Pick up lines have never been my thing. Pick up anything has never been my thing. Truth be told, I’m lousy at the whole flirting thing.
Oh sure, I can talk a good game. I write books filled with the cutest meets you’ve ever read. In private, surrounded by nothing but friends I can talk about hot guys like they were personal trophies. But out in public, it’s a different story.
Most of the Pens already know this, but I can’t even look attractive men in the eye. Nope, can’t do it. And the more attractive I find them, the worse it gets.
I don’t mean that the only people I talk to all day are hideous troll creatures hiding under bridges. There’s lots of handsome men I talk to all day long. Hotness, that undefinable quality that makes you feel pulled toward another person, seems to be the thing that makes me stare at my toes.
It’s because I show everything on my face. The second I feel that little flip in my tummy my face starts to burn as bright as a lantern. I grin. I giggle, for crying out loud. I do all the things that a reasonable adult woman shouldn’t do when faced with a hottie.
I’ve always been this way. Even when I met my husband. I don’t think I spoke to him for a good three months beyond a few mumbled good mornings and the like. I figured if I couldn’t muster up the resolve to tell him I was interested with my face, I would have to find another way to let him know. So every day that we worked together I wore my shirt with one extra button undone. Years later, I asked him if he noticed. Hells yeah, he did, he said. So I guess I have just a little game after all.