How to Fail at Flirting(28)

“Is your family from the Middle East?”

A chord of realization thrummed somewhere in my body. It had taken him three days to ask about my ethnicity. Three days! “What are you?” was almost a standard greeting after “nice to meet you.” I hated that before people knew anything about me, they needed to know how to classify my ethnicity.

“No,” I said with a small laugh. “My dad read it in a book or something. He’s Black, and my mom is Irish and Mexican.” Growing up multiracial, I sometimes didn’t know where I fit. I remembered Felicia’s sister telling me I had “good hair,” which I thought was a compliment until I realized that meant my best friend’s hair, thicker and kinkier than mine, wasn’t good. My high school boyfriend told me his mom was fine with us dating because I wasn’t like other Black people. My life had been filled with those moments, reminding me I was different. Jake didn’t seem thrown, though.

Jake traced a lazy pattern over my shoulder. “Must have been something to grow up with multiple cultures.”

It could have been a swirl of traditions, but my parents wanted us to blend into our small town, so I grew up with no real cultural traditions at all. I didn’t speak Spanish, I was fair skinned, and I “sounded white” according to my Black cousins. Davis told me once I was lucky to be so racially ambiguous that no one had to know I wasn’t white. He’d even encouraged me to publish under my middle name, which sounded “less urban.” I’d hated myself for letting him say that without challenging him. I wanted to do something to reclaim the parts of myself I’d allowed him and so many others to make me think were unfavorable. I wanted to be able to talk to my grandfather in his native language before it was too late. To do: Learn Spanish.

I shrugged. “Sometimes, when I was a kid, I wished they had named me Jessica or Heather.”

“I think Naya suits you better.” Jake looked down, catching my eye as his palm skimmed my lower back.

“Just once, I want to find my name on a novelty pencil.”

“Huh, I guess I never thought about that.”

“Any story behind your name?”

“My grandfather is named Jacob. That’s why I’ve always gone by Jake.” He traced his fingers over my shoulders, lightly kneading the muscles between my back and neck.

“Were you close?”

“When I was little, I wanted to be just like him. He taught me how to fish and that women were trouble, but the good kind. He still tells me that, actually. He’s pretty busy these days as the Casanova of his assisted-living facility.”

“So, you come by your charm genetically, huh?”

Jake laughed softly.

“My dad always told me boys were trouble, but he didn’t mean the good kind.”

“You think I’m the bad kind of trouble?”

“You’re not so bad,” I said, settling against him.

Our chuckles subsided, and we lay in another perfect, loose-limbed silence for several minutes.

My palm resting on his abs, I took in his face. “You look like you’re thinking. Want to share?”

He trailed his hand up my arm. “I wish we had a little more time.”

I can’t let myself think about having more time. “I was thinking I can’t move after that.” I smiled, expecting him to have a joke ready, but he continued to look into my eyes the way he did when I tried to change the subject. His penetrating gaze made me wonder if he could tell I was avoiding something.

“You know, you’re so beautiful when you get there,” he said. “I could watch your face in those moments for hours. It’s like you give up control and your features relax, even as the rest of your body is tensing.” His voice was quiet and gravelly, and he grazed his thumb over my lips as he spoke. “Then, at the moment right before you come, your mouth opens, just a little, and you bite the corner of your lip. It’s perfect. It might be my new favorite image.”

“You’re the only one who’s ever seen it,” I said, resting my cheek into his palm.

“What?”

Oh crap, why did I admit that? I’m pretty sure that’s on the list of things not to say after sex or, you know, ever. “It’s embarrassing.”

“What did you mean?”

“I’ve never, you know . . . with someone else.”

“Ever?”

Kill me now. “I just never . . . got there, and the guys never seemed to . . . um, I don’t know, notice or care, I guess.”

Gently, he pulled my hands from my face. “You’ve been with selfish men.”

Understatement.

He kissed the corner of my mouth. “Am I a bad guy if I’m kind of proud to be the first?”

“Not in my book.”

“I like the bossy side of you. And you’ll tell me if you want something different, right? Harder, slower, to the left.” He grinned, swiping his thumbs in slow circles at the nape of my neck. “Or just . . . keep going.”

I laughed. “I promise to be as bossy as possible.” Though, so far, he seemed to know exactly what I wanted.

I tucked against him and he rolled so we could slide under the sheet and comforter, creating a cocoon around our bodies. “Stay with me tonight?”

“I was really hoping you wouldn’t kick me out.” Jake pressed in behind me, his arm wrapping around my waist.