Baby face… Great!My mouth tightens. My round face, dimples, and button nose may have been adorable as a kid, but it doesn’t help with the seductress vibe I’m going for.
“And here I thought Calloway over there was living up to his roguish reputation and robbing the coed cradle with you. You’re quite pretty, Jensen,” she says.
“Uh…thanks…” I shift in my seat.
Like any woman, I’m ripe for self-doubt about my looks. My physique is definitely on the plump side. I use a lot of product to smooth down my thick brown hair which frizzes at the mere mention of humidity. The only thing I’m ever confident about is my shoes and, ironically, my hazel eyes. They may not work well, but they are the only part of my body prone to compliments.
“Jenny doesn’t lookthatyoung.” Miles chuckles. “We’re also just friends.”
Gut-punch.While I am very much aware of that fact, it still stings. In those two words—just friends—all the hope spurred by the sexual tension between us tonight evaporates. How quickly the delusional tumble back to reality.
“Which of you turncoats will buy me a drink for deserting me at the mixer?” Kayla asks.
“I got it. Take my seat.” Miles slips out of the chair beside me.
And just likethat, the last flicker of hope is extinguished. Kayla replaces Miles beside me, shifting the last flirty hour to a few minutes of get-to-know-you chattering. The Austen scholar is a visiting professor from Oxford. Unlike Miles who moved here with his American mother and English father at sixteen, Kayla grew up outside of London.
After a brief exchange about how she’s finding California versus the UK, I settle back into polite smiles and nods as they volley between various literary debates and complaints about colleagues. It’s not at all how I saw the night going. I should be home, drifting asleep to an audiobook. Instead, I ditched my brother and Garrett for a chance to flirt with Miles, only to just sit here while he chats with someone else.
Stupid Garrett.This ishisfault. If he’d not been himself, I’d be home now.
Would I?I nibble on my lower lip. How many times have I lingered behind at happy hours with Catherine for the chance to talk to Miles?God, he’s right. I am pathetic.
“I’m going to go to the restroom,” I say, sliding off the seat and unfolding my white cane.
“Shall I join you and we gossip about this gaggle of literary miscreants who think Henry James is superior to Charlotte Brontë?” Kayla coos.
I bat the air. “I’m good. Thanks, though.” With a nod, I head toward the restroom.
It’s sweet for her to offer. Kayla seems nice and is the only one who’s at least attempted to include me in their English department crossfire conversation. Right now, I just need a little respite from it. Peopling while blind can be a lot at times.
The louder the bar gets, the more difficult interactions are for me. It’s hard to follow the conversations and know when to jump in and when not. Twice I’ve answered questions that weren’t meant for me, or remained silent until someone said my name after a question came with a long pause because I didn’t know they were addressing me.
It’s easier when I’m with people who know to say my name when they’re addressing me in large group settings. I should mention it, but besides Miles, I don’t really know these people. Explaining blind person etiquette with each interaction is daunting. Not to mention it sometimes leads to people just not engaging at all.
They don’t know what they don’t know.I can hear my father’s warm voice in my head. So much of my life is spent in situations where I either teach people how to interact with me or miss out. For the last hour, I’ve played spectator to my life versus participant. I have two choices: I can leave or go backout there—reallygo back out there. Jump into the fray of their conversations and tell them, “Hey, can you say my name when you’re addressing me, so I can follow the conversation?”
Not to mention, I had intentions for tonight. Miles may be distracted by his other colleagues—mostly Kayla—but I can get us back on our flirty path.I hope…It makes sense. She’s charming, witty, and radiates a confidence I could only dream of.
“Stop dreaming, start living.” I stare at my fuzzy image in the bathroom mirror. “You can do this. You’re not pathetic. You’re whatever the opposite of pathetic is.” I wiggle my hips just a bit to pump myself up.
Grabbing my cane, I head back to the table. Determination builds with each step.
“Hey,” I say, returning to the now quiet table.
“Hey. I was just about to head out, but wanted to make sure you knew,” Edward says.
“O—kay.” I lift one brow.
“Since Kayla and Miles headed out while you were in the restroom to make a ten o’clock start time for that darts tourney at the pub down the street, he asked me to let you know and see you home.”
“They left? Together?” My heart sinks.
“Yeah…”
My entire body audibly sighs at that. No doubt my posture resembles a deflated balloon. So much for his “I’ve got her” that he promised Garrett and Anker earlier. Not that I need an escort home. I take the bus all the time. It’s just… I’m just disappointed.
Edward shuffles and coughs. “Should I pull my car around or…”
