How to Fail at Flirting(6)

I shook away the memory, rubbing my upper arm absently where the small, round bruises had taken two weeks to fade.

I have to stop looking for him.

I knew that logically, but the message didn’t always reach my brain. I glanced toward the door for Felicia and Aaron again, anxious for the distraction they always provided. I could usually get out of my head when they were around.

I drew a slow breath before downing a large gulp to settle my nerves. I tried to signal the bartender for another. He looked at me with a bored expression that left me feeling frumpy, like I annoyed him by pulling his attention from the hot girls who had moved to the other end of the bar. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed the stranger also studying the woman and her friends.

Of course he is.

My phone vibrated with an incoming call from Aaron. The ambient sounds of the speakerphone came through the line.

“You guys stuck in traffic?”

“Hey. My mom was admitted to the hospital—I’m driving home.”

“Oh my God. What happened? Is she going to be okay?” Aaron’s mom was the healthiest woman I knew. Well into her sixties, she ran marathons and led spin classes.

I should start working out more. Adding that to the list.

“She got hurt while . . . exercising.”

“Fell while running or something?”

“Um, no.”

He was being oddly cagey. I asked him again what happened while indicating to the bartender I wanted another.

Aaron sighed. “They want to keep her overnight for observation, and my sister is worried. Apparently, she fell and hit her head pretty hard and injured her leg during a new class.”

“Spin class?”

“No.”

“What, then?”

He grumbled, “A pole dancing class.”

“Your mom is hospitalized with a pole dancing injury?” The man next to me cocked his head and glanced my way, but I tried to focus on Aaron. I didn’t want to laugh—the woman was in the hospital, for goodness’ sake—but I couldn’t shake the image of Mrs. Daniels’s long gray hair flying as she twirled around a pole.

“I’m sorry, Aar. Send her my love.”

“Thanks. I’m worried she’s going to want to tell me about the class.”

I let a grin crack across my face. “Have singles ready, then.”

“I hate you.”

“Is Felicia still coming?”

“As far as I know. She should be there soon.”

We hung up and I opened the picture of the list. I couldn’t do these things. Look how badly my pathetic attempt at flirting with the bartender had gone. The guy hadn’t just ignored me, he’d ignored me while spilling my overpriced drink. I couldn’t imagine going from that awkward encounter to sex with a stranger. Hell, sex with anyone. I toyed with the top button of my cardigan again, remembering Aaron’s words. Still you, but with the volume turned down. I bit the corner of my lip and glanced again at the stranger next to me. Like the bartender, he wasn’t paying me any attention. That was usually a relief. If men didn’t see me, they couldn’t hurt me. Still, after admiring him again, a little part of me wanted the man next to me with the broad chest and strong jaw to notice me, want me, and touch me. It had been way too long, and a forgotten belly flutter made me glance over a second time.

He drank from his glass, and I was in the middle of an internal debate about whether to attempt a flirtatious greeting when he unexpectedly met my eyes. On closer inspection, his posture was different from Davis’s, not so stiff, and his hair was closer to a chestnut brown than dirty blond. As we made eye contact, a swirl of energy curled between my thighs, and a loud cheer from the woo-hoo girls rang out.

“Now, what’s the point of that?” He motioned to the blonde and her friends.

“I have no idea.” I returned his smile before looking away, searching out the bartender, then glancing at my phone. The image of the list remained on the screen.

“It’s interesting,” he mused.

“Why?” I sipped my drink and unbuttoned my cardigan again. I’ll do it. I’ll try one more time.

He dipped his head and adopted a questionable Australian accent. “Observe the whooping female in her natural habitat.”

His impression was bad, really bad, but I laughed.

“See how the loud, ritualistic mating call signals to the rest of the herd to mimic their leader.” He added, breaking from the accent, “Could be a good documentary, don’t you think?”

“Um . . . Crikey!”

He seemed impressed at my equally sorry attempt at an accent.

“I’m Jake.” He glanced at me again before adding, “And I can call you . . . ?”

I reached to shake his hand. No ring. No telltale tan line. I considered giving him my real name, but “Naya” wasn’t common, so I shared my middle name instead. Err on the side of safety.

“Michelle.”

I glanced toward the entrance, checking for Felicia again.

“Michelle,” he repeated. His voice was low without being gravelly. “What brings you here?” Jake kept his body angled toward mine, leaning in to be heard as the woo-hoo girls’ volume increased.

“Um, work.” I wasn’t sure why I lied, but him thinking I was a tourist made me feel safer. “I’m meeting a friend who is running late, though. I’m sure she’ll fly in any moment.”