How to Fail at Flirting(52)

“I’m glad, too.” We locked eyes, both grinning, and I slid my hand to his.

The charity was for leukemia research, and the speeches from doctors and survivors moved me to tears. Jake’s arm came around my shoulder when he noticed me wiping a tear from my eye, wordlessly offering comfort.

After that, he never stopped touching me. Whether it was his thumb stroking my knee through the fabric of my dress, his arm around my shoulder, or his lips brushing against my temple and cheek, the contact was subtle and sweet. A spark zinged through me every single time.

Once the program was over, we were mobbed by people wanting to talk to my handsome date. Jake seemed to know everyone, and laughed at all their jokes, whether delivered by someone funny or by someone rich.

“You’re so good at the schmoozing,” I whispered as we left a group of people to head to the dance floor. “I had it in my head you were shy.”

Jake chuckled. “Do you think I have them fooled?”

“I think you have me fooled.”

“You get the real me,” he said. “I can be the person out front when I need to, but I much prefer to be behind the scenes or one-on-one.”

“You’re good at one-on-one.” I rested my palms on his shoulders as we reached the dance floor, and his hand settled on my waist. Around us, couples swayed, their conversation a low hum over the music from the quartet onstage.

“It’s a cause I believe in. I started volunteering at hospitals as a Boy Scout, and I never stopped.”

That he’d been volunteering to help kids with cancer and their families for a couple decades made the feelings squeezing my heart even stronger. I wasn’t ready to acknowledge them or fixate on what flaws of his I had to be missing. Instead, I asked, “You were an honest-to-God Boy Scout?”

“Eagle Scout, actually.” His crisp scent filled my nostrils, and I leaned in, noticing the way his eyes crinkled at the mention of the accomplishment. “At first, it was a way for my dad and me to spend time together without all my sisters, but then I got into it. I told you I was a nerdy kid.”

I shook my head with a smile. “You’re a nerdy adult, but I told you, I like nerds. And you’ve been volunteering all this time? That’s incredible, Jake.” I tipped my head up, unsure if I was hoping to kiss him or let all my feelings spill out, but I didn’t get the chance to do either.

“And who might you be, pretty lady?” A man with thin white hair and slurred speech approached us at the edge of the dance floor, and I pulled back, startled.

“A little something on the side, huh, Shaw? Haven’t seen your wife tonight.” He swayed, leering at me unabashedly.

Jake shifted, placing more of his body between me and the drunk man. “No, Bertram. I’m separated from Gretchen.”

The man looked me over again, and Jake’s body tensed next to me. “You’re light skinned, but your features sure look colored, or are we supposed to say African American now? I can never keep it straight what you people want to be called. I like pretty light-skinned girls, though.” He winked before turning back to Jake. “Didn’t think you had it in you, boy.”

Jake’s eyes flashed, and one hand curled into a fist.

I touched his forearm. Not worth it.

Instead, I adopted a cool tone. “You’re welcome to just call me Doctor.” I stretched to shake his hand. “Naya Turner. Hello.” And “colored”? Seriously? What decade is this guy living in?

“Bertram Harrison the Third.” The old man raised his chin, his voice taking on a more formal blustering tone, though his leering did not abate. That his racist and sexist comments were inappropriate seemed to be lost on him. Lord, give me the confidence of an old, rich white man.

Jake pulled me to the center of the dance floor without another word to Bertram Harrison III. His palm rested on my lower back again, our bodies close, as I slid my arm up to his shoulder, my other hand in his. He muttered in my ear, his voice low, posture tense. “That fucking racist—”

“I’m fine. He’ll still write big checks for kids with cancer, right? I assumed he was one of the rich ones.” I gave a small smile, warmth rising within me at Jake’s instincts.

“It’s not fine. I mean, he is one of our biggest contributors, but a pig. I can’t believe he talked to you like that. I should have—”

“I know. It wasn’t worth it, though.” The length of our bodies pressed together on the full dance floor, and his hand rested protectively on my lower back while my palm skirted up his biceps. “I’m okay, I promise. I thought I actually handled it quite well.”

“You did,” he said, his jaw muscles relaxing. “Masterfully. Certainly better than I would have, but does that happen a lot? People saying things like that?”

I shrugged. “Sometimes. Not usually that overtly. I know others get way worse.” Some of the things hurled at Felicia over the years from people made my skin crawl.

“I know Tyson experiences it all the time, but I thought as a woman, maybe . . .” He trailed off after bringing up his best friend, who I was going to meet the next day. “But even saying it, that was a dumb assumption.” Jake pulled me against him. “I’m so sorry.”

I tried to lighten the mood, to communicate I wasn’t holding this incident against him. “He thought I was an escort,” I whispered, worried the elegant white-haired couple nearest us would hear. “Is the dress that revealing?”