How to Fail at Flirting(16)

“It’s what you do best. Where are you going, anyway? Somewhere public in case he ends up being a sociopath?”

“Who’s a sosopath, Mommy?” Felicia’s daughter Emily’s voice came through the phone.

“Aunt Naya’s boyfriend, sweetie. Don’t worry about it.”

“Aunt Naya’s going to kiss a sosopath!” Emily’s shout faded as she probably ran down the hall to tell her brothers.

“Thank you for that,” I muttered, opening my top left drawer. The stores of fancy underwear were on the left—lace and satin arranged by color. The everyday cotton in white and earth tones were on the right. My hands hovered before I reached for a pair of mint-colored satin panties and searched for the matching bra. Can’t hurt to be prepared.

“So, where are you going?”

“I suggested Navy Pier. I figured it would be crowded with tourists.” I clipped the tags from the shirt and pulled it over my head. The cotton hugged my body, but the sheer overlay cascaded gently over my curves to my waist.

“Well, that’s definitely public.”

I pulled a flowy black skirt over my hips and slipped my feet into a pair of strappy gold sandals. “Okay, I feel better. You’re right. I should finish getting ready. Talk to you later?”

“Sure. And it should go without saying, but try not to throw up on him. It’s been a long time since you dated, but just for the record, that’s too casual.”





Seven





The sun hung low in the sky, and the crowded pier was awash in a warm, golden light. My heart raced, and I closed my eyes, taking a moment to psych myself up. Breathe. Breathe. The driver eyed me suspiciously, so I hurried out the door with a quick thanks and scanned the crowd for Jake.

“Hey.” His broad smile greeted me as soon as I turned. The dimples. Those lips. “I was a little worried you’d change your mind.” He looked relieved, and I didn’t know why that made butterflies flutter in my stomach.

“I couldn’t let you keep my favorite sweater.”

He had the arms of the pink fabric draped over his shoulders and loosely knotted over the top of his blue-and-white button-down shirt. “What do you think? Pulling it off?” He stepped back so I could admire the accessory.

My smile broke into a laugh, and I shook my head.

“No?”

“Not even a little.”

“Damn.” He gently pulled it from his shoulders, his fingertips brushing mine as he handed it over. “That’s okay. It looks better on you anyway.”

I caught the faint whiff of him on the fabric—the scent of sandalwood mixed with the hotel’s soap. As we strolled down the walkway, I added, “Carnation pink just might not be your color.”

“You’re probably right, but it made you smile, so worth it either way.”

I dipped my head and bit my lower lip.

“Sorry, I seem to get extra cheesy around you.”

When I glanced up, the idea he was a little unsure made me feel more at ease. I didn’t want cocky. I’d been down that road before.

“Nah, you’re Gouda.”

His stare was blank for a beat, and I worried I’d said something stupid, maybe letting my quirkiness out of the bag a little too soon, then the edges of his eyes crinkled to accompany his low and sexy rumbling laugh.

“A cheese pun. You might be the coolest woman I’ve ever met.”

I knew a blush was rising on my cheeks, so I looked out toward the water of Lake Michigan glistening under the sinking sun. “I don’t give those puns to just anyone, so feel honored.”

“I do. Any other secrets up your sleeve? Perhaps your real name?”

I laced my fingers together, twirling the small gold ring I wore on my right middle finger. There really wasn’t any danger in him knowing my first name.

“It’s Naya. Like a papaya.”

He smiled at the device I’d used since I was a kid. “Nice to meet you, Naya like a papaya. Have you been here before?”

Since I’d never told him I actually lived here before insisting we not share details, I stumbled for a moment on the question. On one hand, I was still kind of anonymous with him not knowing where I lived. On the other hand, I was lying to him.

“I haven’t been here in a long time.” Not exactly a lie. I avoided crowded places.

He laced his fingers through mine, an intimate gesture that made me feel strangely girlish. “Let’s explore, then.”

His hand was so much bigger than mine, and a strange sense of contentment pooled around me. That was ridiculous, but still, his fingers wrapped around mine in this solid manner kept my doubts at bay as we wandered the pier. Walking in the warm night air, I was comfortable, and our conversation fell into an easy give-and-take. I pointed to the Ferris wheel and told him my favorite thing as a kid was when the carnival came to town and I could ride one. I always loved being on top of the world like that. He told me about his big family as we ate tacos from a food truck, and I made him laugh, telling him about my cousins trying to teach me, the lone girl, to pee against a tree when I was a kid.

“I never quite got the hang of it.”

“I have no words.” As we neared the water, the breeze picked up, whipping my hair onto my face, and he leaned over to tuck the strands back for me. It was the kind of romantic gesture I’d convinced myself I didn’t want, three years ago when I’d decided that men weren’t worth the risk. But with his fingertip lingering along my ear, a flurry of sensation ran up my spine, taking me back to the taste of his kisses.