equal force.

    Jake: I can buy you dinner, you can demand I confront a phobia, we’ll make out in the back of a cab . . . normal date stuff.

Jake: You said you were looking for a one-night stand, but since that didn’t work out . . .