About That Fling (8 page)

Two hours later, Jenna sat at the dining room table with her own laptop and a glass of Chianti. Mia had insisted she take a whole bottle home
—“I can’t drink it anyway, so it’s your job as my friend to polish it off”
—so Jenna was doing her best to be a good friend.

Gertie had dozed off after half a glass of champagne and a full hour of hearing every detail of Mia’s wedding reception. She’d sat with rapt attention through the stories of canapés and Mia’s rude cousins, but she’d really perked up when Jenna got to the part about being stuck on the roof.

“It’s a good thing the young man was there with the know-how to tackle that wine stain,” Gert had said, her eyes fixed on Jenna’s.

Jenna had nodded, hoping Gert didn’t see the heat creeping into her cheeks. “Good thing.”

“Do you want me to take a look at the dress? Salt only goes so far, after all.”

“I already dropped it off at the cleaners. Why don’t you get some rest, okay?”

“I’m just too excited to rest.” Gert beamed, then seemed to remember something as she fingered the lei around her neck. “About Mia’s reception. I’m excited about Mia’s reception, of course.”

“I know,” Jenna said, resting a hand on Gert’s arm. “I’m excited, too.”

It was the closest they’d come to talking about Gert’s literary achievement.

Now, as Jenna sat looking at her laptop screen, she wished she’d been able to properly congratulate her aunt. She’d known the bestseller thing was a big deal, but until she started researching, she hadn’t realized how big. Not only did it likely mean some bigger royalty checks for G.G. Buckingham, it was a feather in Gert’s proverbial author cap. Something that meant she was more than just a little old lady tapping out flowery romance novels in her spare time.

Not that Gert’s novels were flowery. True, Jenna had never read one, but she suspected G.G. Buckingham’s
Panty Dropper
series ran closer to
50 Shades of Grey
than
Pride and Prejudice
.

Well, maybe she’d send Gert some flowers. Anonymously, of course. She could spring for a gift certificate to Massage Envy and convince Gert it was a bonus she got from work that she wouldn’t have time to use. That was something, right?

Jenna clicked off the
New York Times
page and scrolled over to her Facebook icon, hungry for a little mindless browsing.

She took a sip of wine and clicked “Like” on a video about a kleptomaniac cat. She moved her cursor down the page, rolling her eyes over a distant cousin’s latest political rant. A few slots down, one of Mia’s sisters had posted shots from the reception, several of which made Mia look like a red-eyed walrus. Intentional, no doubt, but at least Facebook-phobic Mia wasn’t likely to see them.

Jenna scrolled a little further, smiling at a puppy meme, then at a photo posted by an old college friend honeymooning in Belize. Wasn’t that where Mia and Adam had honeymooned? She thought she remembered a story Mia told about Adam getting belligerent with a street vendor who tried to overcharge them.

“Honestly, it was only five dollars,” Mia had told her with a sigh. “It probably meant more to the guy than it did to us. That should have been a warning sign right there, if my new husband wanted to bicker about pocket change instead of gaze at the sunset with me.”

Jenna frowned and kept scrolling, not wanting to go too far down that path. How weird was it that she knew details about her lover’s honeymoon with another woman? Details he probably never imagined she knew?

He’s not your lover, and it’s none of your business.

Right. How well did she even know him, anyway? She frowned, then clicked her mouse in the search window. She hesitated. Then typed his name.

Adam Thomas.

A shiver snaked up her arms, and Jenna wasn’t sure if it was guilt or intrigue. But really, what was the harm in a little Facebook stalking?

It took her a few tries to find the right one. Adam Thomas in Germany had an unfortunate overbite and a BMW he liked to pose beside while wearing a red leather jacket. Adam Thomas in Iowa appeared to be in the middle of gender reassignment surgery.

Finally, she found him. Adam Thomas from Chicago. No mutual friends, of course. Though Mia had a Facebook account, she rarely checked it, and had obviously unfriended her ex years ago. Or was it the other way around? What was the Facebook etiquette with divorce, anyway? Did you unfriend each other instantly, or only if the split was contentious? Did you divvy up friends the way you divvied up furniture and silverware, or did everyone try to keep up the pretense of staying chummy instead of picking sides?

Oddly enough, she hadn’t needed to deal with that when she and Sean had split up. Though her ex-fiancé lived life with his smartphone glued to his palm, he’d avoided Facebook like the plague.

