Jenna is trying to start over after a devastating divorce. Luckily, she has her sister, Jill, by her side. Here's an excerpt with Jenna and Jill ...
“He was flirting with you!”
Of course, I’d told Jill all about my run-in with the cute cop.
“No, he wasn’t. He was making fun of me.”
“That’s called flirting.”
Our waiter set our drinks down on the table between us. I’d opted for a glass of wine while Jill went with a colorful concoction with a suggestive name I couldn’t recall.
“Can I get you anything else?” he asked, directing his question only to my little sister.
She smiled up at him and, had he been a cartoon character, his heart would have burst right out of his chest and landed in her lap.
“No thanks,” she began, taking in his name tag before finishing, “Brandon. I think we’re good, but I’ll let you know.”
Brandon floated back to the bar and I raised my eyebrows at Jill. She fiddled with her straw and did a double take when she caught my look.
“That poor boy is going to have to walk around with a serving tray over his crotch the rest of the night. The least you could do is put your boobs away.”
She looked down at her low-cut top, which revealed generous amounts of cleavage. Jill always was a giver. “This is a perfectly appropriate outfit. We’re at a bar, not Sunday school. He’ll be fine.” She reapplied her lip gloss and smacked her lips together. “And, besides, this brings me back to my point.”
“You had a point?”
That earned me a scowl. “Flirting. You need to learn to do it, and you need to learn how to recognize it.”
I knew she was right. If my phenomenally awkward attempts with Erik and Kyle were any indication, I sucked at it. And I’d thought the cute officer was belittling me, which was the last thing I needed. I had a lot to learn, apparently. I groaned. “I’ve never had to flirt before.”
It was true. Mike had done all the wooing and flirting, and I’d bought it all, hook, line, and sinker. Before him, I’d been a bumbling teenager where flirting consisted of lip-biting, stuttering, and sloppy tongue kisses behind the gym. I hated to think that was the extent of my knowledge on the subject.
“It’s past time you learned. Chug that wine and we’ll practice.”
I looked at her, appalled. “First of all, you don’t chug wine. Second, you’re not allowed to flirt. You have a boyfriend.”
She waved me off. “Hank doesn’t care. He knows I flirt. I can’t help it,” she claimed, as if flirting were akin to Tourette’s syndrome.
I sipped my wine at a respectable pace while Jill scanned the bar. “Ooh. How about him?” she gestured with her chin toward some vague spot behind me.
I whirled around and did my own scan. “Which one?”
“No!” Jill whisper-yelled through clenched teeth. “Stop doing that! Jenna, have you ever heard of subtlety?”
I realized she was probably right, so I dutifully faced her again. “Sorry.”
She rolled her eyes at me. “Pretend to get something out of your purse, and while you’re turned around, sneak a glance at the guy with the black t-shirt. He’ll be at your two o’clock.”
This was beginning to feel like military reconnaissance, but what did I know?
Copyright 2018 Sylvie Stewart