How to Fail at Flirting(44)

He climbed back in bed next to me, his expression gleeful. “Open it.”

I dragged my nail under the paper and pulled out a package of brightly colored pencils with my name embossed on them in gold lettering. They were the kind I always hoped for as a kid. I met his grin, and my heart did somersaults. “Where did you find these?”

He shrugged. “I have a guy.”

“You have a pencil guy?” I ran my fingers over the embossing, tracing my name. The gift was perfect. He’d been thinking of me; he’d listened and knew me enough to know this simple thing would make me smile. I didn’t just smile, I beamed.

“Do you like them? I was a little worried you’d think it was cheesy.”

“You know I like cheesy. I love them.” I set the pencils aside, wrapping my arms around his neck to kiss him again. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” He stroked my neck, and we lay in loose-limbed silence for a minute or two. “So, when do I get to see you again?”

My head shot up.

“What?” he asked, seeming both startled and amused. “I’m really not a wham-bam kind of guy.”

“I know, I—” I stammered. “I mean, I’m not, either, a wham-bam girl, that is. I’m not good at relationships,” I blurted. “It seems like you should know that before, or even just if, this is something . . .” I trailed off. “Not that I’m saying it has to be more than fun,” I stammered and pressed my eyes shut for a moment. “Forget I said that, it’s a nonissue—I know this is casual and I don’t expect anything from you—”

“Hey, calm down.” He rolled to his side, stretching an arm over my waist. “I don’t know what this is, exactly. It’s new, and I don’t want to rush anything. And, if it helps, I have it on excellent authority I am not good at relationships, either. I can get caught up with work, I travel a lot, I can be too closed off, I’m not romantic enough.”

He scrunched his nose and closed one eye. “Have I convinced you to keep seeing me yet?”

“You bought me pencils. That’s pretty romantic.” I touched his biceps, enjoying how solid he was against me. “But what I’m hearing is that you did not treat those sweet, elderly librarians very well.”

“It’s a good thing Gladys likes bad boys.” His eyes lit up. “Here’s what I do know: You’re fun and funny, and you make me feel fun and funny, and no one has done that in a long time.” His hand rubbed up and down my side, creating a friction that made me want to roll into him. “And you’re beautiful. I don’t hit on women in bars, ever. But I couldn’t not talk to you. And then, once I did . . .” He stroked his thumb up and down the side of my face. “Well, I didn’t want to stop, because I think you kind of get me, and that feels like something.”

He planted a light kiss on my mouth, a sweet peck. “So, I’m okay with you having some expectations while we figure out what this is.”

I’d been bracing for him to let me off the hook, to agree that this was casual. Instead, I was trying to wrap my mind around what he’d said. “I’d like that.”

“I fly out tonight. Can we make plans to see each other soon?”

I let his question hang between us for a moment. I wanted to see him again, and the reasons not to take the risk kept feeling less and less significant. “Okay. Assuming Muriel doesn’t put the kibosh on this whole thing, but you can’t just fly across the country every week.”

“You grossly underestimate the number of frequent-flier miles I accrue.”

I took a breath, thinking of how to respond.

He spoke again before I finished exhaling. “Plus, I consider this recruiting for my kickball team. It’s a business expense.”

“You’re a good negotiator.”

“And you’re harder to pin down than the Wall Street guys I used to work with. So, I ask again, Dr. Naya Turner, when can I next see you?”

I laughed, holding my hands up in surrender, palms toward him. “How about we meet in Cincinnati?”

He barked out a deep laugh. “Not what I was expecting you to say, but okay. Why Cincinnati?”

“Well, it’s halfway between Chicago and Raleigh. I’ve never been, have you?” And I don’t know anyone there, which makes it an appealing location to continue our not-so-clandestine affair.

“I haven’t, but I’m psyched that you researched meeting places already. I think you might kind of like me.” His lips quirked, and I was busted. “What would we do in Cincinnati? I mean, besides the obvious.” We both reached for our phones and began searching, finding a zoo, shopping, trendy restaurants, and sports.

“I guess we wouldn’t be bored.” I held up the visitors bureau website for him to examine.

“I’m never bored with you. Except in bed. You are really boring in bed. Maybe we should stick to karaoke and zoos.”

I glowered at him. “Your jokes don’t always make you more charming. You don’t seem too invested in me seeing you again.”

“You know I’m playing.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Do you want me to give you a full list of all the ways I find you utterly fascinating, in and out of bed?”