“Social media is a waste of time,” he’d declared, barely glancing up from his game of Angry Birds to key in the stock trade he needed to complete during a romantic brunch.

God, she didn’t miss that.

Jenna studied Adam Thomas’s Facebook page, a rush of intrigue making her skin prickle. She clicked the file for his photos, surprised his privacy settings allowed it. Jenna kept hers locked down tight. No one could see anything unless she’d specifically friended them, not even her photos. But Adam Thomas was practically an open book. True, there were probably things she couldn’t see without being his Facebook friend, but she was surprised at how much was wide-open for perusal by a total stranger.

You slept with the man. You’re hardly a total stranger.

She took another sip of wine, feeling like a stalker as she scrolled through his photos. There was a shot of him in a suit at a conference. Not something he’d posted himself, so someone else must’ve tagged him. Another more personal shot of him fly-fishing. Another image from that series showed him shirtless on a riverbank, and Jenna shivered, remembering the feel of that chest beneath her fingertips, the smooth plane of his abdomen, and the springiness of his chest hair under her palms.

Stop it,
she ordered herself
.
Get off this page and go click on some cat videos.

But she didn’t stop. She kept scrolling, hoarding tidbits of information the way a squirrel gathers nuts to stash in a tree. Adam enjoyed cooking. Had Mia ever mentioned that? She’d complained her ex hadn’t helped much around the house, but this Adam had an entire folder of photos featuring meals he’d learned to make in a cooking class the previous spring. He’d also done a triathlon the summer before, and Jenna squirmed a little at the sight of that physique showcased in a neoprene wetsuit. Damn, the man looked fine.

She kept scrolling, smiling at the HeartMath quote he’d posted several weeks ago about the importance of not living your life for someone else. It was one of her favorites. Jenna took the last sip of wine and set down her empty glass, eyes still glued to the screen.

“Jenna?”

She jumped, feeling like a schoolgirl caught reading a dirty book under the covers. Then she remembered Aunt Gert wrote dirtier books than anything she’d ever smuggled beneath the bedsheets.

“You need something, Gertie?” she called, scrambling up from the table with a hasty glance back at a photo of Adam holding a friend’s new baby.

“If it’s not too much trouble, sweetheart, could you bring me my crochet basket from the living room? I left it right next to the davenport.”

“Sure thing. Sit tight.”

She reached over to put the laptop in sleep mode, but knocked her empty wineglass onto the keyboard instead. She righted the glass and hurried to the living room where she snatched up Gert’s basket of yarn and crochet needles. She hustled down the hall and rounded the corner into Gert’s room.

“Here you go, Aunt Gertie. Can I get you anything else? Chamomile tea? Another pillow?”

“I’m fine, dear, really. A little weak, but I’m feeling much better.”

“Want to watch another
Sex and the City
marathon on Netflix?”

“Maybe later, dear,” Gert said, burrowing her spindly fingers into a sea of blue and green yarn. “Right now I’d love to work on those baby hats for the hospital birthing center. I promised them two more next week.”

Jenna brushed a shock of white hair off Aunt Gertie’s forehead, checking the old woman’s temperature just to be safe. No fever, but she did look a little flushed. “I’m sure they’d understand if you were a little behind, Gert. You need your rest.”

“I’ve been resting all day. It’s just food poisoning, sweetheart, I’m fine. I promise I’ll stop if I feel too tired.”

“Okay,” Jenna said, dropping a kiss on the old woman’s head. “Yell if you need anything.”

She turned and headed back down the hall, reminding herself to check on her aunt again in a few minutes. It wouldn’t do to have Gert nod off with a crochet needle in her hand and poke herself in the eye.

Dropping into her seat at the kitchen table, Jenna stroked a fingertip over the trackpad on her laptop. The screen flickered to life, revealing a pop-up message.

Friend request sent.

“What?”

She fumbled for the keyboard, panic making a rocky lump in her throat. She stroked the trackpad again, frantic now. She was still on Adam Thomas’s Facebook page.

“Holy hell!”

“What’s that, dear?”

“Nothing, Gertie. Everything’s fine.”

