How to Fail at Flirting(66)

“You should remind me of all the reasons I should only recruit clients in Chicago.” Jake toyed with the hem of my skirt. The same skirt he’d pushed up my hips when he’d pulled me down on top of him.

“You didn’t get this kind of welcome in Boston?” I teased, tickling at his ribs.

“This is a uniquely Chicago greeting.” He trailed his finger down the side of my face, then added, his voice softer, “I missed you.”

His eyes took in every inch of me, every curve and flaw, until I glanced away.

He gently pushed my chin up so my eyes met his again. “Why do you do that? Every time I look into your eyes, you look away.”

My cheeks heated. “I don’t.”

“You do.”

“Just a habit, I guess.”

“Did some horrible boy in middle school tease you in a failed attempt at flirting and make you wary of male attention?” A grin emerged on his face.

“Would you go beat him up for me?”

“Of course. Unless he’s a really big guy now, in which case I would write him a strongly worded email.”

His smile faded back into a serious expression. “Does it bother you? I can try to stop.”

“No.”

Jake stared at me with this intensity sometimes, like he could see into my head.

“It’s nothing,” I insisted.

He remained silent but continued to rub his thumb over the back of my neck in long, slow sweeps. He’d told me about his past; perhaps Felicia was right, and it was time to be a little brave.

“I’d been at TU for a year as a new professor. I was young, green, eager. Anyway, I met this guy, another professor; he was older, good-looking, well respected on campus.” I tried to think back to how I’d initially seen him. “We started dating. And it was good.” I paused, gazing down at the floor, trying to remember the signs I should have seen in those early months. “For a while it was good.” I glanced up, but Jake’s expression was inscrutable. “We were together a little over two years, but he wasn’t always kind; he—”

“Did he hurt you?” Jake’s muscles tensed.

“He . . .” I touched his forearm, bracing myself for the admission and deciding how much to share. “He wasn’t kind. He could be aggressive and . . . cruel.”

“Did he hit you?”

I dug my nails into my palms, remembering the rough shoves into walls, the sting of slaps, and how I’d curl up into a tight ball in his bed when he’d finished. “It doesn’t matter.”

That shame I’d internalized over the years was a chill spreading across my back like the scrape of long, bony fingers. I didn’t want to be a victim, especially not in front of Jake, so I pushed the thoughts aside. I shuddered, hoping he wouldn’t notice, hoping I could keep the emotions tucked away until I was alone.

He held me tighter, though—of course he noticed.

“Sometimes he hit me and . . . other stuff; it was a long time ago.”

Jake looked away from my face, a muscle in his jaw ticked, and his hands had balled into fists at my sides as he seemed to struggle with what to say.

My stomach knotted with his reaction. The last thing I could handle was pity on his face or confusion about why I’d stayed with Davis so long. I didn’t know the answers. I’d convinced myself it wasn’t abuse. I was educated, and I thought I knew better, so what was happening was something else. I’d thought it would get better, and when it didn’t, it was too late. I’d started to believe his lies, that I needed him. By the time I stopped believing the lies, I believed the threats.

“I finally ended it. I was terrified, but we were in a public space, and I just said I was done.” I didn’t tell Jake how I’d been so anxious beforehand I’d been sick in the bathroom and almost chickened out, that when I actually said the words, that I was leaving, my voice had been broken and shaky and I’d braced for him to strike.

“What happened?” Jake asked the question like he didn’t want to know the answer, voice thick and gruff.

“He told me he’d hurt me, humiliate me, and that I’d regret it. I thought he meant physically. Somehow, he knew killing my career would hurt me more than anything he could do to my body. So, that’s what he did.”

Jake nodded more emphatically, his gaze returning to my face. “That’s why you’re so concerned about your reputation at work.”

I nodded, deciding not to tell him about the texts. The photos and messages were too real a reminder of what I’d been through. “He took every opportunity to use the power he had to make sure people thought the worst of me. He shared my phone number and photo on some website for people looking for kinky sex. These guys kept harassing me, and I had to change my number. I’m pretty sure some of my students found out.” I rubbed my hands over my upper arms. “It was bad. He left campus a year later, but the damage was done. I was a joke . . . and I was always looking over my shoulder. It was like he was still controlling me without touching me.”

I locked eyes with Jake, and he nodded, urging me to continue, his fingers lacing with mine. I took a deep breath, pushing myself to say the thing I’d feared all those years, to show vulnerability. “When you look at me like that, I feel like you can see . . .” I gulped in a series of shallow breaths, glanced down at our hands, and then looked back to his face. “Like you can see everything, and . . . I’m ashamed.”