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How to Fail at Flirting(69)

Author:Denise Williams

“Naya,” I said quickly, trying to infuse confidence into my voice. “I’m visiting from Chicago.”

Jake’s posture was casual, but his entire body tensed. “My girlfriend, Gretch.”

Her brows lifted, surprise curling her expression. “You’re the woman from the hotel, aren’t you?”

I stammered inside my head, trying to think of how to answer. Why, yes. I’m the one you heard screaming through the walls while your soon-to-be-ex-husband repeatedly went to town on me.

“I see. How nice. Well, then, I’ll leave you to your . . .” She paused, her gaze slipping back to Jake’s hand on my shoulder, which tightened. “Breakfast.”

She spoke again before I could think of something to interject. “We’ll have dinner soon, Jacob. See you at the office, Eric.” She waved and turned on her heel. “It was nice to meet you, Nora.”

What the hell just happened?

The table was silent as Gretchen walked away. Tyson’s expression darkened, Eric rolled his eyes, and Jake took a long sip from his water glass muttering something incoherent under his breath.

“Well,” Eric said with a heavy exhale in my direction. “Now you’ve met Gretchen.”

“She seems . . .” I tried to think of the right words, glancing up at Jake, whose expression gave nothing away. Turns out I didn’t have to.

“Like a self-important nightmare,” Tyson finished.

I cracked a small smile. Yeah. As much as I avoided demeaning other women, that fit.

“Change of subject,” Eric demanded, then asked, “What do you do, Naya? Jake said something about teaching?”

Tyson’s gaze moved back to me, not interrogating, but I still felt he was cautiously gathering information, like a protective older brother. No wonder, if that woman was Jake’s ex.

“I’m a professor; I specialize in math education, particularly how technology can enhance math education for students whose first language isn’t English. What about you?”

Tyson’s face instantly softened, and his eyes brightened. “I’m a teacher—”

Eric cut him off. “His fourth graders love him.”

Jake looked down at me. “Your big research project is with fourth graders, isn’t it?” It almost felt like Jake was bragging about my work, and it warmed me through and through. “You’d be into the project, Tys. Tell them about it, Naya.” He and Eric listened intently as Tyson and I talked about teaching and learning math, and I felt more at home at this table by the minute.

“How long are you in town? Has it been very hard living so far apart?” Eric asked, plucking a piece of fruit from his plate, his sensible egg white omelet already decimated.

My order of chicken and waffles was less sensible, but delicious. I was stuffed.

“I’m leaving early on Monday morning. Quick trip,” I responded, ignoring his question about long-distance relationships.

“We’re going to the office so I can give her the grand tour,” Jake added.

“The woman flies across the country to see you and you take her to work?” Eric gave Jake a deadpan expression, and Tyson raised an eyebrow.

I’d wanted to see his office and where he spent so much of his time. Like me, Jake had shared that his office often felt like home. We’d Skyped several times when he was working late, and I’d entertained myself with more than one fantasy about pushing the neatly stacked folders off his big desk and taking a break from work together. “All my idea,” I chimed in.

“If that’s true, you may have found your perfect woman,” Eric mused.

Thirty-two

Like it did almost every night, the tone warbled to indicate our video call was connecting, and Jake’s face flashed across my screen.

“Hey, you.”

I stretched out on my couch with my laptop on my knees, and my heart did a funny dance at the sound of his voice. “Where are you tonight?”

Jake traveled so often, I usually didn’t know where he was on a given day. I wondered how people had families with jobs like his. I bet he would be one of those dads who returned from every trip with something for the kids and me. Whoa, where am I going with this?

“Have you ever been to Tempe?” He sounded tired, and his white dress shirt was rumpled.

“I can’t say I have. Tell me about Tempe.”

“It’s hot,” he sighed. “I arrived this morning to meet with a prospective client, and it was over a hundred degrees already.” He sat back on the bed in his hotel room, loosening a sage green tie and undoing his top buttons, his hands scraping the five-o’clock shadow covering his jaw.

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