Shit, shit, shit. Would he receive an instant notification of the friend request, or could she make it go away before he noticed? What if Mia checked Facebook to see if anyone posted wedding photos and saw Jenna had friended her ex? Was that how Facebook worked? What the hell determined the things that showed up in newsfeeds? Jenna tried to recall details from a social media workshop given by the hospital’s marketing director, but she honestly couldn’t remember.

She mouse-clicked frantically around the page until she found what she was looking for.

Cancel friend request.

She clicked the words, then clicked to confirm. There, that should work. Jenna bit her lip. Wait, would Adam get a notification that she’d rescinded her friend request? Would other people see that in their timeline?

Dammit. Dammit, dammit,
dammit.

If she’d already friended him in the first place, maybe the damage was done. Unfriending him might make things worse. Besides, she could see his full profile if she friended him, right?

She clicked the button again.

Friend request sent.

Shit, no. That was stupid. He had to accept the friend request first, didn’t he? Why hadn’t Jenna paid more attention to how Facebook worked?

She hovered her cursor over the
Cancel friend request
command, casting a furious glance at her damn empty wineglass. That was the problem, really. An empty wineglass was at the root of most of her mistakes so far with Adam. Or maybe a full wineglass. Hell, maybe she should swear off wine altogether.

Cancel friend request
.

Dammit, she hadn’t meant to hit the button. Or hell, maybe she had. Adam would probably know, what with all his Freudian training and knowledge of the inner-workings of the subconscious.

She thought about what Aunt Gertie would do in this situation. Or what about a woman determined to embrace her inner sex goddess? Jenna bit her lip.

Friend request sent.

Dammit. She should just cancel the request, wash out her wineglass, and go to bed. Or maybe she should fill up the kitchen sink and drown herself in it.

An alert dinged on her laptop, and a little dialogue bubble popped up on the bottom right side of her screen.

Adam Thomas: Made up your mind yet?

C
hapte
r
S
ix

Adam stared at the dialogue bubble for a few beats, wondering what Jenna was up to. He’d been mindlessly browsing Facebook for funny memes and photos of a buddy’s Yosemite climbing trip when the notification popped up that he had a friend request from Jenna.

Okay, that wasn’t entirely true.

The friend notification thing was true, but he hadn’t just been looking at quotes and pictures. He’d started out that way, but he’d found himself drawn by the temptation to steal a glance at his ex-wife’s page. He didn’t do it often. Hell, the last time was probably two years ago, and he’d clicked away feeling dirty and a little nauseated the instant her profile photo flashed up on his screen.

Besides, it wasn’t like she posted more than a few times a year. No point going there, not even out of morbid curiosity.

But something drew him to Mia’s page tonight. Maybe it was the forced proximity of working together, or the knowledge she’d gotten married and pregnant, though not necessarily in that order. Before he knew it, he was sitting there in his boxer shorts in a dark hotel room, skimming his ex’s Facebook page like some kind of creeper.

He hadn’t been Facebook friends with her for years, though he honestly couldn’t recall who’d pulled the unfriend trigger first. Maybe he had, the same day he’d changed his status from “married” to “single.”

Even so, he could see a few photos on her page, and several scattered posts other people had left on her wall.

Those were the ones that left a funny feeling in his gut.

“I heard the news from Jamie. Congrats, babe! Wishing you all the happiness in the world!”

That was a message for Mia from the wife of one of Adam’s old college buddies. Apparently she and Mia had remained Facebook friends. And why wouldn’t they? It’s not like a judge signed divorce papers and instantly reassigned all Facebook friends to their rightful owners. Besides, it was obvious neither woman spent much time on Facebook. Mia probably hadn’t seen the message at all.

“So happy for you! You deserve the best!”

Those words came from one of Mia’s high school classmates. She’d been a bridesmaid when Adam and Mia wed, clad in a frilly lavender dress and clutching a bouquet of daisies.

Adam stared at the words again, his fingers twitchy on the edge of his hotel pillow.
You deserve the best.

Was she suggesting that’s not what Mia got the first time?

“Dude,” he said out loud, shaking his head at his own stupidity. “You’re being a dumbass. It’s got nothing to do with you.”

True enough. See, this was why cyber-stalking an ex was an idiotic idea. Lesson learned. Again.

He was just about to shut down Facebook entirely when the friend notification popped up. He had half a second of panic thinking it was Mia—that she’d figured out somehow he was snooping on her page.

He clicked on the little head and shoulders icon with a twinge of dread.

Friend request: Jenna McArthur.

