Hopeless Flirt

So, Emily is getting married. Who would have thought it? And before me! That's actually a bad thing, especially since I saw the groom first.

Okay, that's not one hundred percent true. He was her best friend. But she didn't realize she loved him until I said that I loved him. If you ask me, she just wanted what I had.

We're twins, by the way, Emily and I. I have to say that Brian was more suited for me than her but if he wants to settle for miss perfect then let him.

I am, after all, pretty hot stuff.

***

"Mom!" I holler down the hall. She is supposed to be helping me make these stupid cookies for Charles, not leaving me to my own devices. "Mooooommmmm!"

"I'm coming sweetie," she calls from her bedroom. I grit my teeth. Okay, I know what you're thinking but I'm twenty-seven, or will be next month. I don't live with my mom but I might as well.

I know what she's doing in there anyway. She's looking at her old wedding photos and remembering papa. I really don't need to hear how wonderful it is that Emily and Brian are getting hitched. Puke City.

"Here I am dear," she says and I glance up from my magazine. Crap! She found her wedding dress. "I found my wedding dress!"

"You don't say,"

"I want to show it to Emily,"

"Emily isn't here," I snap and nod my head over at the cookie dough that is exactly where she left it.

"You haven't done a thing!" she cries with mild frustration. Of course I haven't. My nails need to be perfect for my date, not cookie dough flavored.

"Sorry," I lie.

"That's all right, dear," she says with a sigh and I wonder if I'm wearing her down. I mean, I am kind of, well, spoiled. I had her on my side with the whole Brian and Emily thing until Brian explained it to her. "Is that a good magazine?"

"You know what would make it better?" I ask and she looks at me over her shoulder, pausing in hanging up the dress.

"What, dear?"

"Silence and the smell of baking cookies." I snap as I lower my eyes and continue reading.

***

Burned cookies! I can't believe she burned the cookies. And she smiled when she pulled them out too! I think I may have gone too far with the whole making the magazine better reply.

Charles is staring at them like they crawled out of the oven and onto the table in front of him on their own.

"I never said I was good at baking," I say sweetly but I am already calculating the damage this cookie incident has done to our date.

"As long as you're good at other things," he says with the horrible simplicity that is men. Or, at least, is the men I date.

"There's only one way to find out." I say with a seductive smile as I conclude at that instant that if Charles doesn't leave on his own I'm going to ram the charred remains of the cookies down his throat until he does.

I smile sweetly.

***

"How was your date?" Emily asks over the phone. Since she's been engaged to Brian, she has decided that our relationship needs...what did she say? We need to reconnect? Something like that.

"Fine,"

"How's work going today?" she presses and I feel the anger rising in me. I believe the 'reconnection' thing is merely her way of showing me that she's happy when I'm not.

I glance around the office and see that everyone is working hard while I'm sitting at my desk chatting on the phone. I mean, normally it'd be okay with me but since it's Emily on the line, I'd rather be working.

"Slow," I say and decide that if she doesn't take the hint soon I might just hang up on her. Or is that a little too subtle?

"Are you going to your session this afternoon?" she asks and I slam down the phone. Mom must have informed her that I was in therapy. Not because I want to be but to get her and my boss off my back.

The girls in the office joined together and said that I was a sex addict. For their information, I'm just a hopeless flirt. I mean, there's nothing wrong with dating and flirting and I never go all the way unless I really like the guy. And, lately, I haven't really liked any guy. Except Brian, of course.

But, once explained to me by my stupid therapist that my attraction was merely because I was treated politely by Brian, I can't even vouch for that relationship.

I see Mr. Edwards' door open and I immediately begin typing. He never notices if I'm working or not anyway so what does it matter? I'm typing random words, making sure that my fingers are always moving, but I'm looking at the clock. Noon is still three hours away. I sigh and decide I should actually produce some work today.

***

"Another date?" Mark, my therapist, asks in disbelief. "I thought we agreed that you would take it easy."

