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I’m babbling.Get it together, Lori! Use one of Faye’s techniques.
I bite my lip like Faye said and do what I think is batting my eyelashes. Two birds with one stone, right? Pairing one technique with the other should make me even more irresistible.
He tilts his head as he studies my face. “Yeah . . . it was good.
We got a late lunch and . . .” He cuts himself off as his eyebrows draw together with concern. “Hey, do you have an eyelash in your eye or something? It must be painful if you’re biting your lip like that.”
I immediately stop batting my eyes and release my lip as I stare up at him with alarm.
Quick! Move on to the next one, Lori!
I laugh loudly, hoping I don’t sound like what Faye called a dying robot on crack. “You’re so funny!” I exclaim a bit too theatrically and move to play-shove his arm like I was instructed.
Somehow, I screw that up too and end up missing, making my hand slap his chest . . . hard. He winces, since I’m sure that didn’t feel good on his sunburn, but he doesn’t complain. I’m so shocked I don’t even move my hand away; I just leave it resting on his chest. It’s like every nerve in my body died of embarrassment, leaving me unable to function.
Now he’s looking down at me and I’m looking up at him.
We’re staring at each other and all the while my stupid hand is crossing all kinds of personal-space boundaries by remaining on his hard chest.
“How drunk are you?” he asks with a hint of amusement.
Great. I’m so terrible at flirting that the only explanation for my awkwardness is that I’m drunk. I’ve literally only had two sips of my vodka cran!
“Oh, no. I’m not drunk at all. Not a big drinker,” I answer quickly, feeling like I’m drowning and desperate to not embarrass myself even more. “Bet you can’t even smell the alcohol on my breath, see?”
And then I blow on him.
I mother-flippingblow on him.
I’m going to die. Right here on this spot. The ground could open and swallow me whole, and I’d still prefer it to being here.
He blinks twice, unsure of exactly what’s happening.
That’s it. Abort mission.Abort. Mission.
“Okay, cool.” I finally pull my hand from his chest and hitch my thumb over my shoulder. “I’m just gonna go over there and die now. See you.”
I pivot and hurry away before I can somehow make it worse.
As ifI could make it worse. He’s so out of my league, standing there all ruggedly handsome and genuinely nice, he makes me flustered. I should’ve just told him I was drunk—at least that way I could’ve blamed my awkwardness on the booze. He’ll never want to get near me again.
I’ve never been more embarrassed in my life, and Jenna McAndrews, though she denied it, once cut a hole in the back of my pants without my realizing, and I walked around all day with my underwear exposed until someone eventually told me.
I spot a girl in a purple bikini talking to a bunch of people poolside. Her long black braids sway as she laughs; her deep-brown skin is covered in dripping foam as one guy splashes her from the pool. She’s talking and smiling and flirting with ease—she even play-slaps one of their arms.
I scowl.That’swhat that’s supposed to look like. Not whatever sorry excuse I just pulled.
“Hey! Lori, wait!” a deep voice calls out.
The shivers down my spine tell me exactly whose voice that is, but I’m not sticking around to claim the “most awkward conversationalist” title.
When I don’t stop walking, he runs around me and stops, forcing me to face him.
I can see the girl with the purple bikini over his shoulder.
She flips her hair and leans into one boy, laughing as they talk.
“You’ve gotta stop running away from me,” he says, drawing my attention back to him.