A shiver of excitement ran through him, followed by a moment of confusion.

Really? That seemed odd. Jenna had been adamant about keeping their personal involvement a secret. Or hell, killing their personal involvement altogether. She was the one who insisted things needed to stay professional between them, right?

Then again, she was the one who kissed him in the porn booth. And on the roof. Kissed him hard and deep and with a passion that contradicted her insistence there was nothing between them but a professional tie.

Like hell,
Adam thought, and hovered his cursor over the window showing Jenna’s friend request.

Confirm?

What did it mean that she’d sent him a friend request? Was it an olive branch of some sort, or a mistake?

“You’re a fucking idiot,” he told himself. “What is this, an after-school special on social media relationships?”

He clicked the damn icon.

Sorry, this request is no longer valid.

Adam frowned at the monitor. What the hell? He typed her name into the search window and spent a few moments locating the right Jenna McArthur. Her profile was locked down tight. He could see her name and profile picture, but everything was privacy protected to the max.

That figured.

He was ready to shut down again when another notification popped up. He clicked the icon.

Friend request: Jenna McArthur.

What the hell?

He clicked the
Confirm
button to accept.

Sorry, this request is no longer valid.

Adam shook his head, not sure whether to be amused or annoyed. It was possible she’d been hacked, or that someone else was messing around on her computer.

He watched as the friend request icon lit up again and clicked
Confirm
as fast as he could.

Friendship established, he clicked the icon to send her a direct message.

Have you made up your mind yet?

He wasn’t sure if she’d see the message or if it would get routed into an invisible folder. That might be the case if she’d already unfriended him. What were the Facebook rules there?

He waited a few minutes, wondering whether he’d spooked her or if she hadn’t seen the message at all. Maybe this was some sort of weird computer glitch. Maybe it was a trick.

Maybe he’d been watching too much television.

He watched the little pop-up window, feeling disturbingly like a preteen girl passing notes in class and wondering if her crush would reply or not.

The little ellipsis popped up in the dialogue bubble, indicating she was typing a reply. A prickle of anticipation traveled up Adam’s arms, and he sat waiting, watching the screen. And waiting. And waiting some more.

Christ, was she writing an essay?

Jenna McArthur: Sorry about that. My wineglass fell on the keyboard.

Adam stared at her message, more curious than he’d been a few minutes ago.

Adam Thomas: Repeatedly? On the same key?

Jenna McArthur: Apparently I should switch from stemware to sippy cups.

He smiled, appreciating the wisecrack even if she hadn’t addressed the question. He hesitated a moment, then typed a reply.

Adam Thomas: Did you get the stain out of the dress? Incidentally, this is the same message Bill Clinton would have sent Monica Lewinsky if Facebook had been around in 1996.

He wondered if he’d made her laugh, and hoped he hadn’t crossed some line in the sand. Seconds later, he had her reply.

Jenna McArthur: Unlike Ms. Lewinsky, I had the good sense to visit the drycleaner on my way home. If our Facebook accounts are ever subpoenaed, this exchange will look highly incriminating.

Adam Thomas: You spies are always thinking ahead. Shall I come over with a blowtorch so we can destroy our laptops together?

Jenna McArthur: Won’t matter. Everything lives in infamy in cyberspace. Maybe you can dismantle the Internet. Was Internet hacking one of your specialized gigolo skills?

He smiled. Hesitated. Put his hands on the keyboard again.

Adam Thomas: Well, if we’re busted anyway, let’s make the most of it. What are you wearing?

The pause dragged out, and Adam kicked himself for going there. The ellipsis popped up to indicate she was typing a response, and Adam braced himself to be shut down.

Jenna McArthur: Very funny. Did you just try to sext me?

Adam Thomas: Is it still called sexting when it’s a Facebook PM?

Jenna McArthur: Does it still count when you use a phone sex pickup line in a typed message?

Adam Thomas: I’ll consult my official guide to social media sex. Please hold.

He was contemplating his next message when a reply popped up.

Jenna McArthur: Since you asked, I’m wearing your ex-wife’s dress. Because clearly, this whole thing wasn’t creepy enough.

Adam winced. He wasn’t sure how to respond to that. Cracking a joke about his ex-wife’s hygiene would be tasteless, not to mention making Jenna feel defensive of her friend. Playing it cool might be the right approach, but that wasn’t really Adam’s style.