"Easy?" I love infuriating him. I always imagine him calling his therapist after our sessions and whining about me.

Mark Drusi is an older man, about as old as Papa would be if he were still alive, with gray hair and eyebrows and brown eyes. When our sessions first began, he had the warmest smile I had ever encountered on a man. I decided that that was because it was genuine warmth, not I'm-going-to-get-you-in-bed-tonight warmth. But, after six sessions with me, his smile is rarely ever seen by me anymore.

"Slow, then," he says as he jots something down.

"Slow, right," I look out the window. I wonder why he would leave the curtains open when most people would stare out the window for the hour and waste his time. "I think you decided to take it slow and I merely stared at you, not disagreeing but definitely not agreeing. Or, am I remembering wrong, doctor?"

"Elizabeth," he sighs and I feel like screaming at him. "Let's try, for one week, mind, to not date anyone."

"That should be easy," I say snidely as I continue to stare out the window, leaving the end of the sentence unspoken but definitely implied.

"For me," Mark says and I roll my eyes over to look at him. "Right?"

"Right-o, Marky," I say. "You know, you catch on mighty fast for a shrink."

He cringes at the word, just like he always does, and I smile.

"So, tell me about your date," he says at last.

"My mom burned the cookies so it was pretty much a bust," I say coldly.

"First step is to-"

"I know, I know, stop using my mother. Come on, Doc, I ain't Martha Stewart. If the guy wants a good, heck, edible meal, I need my mom to cook it. My expertise, if you will, is not in the kitchen." I lift my eyebrow suggestively. "If you know what I mean," I cross my arms.

"Take a cooking class," he says, ignoring my attempt at bringing sexuality into the session, once again. I mean, supposedly I'm a sex addict right? Shouldn't we be talking about sex, not cooking classes?

"What?" I glare at him. "Are you crazy?"

"It's my recommendation that you take a cooking class." He writes in his notes again and I shake my head.

"I'm not going to take a-"

"How old are you, Elizabeth?" he asks harshly.

"You interrupted me!"

"How old are you?"

"It's in your notes," I snap but he just stares at me. "Twenty-six."

"That's right. That means you're an adult. Act like one!" he shouts and I flinch.

"You shouted at me!"

"We're out of time. Enroll in a cooking class."

I don't even know how I got out into the lobby. I think he has some kind of gas that he releases into the atmosphere to make me forget things...and the gas I'm referring to isn't his words.

***

I stare into the metal bowl and clench my jaw. Okay, I'm twenty-six. How is it that my mom was able to force me to take this class? I mean, as Mark so rudely pointed out, I'm an adult. What am I doing here?

Oh, yeah, now I remember. My mom said she wasn't cooking for me anymore. Mark phoned her and told her what his recommendation was. She took it to heart and now the only way my dates and I will eat is if we eat out or I cook. And, since most my dates have been with real losers, eating out means Dutch and I am not rolling in dough.

I snicker. I will be soon though. Next week we're making bread.

As I pick up the egg and crack it on the side of the bowl, the smile and joy fade instantly. Cooking classes, for crying out loud!

I can hear the other students whipping up whatever it is we're supposed to be making. I guess I should look at the recipe before I add eggs to something that definitely doesn't require them, like ice cream, for example.

"Excuse me?" comes a deep voice and I fight the urge to look up. If he wants to borrow something, he can ask the other groups. I, due to the bad impression I made on the first day, you know, the eggs in ice cream incident, have no one sharing my table or helping me make...French Toast! Who makes French Toast at night? I think our teacher is a few eggs short of a dozen. I snicker again as I reach for another egg.

"Elizabeth, right?" the guy asks and I finally look up. Jeff looks at me from across the table. I had noticed Jeff immediately because of his blue eyes and blond hair. I had never dated a blue-eyed guy and I imagined us together...for about a nano-second. When I batted my eyes at him and threw one of my greatest, self-created, sure-fire lines at him, he only added sugar to his milk for the ice cream.

