How to Fail at Flirting(70)

The pain was recognizable in his eyes and the way the muscle in his jaw ticked. “Your whole life?” His voice was shaky, and his shoulders, normally so square, slumped forward. “Aren’t I part of your life, Nay?”

I held his stare, and I knew he was flashing back to his wife cheating. Guilt and shame mixed with my anger and worry. I needed to protect him and to protect myself. “We started out as just sex. We should have left it there. Temporary.”

“We had a connection from the first time we met, and you know it. Did you hear me just tell you I’m in love with you? You’re all I fucking think about. I love you, and I know you care about me, too. Why are you doing this?”

I held myself rigid, afraid as soon as I moved, I would break.

When I didn’t respond, his body tensed. “I don’t think this is about work at all. This is you getting scared and running away. It’s what you do.” His voice flattened, and his words were sharp and bitter. “You did it the first night we met. Every real thing I know about you I’ve had to pry from your tight hold. And I let you hold me emotionally at arm’s length, because I knew you were worth it, figured someday you’d really trust me, and I thought we’d gotten there. When does it stop, Naya?”

I squeezed my eyes shut again, trying to block everything out and keep myself in this moment. My heart pounded, and my mind spun. Jake’s accusations, Davis’s threats, the idea of packing up my cluttered little office. All the worry expanded, pushing everything else out of my head. “I can’t do this. I’m sorry. I’m sorry, but it’s not worth the risks.” I walked into my bedroom, closing the door behind me and flipping the lock before the tears came.

“What does that mean?” Jake asked from the other side of the door. “Naya, what does that mean?” He banged on the door repeatedly, frantically, but I didn’t answer.

I couldn’t face him. Eventually, he stopped knocking, though I could hear him sitting on the other side of the wood.

Hours later, closer to a croak than anything else, his voice came from the hallway. “I’ll go. I’ll give you space. Will you lock the door behind me?”

I leaned my forehead against the door inside my bedroom and said, “Yes.”

    Jake: I’m at the Marriott. Please call me.

Jake: I’m sorry I lost my cool—can we talk?

Jake: I love you. I need you.

Jake: We can figure this out.

Jake: Dammit, will you respond?

Jake: I’m going out of my mind. It’s been four days. Talk to me.

Jake: Please?





Thirty-seven





When I needed someone to take my side, I could always count on Felicia, no matter what. She was my “ride or die.” But when I needed a voice of reason who wouldn’t hesitate to disagree with me, Aaron was my man. That’s how I found myself, a week after my fight with Jake, sitting on the floor of their living room with Chinese takeout.

I’d texted Aaron and said I was on my way over with beef and broccoli and egg rolls. I offered to keep him company while Felicia and the kids were at her dad’s place in Florida for the week, but I knew he saw through my ruse. He initially eyed my hair, piled in a messy ponytail, and my paint-stained sweatpants without comment, but it didn’t take long for him to ask.

“So, what’s going on? Or did you get dressed up to hang out with me?” He sipped from his bottle of beer, eyebrows raised.

“I’m sorry my clothes don’t meet your high standards.”

Aaron wore his usual, jeans and a T-shirt. The shirts spanned decades—tonight, it was one from college I knew Felicia had been attempting to throw away for years. “I never care what you wear . . . but you usually do.” He set down his drink. “Seriously, what’s going on? Is it work? That guy? Felicia told me you had a fight.” He let the heavy silence push me to talk.

I launched into the story, telling him about the president’s committee, and Davis’s texts, and my fight with Jake. When I was finished, I dropped my head into my hands.

When I looked up, Aaron’s expression was concerned, his words measured. “Davis has been texting you?”

Shit. I hadn’t meant to reveal that. “I don’t want to talk about the texts. Fel doesn’t know that part yet.” I eyed Aaron’s doubtful expression.

“What has he been sending you?”

“I’ll deal with it, I just . . . I can’t right now, Aaron.”

“Nay . . .” He set his bottle aside and leaned forward. “Is he threatening you? Do you need the police? Please don’t shut us out again.”

“Seriously, it’s fine. It’s not a big deal. Please drop it.”

“Okay. For now.” He sighed after a beat. “But I don’t like it.” He set his beer aside and shoveled a forkful of fried rice into his mouth and chewed. “So, you’ve just been ignoring your boyfriend?”

I nodded, gazing at my feet. “I don’t think he’s my boyfriend anymore.” He hadn’t messaged me in a couple days. I couldn’t blame him. How long had I expected him to keep trying to reach me when I didn’t respond?

Aaron stayed quiet but was nodding again, his lips pursed.

“Am I being unreasonable?”