How to Fail at Flirting(30)

My phone buzzed, and I smiled before I flipped it over.

    Jake: How did work go today after Flip’s announcement last night?



The warmth that spread through my chest had nothing to do with the sun beating through the windows from the cloudless sky or even the memory of multiple orgasms. I reread the message. He was thinking about me, and he thought to ask about my work. I reminded myself this was a fling. I told myself that, but I grinned as I typed a reply.

    Naya: Good. Boss is freaking out like everyone else, but I am celebrating the end of the year.

Jake: How are you celebrating?



I snapped a photo of my empty inbox, making sure my email address and last name didn’t show on the screen.

    Jake: You don’t know this, but that image is equivalent to pornography for me. So sexy.

Naya: How are the wedding preparations?

Jake: We’re on hour three of decorating the reception hall. Apparently, we should be done with things by five . . . with an hour to spare before the rehearsal dinner.

Naya: That’s brutal.

Jake: I don’t know if I’ll get to see you tonight until late.

Naya: I’m sure we’ll figure it out.



My phone pinged with a photo message from him. It was a selfie, his skeptical expression in the foreground and behind him, a petite woman in a white T-shirt with Bride spelled out in glittery pink script. She was surrounded by women in neon pink T-shirts that read Bridesmaid in a matching font. They were in one of the hotel ballrooms, and the bride appeared to be scolding the leftmost woman.

    Naya: Yikes. Intimidating . . . Don’t screw up.

Naya: Wait, everyone in the background is in pink T-shirts . . .



The dots appeared, and a photo came through, another selfie, but in this one, I could see his broad chest in a pink T-shirt, his muscles defined under glittery script reading Groomsman. My smile spread.

    Jake: Offering you a glimpse into my own personal hell.

Naya: You look good in pink. Will you model it for me in person?

Jake: I would, if I didn’t plan to burn it.

Naya: You’re no fun.

Jake: That’s not what you said this morning.





* * *





I finished a few last tasks and locked up my office to head home, fingering the screen of my phone on the walk to my car. I opened the app to type a new message but paused, realizing I had nothing to say. Isn’t mindless texting something you do in a relationship? I slipped my phone back into my bag, because I was asking for trouble.

I’m asking for trouble either way, right? I pulled my phone back out when I thought back to his earlier texts that were cute and sweet. When I glanced up, I froze, nearly dropping my device.

Ahead of me, Davis was chatting with a tall brunette I didn’t recognize. His gait and the way he held his head at an angle, chin tipped up all the time, sent blood rushing through my ears. He looked over in my direction, and our eyes met. A look of surprise crossed his face, and he paused his stride, then smirked. A chill wound up my spine as he raised his eyebrow, tipped his head slightly, then returned his gaze to his companion.

Terror stole my breath, and I took a few steps back, lingering in the doorway of a nearby building. My cheeks burned, and my heart thudded at that familiar, derisive expression.

He’s not supposed to be here.

The panic that coursed through my body was worse than it had been in years, and I struggled to keep myself from shaking as adrenaline flooded my system.

He and his companion laughed as they turned a corner and disappeared from my sight, but I worried he’d come back or wait for me. The image of him lingering by the car with no one around left my hands trembling, and I clasped them together. I never got around to taking that self-defense class.

Still, I didn’t move. Each time I’d run into him after we split, I’d cowered and tried to make myself invisible. That doesn’t belong in past tense. I’ve been trying to make myself invisible ever since.

I took a deep breath and tentatively stepped out of the doorway, glancing around and listening for voices from the parking lot. When I heard none, I grasped my phone and sprinted toward my car.

I wish Jake was here.

The thought ricocheted in my head. Jake thinks I’m strong and know what I want. I straightened my spine to tamp down the nervous energy threatening to overtake my body. When I reached my car, the lot was nearly empty, and Davis was nowhere in sight. Still, I slammed the car door and locked it within seconds. I didn’t take a full breath until I was out of the parking lot. Even then, the hairs on the back of my neck stood on end, as if he was watching me through the car windows, waiting and scheming.



* * *





My unease hadn’t settled by the time I stepped into the restaurant near Felicia’s where I was picking up food. Across the room, an older couple read a newspaper together and a young mother tried to wrangle a squirming toddler into a high chair. My heart clenched, and I exhaled a breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding.

I’d built my career by staying late, doing more, working longer hours than others, and leveraging everything I could. I didn’t regret it—I did, however, wonder who would read the paper with me when I was old and if I’d missed my window to have my own wriggling toddler.