"What?" I snap and he flashes me a 1000-watt smile that makes me feel as if I've been punched in the gut and left breathless.

"I want to join you," he says and since I only continue to stare, he indicates the table. "If that's all right?"

"Do you know how to cook?" I demand, slowly regaining my composure, thinking that I may be able to save myself after all.

"If I did, I wouldn't be here," he says.

"Fine, do what you want." I say. Great! Two non-cooks cooking together. I'm failing for sure, even if he is cute, I don't think the instructor will give us credit for that.

***

"No dates? How did you manage that?" Mom asks as she watches me serve myself cereal. I'm trying to make her feel sorry for me but it's obviously not working. I even burned my toast which only left me with burnt toast.

"What are you talking about?" I ask, truly not caring what she's talking about but wanting her to hear the bitter unhappiness in my tone.

"You haven't been on a date in three weeks," she says, obviously missing my tone, and I'm about to deny it but a quick calculation shows that she's right. I lower the box of cereal and stare at her in wide-eyed shock. "It must be the class." she continues and I half expect her to pick up the phone and call Dr. Mark and let him know that he was right.

I look away from her and think. I've been in the cooking class for five weeks and I'm actually sliding by with a C, thanks in large part to Jeff.

I gasp.

***

"It's all your fault!" I shout at Emily, who is sitting at her dining table with her friend Susan, both drinking coffee. And, they haven't even offered me any! Can't they see how rude that is? Can't they?

"What's my fault?" Emily asks as she smiles at me.

"You're so annoying now that you're in love!" I hiss as I pull out a chair and flop into it, glaring pointedly at the coffee cups before me.

I see her and Susan look at each other before looking at me again, not taking the hint. I grind my teeth.

"What's Emily's fault?" Susan tries and I just shake my head.

"Never mind," I grumble as I reach for the cookies set in the center of the table. Chocolate chip, my favorite. "Did you bake these?" I ask, my hand hovering above them.

"Yes," Emily replies with a small smile.

"It's all your fault!"

***

I stand in the corner, taking my time to gather the ingredients needed for our project, watching Jeff gather the bowls from under the counter. My breathing is coming in quick, irregular gasps and I can't seem to get my heart to beat as it should. I drop an egg.

As I clean up the mess, I realize that the lack of dating in the cause of my illness, not Jeff. I mean, all we do is cook together. It isn't Emily's fault...well, not completely anyway. It's Mark's and my mom's and their stupid therapy and cooking classes and taking it slow. I think that I'll look around for Rick, the dark-haired guy that has been giving me a lot of come-hither glances, and ask him out. That'll solve everything, mainly putting Dr. Mark and mom in their proper places...at my feet.

I gather the ingredients and practically skip to Jeff's side.

"Did you get everything?" he asks, sweetly I might add, as he looks at me with those blue eyes of his and smiles softly.

"I broke an egg but we still have four left." I say as I place everything on the counter.

"You seem to be in a good mood," he says.

"I am, darling," I reply, casting my most flirtatious smile at him. "I had an epiphany."

"Is that right?" he asks, a little smile curling his lips.

"Isn't it?" I ask and he just looks at me. "I mean, epiphany. That's the right word right, sweetie?"

"Meaning you had a life-changing revelation?" he asks. I nod, tossing my hair over my shoulder. His eyes follow my movements. "That's right." he concludes as he looks at the recipe.

Jeff begins reading the recipe out loud...he has the cutest accent...and I begin mixing. As we wait for the dough to rise, he looks at me. I'm currently looking for Rick but he's nowhere to be seen. I notice, slightly miffed, that Jen is missing too.

"Hey, Elizabeth," Jeff says and I look at him in mild irritation.

"Yes, Jeff?" I ask sweetly. Did Rick and Beth ditch to make out? This isn't high school, idiots! My plans are dashed against the rocks and I feel my mood rapidly deteriorating.

