Page 18 of Unsteady: How to Fail at Flirting
I hand her the discarded hard hat and safety glasses and stand close to her as I show her how to line up the board and control the saw.
I’m grateful for the noise. It drowns out the thousand questions in my head that she’s not going to answer today.
Nine
Skylar
I wake to the face of a black cat on my stomach, who doesn’t care about my sore muscles.
“You want food,” I say to the purring monster, rolling up into a sitting position.
Nirvana hops off the bed and chirps at me until I shuffle from my tiny bedroom into the hallway and finally into the kitchen to open a fresh can of pâté. This is the only time of day he’s not aloof with me.
I took him after he showed up on my porch one day during a freak ice storm. The power was out for days, and we kept each other warm. Once the power was on and he realized I was going to feed him regularly no matter what, he was less cuddly. He’s the embodiment of “Oh well, whatever, never mind,” hence the name.
As I watch Nirvana eat his food, I wait for my coffee to brew and think my thoughts.
Finn put me through my paces yesterday. After that unexpected makeout session, he was all business.
He picked up on how my energy shifted, too. When he said “fucking mine,” I felt that thing I’m not supposed to feel. My mind knows how to differentiate between flirting and real feelings. I always keep it light, fun, and frothy.
But possessive dirty talk blurs the lines. When Finn said “fucking mine,” a wave of safety washed over me. Closeness. Attachment.
Well, Skylar Morris doesn’t get attached. I don’t date. What I do is flirt with whoever I choose, and if something fun happens, it happens. And I get on with my life. I don’t fall into relationships.
The aroma of fresh coffee fills the room, giving me another thought.
God, I’m such an idiot that I didn’t see it.
Clearly, Finn had a moment of clarity and realized we shouldn’t be acting that way on the job site. I threw myself at him, creating a hazardous work environment, when he’s just ending three weeks of hell because of an accident with his workers.
What was I thinking? That’s just the problem. I wasn’t. Finn is another one of those deep thinkers. And I’m not. All the more reason to be careful with this man. One of us is going to get hurt if we don’t keep things professional and emotionally surface-level.
I pour my coffee, happy to have an explanation for Finn’s shift in tone yesterday.
Because I’ve never encountered a man who turned down an opportunity for a quick handy, and it wasn’t because he suddenly wasn’t into me. The way my boobs got three tiny hickeys makes that pretty clear.
No, I clearly rattled him, I think as I take the first sip of coffee. Finn is a professional, and I need to respect that.
Just then, I receive a text from Finn.
Finn
We have to get some actual work done today. No flirting, OK?
So bossy, he is.
I reply:
Then I suggest you not wear that slutty tool belt, sir.
Honestly, if he doesn’t want the consummate flirt to show up today, I shouldn’t be there at all.
By all rights, I should be frolicking in the flowers today. It’s May third, and today, I turn 30.
Instead, I’m hot and bothered in my kitchen. I lean over the sink and open a window to let in the cold morning air.
Nirvana finishes his breakfast and winds around my legs. He does one, two, three figure eights, then lets me pet him for exactly eleven seconds. He nips at my fingers and skulks away to his bed at the living room window.