He settled for honesty.

Adam Thomas: Er, sorry about that?

Jenna McArthur: Don’t be. It’s not your fault that I’m sitting here wondering if you’ve ever removed this garment from my best friend. Hey, I was wrong! This can get creepier.

She’d ended the message with a smiley, but Adam grimaced anyway. Was she upset? He didn’t think so, but it was so damn hard to read someone’s tone in writing. This is why normal people dated in person. Normal people who weren’t hiding their connection from ex-wives and professional colleagues.

Adam was still considering his reply when her next message popped up.

Jenna McArthur: Problem solved. I took off the dress.

Holy shit.

Well, that was one way to do it. Was she joking or serious? He honestly couldn’t tell.

Adam Thomas: So you’re sitting there in your underwear?

Jenna McArthur: What makes you think I’m wearing underwear?

Okay, she was definitely being flirty. She’d mentioned an empty wineglass, so maybe that was it. Or maybe the elusive aunt had given her another pep talk. Whatever the case, he couldn’t stop his brain from forming a vivid picture. Had she really taken off the dress? Was she sitting in bed like him, stripped down to nothing? Or was she parked at a desk in a home office still fully clad and laughing at her own joke?

Adam Thomas: So now we’re both in our underwear and I’m in bed. Didn’t we pledge not to end up here again?

Jenna McArthur: POIDH.

Adam Thomas: What?

Jenna McArthur: Clearly, you’re not hip to the cybersex lingo, Mr. Thomas.

Adam Thomas: Clearly, hip people don’t use words like
hip
and
lingo.

Jenna McArthur: LOL! POIDH = Pics or It Didn’t Happen.

Adam laughed out loud. She was definitely flirting, no question about it. If he didn’t have written evidence, he might never have believed it. He thought about brushing off the request, but what the hell? Photos of average-looking thirty-something guys in boxer shorts weren’t exactly scandalous viral Internet content.

He clicked on Photo Booth, then fired off a couple shots. One turned out blurry, but one wasn’t a half-bad image of him sitting shirtless in blue plaid boxers with his reading glasses slightly askew. He clicked the button to attach the image, then waited.

Jenna McArthur: HOLY SHIT!!!!!

Adam frowned, not sure how to read that response. He didn’t have to wait long.

Jenna McArthur: Christ, I was kidding, but oh my God. How is it possible for someone to look that hot lounging in bed on a random Saturday night?

Adam smiled. At least she wasn’t annoyed, or worse, offended. He decided to push his luck.

Adam Thomas: Your turn.

Jenna McArthur: No way. I’m a woman. I know better than to send sexy photos to strange men on the Internet. Besides, I wasn’t kidding about wearing your ex-wife’s dress, but I was kidding about taking it off. Still wearing the damn thing. Does that weird you out?

He hesitated, sensing a distinct shift from flirtation to something much more serious. He went for honesty again.

Adam Thomas: You mean does it weird me out that you swap clothing with my ex-wife, or does it weird me out that you’re still fully dressed? Yes to the first question. No to the second.

Jenna McArthur: It’s a yellow silk sheath dress with an asymmetrical hemline and contrast stitching beneath the bust. Familiar?

Adam frowned. Was she asking if she was wearing a garment he’d ever removed from his ex? He wasn’t sure if this was a joke or not, but it definitely wasn’t flirtation. He could understand why the whole thing might feel odd to her. It wasn’t jealousy, precisely, but something else. It was one thing to know a partner had lovers before you. It was quite another to don her clothing.

Adam Thomas: I understood “yellow,” “dress,” and “bust.” Beyond that, you’ve lost me in the fashion nuances.

Jenna McArthur: You’d make a terrible cross-dresser.

Adam Thomas: I’ll mark that off my list of professional ambitions.

He stared at the screen a moment, not sure whether to keep the conversation going in this direction or to try to shift things back to humorous flirtation. What did she want?

Jenna McArthur: I’m sorry about this afternoon. About kissing you on the roof.

Adam Thomas: You can kiss me on the veranda anytime. Though maybe the lips would be better.

Jenna McArthur: LOL.
The Three Amigos,
right?

Adam Thomas: Yep. And don’t worry about it. The kiss was perfectly tolerable. Maybe a little less tongue than I might have liked, but I’m not in a position to be picky.