"Can I take you out to dinner Friday night?" he asks and I suddenly can't breathe again. And despite my resolve to say no and continue mixing, despite the lack of air in my lungs and the fierce beating of my heart, I manage to respond incorrectly.

"Sure."

***

Okay, stupid! That is all I can say. First of all, Jeff is nothing, and I mean nothing like the guys I normally date. What am I going to talk to him about? French toast?

Second of all, this isn't proving anything, this date with Jeff, except that everyone was right while I was wrong and that just isn't possible.

I stand now in front of the mirror trying to pick the least attractive outfit I can. Unfortunately, since I'm just a natural hottie, I can't avoid looking good. Poor Jeff, this is going to be horribly hard on him.

***

I ordered lasagna because I haven't had it in years and this date isn't going to end with a kiss or a second date so I can go to town with the pasta sauce. Now, as I pick at the breadstick in my hand and look at Jeff, I wonder who will speak first.

It isn't me.

"Well, I was glad that you agreed to go to dinner with me, Elizabeth." I just look at him, my tongue weighing twelve pounds and not able to move at all. "I really like being your partner in cooking class."

"Me, too," I say softly. Me too? What in the world is wrong with me?

He smiles and my heart stops for a second before beating far too quickly to be healthy. "Lasagna, good choice, by the way." he says and I feel like kicking myself. Why did I order lasagna?

"I like it," I say and quickly rack my brains for something clever to say. "The gooey cheese is, well, good, you know?" And I hope he does because I have no idea what I'm babbling on about.

"Sure," he says as he helps himself to a breadstick. "I thought you were interested in Rick but when I found out that he and Jen were dating I figured I could ask you out."

"Uh huh," I say as I break a piece off the breadstick and put it in my mouth, if only to stop the stupid from emerging from it unchecked.

"Hey, Elizabeth," he says suddenly, putting his breadstick down and staring directly into my eyes with those beautiful blue orbs of his and I feel the bread lodge in my throat. I pick up my water and swallow some down, trying to dislodge it before I choke. "Is something wrong? You seem, I don't know, nervous or something."

"Nervous?" I croak and I swallow some more water. "Me?" I croak again and realize that the only way to overcome this cruel twist of fate was to cough. Covering my mouth I proceed to do so, watching Jeff watch me and wishing that the date was already over.

I'm saved from answering by the arrival of our dinner and the only reason I dig into and eat the disastrous order decision of lasagna is to keep from talking, which is definitely a first for me.

***

Looking at myself in the mirror, I try out my flirtatious poses and lines, my sexy smiles and eye movements. Yep, they are all still functioning at normal capacity but why, then, did they fail at Luigi's?

I sit in front of the television and mope for an hour before I decide that it was all Jeff's fault. He is to blame for my defenses being down and my flirt file being closed. I didn't see it as a real date, I didn't see the need to flirt.

That's never stopped you before, comes the snide voice within me.

"Shut up, you!" I hiss as the doorbell chimes. I decide that if it is Emily, I will officially puke. If it's mom, I'll convince her that cooking class was a dreadful error of judgement.

I open the door and am at a loss for words because neither victim stands there.

"Hey, Elizabeth, can I come in for a second? I need to talk to you."

"Sure, Jeff...sure."

***

"Um,"

And that's it. That's all that will come to my mind. Um...how pathetic is that?

And Jeff doesn't help. Oh, no. He's the one that caused that foul word to emerge from my mouth but does he pick up the slack? No! He just sits there, smiling that far-too-gorgeous-to-be-natural smile and 'um' hangs in the air between us.

"Um," Stop saying that, you idiot! "What?"

"I love you. I'm in love with you. I'm wild about you." Jeff says with that sexy grin upon his lips that just won't let my heart beat at its normal pace.

"Um," I say and officially decide that my brain has run off to Aruba and left me floundering here with Jeff. "Right..."

He stands and moves over to me. "Haven't you ever been told that before, Elizabeth?" he asks as he sits on the coffee table before me, bringing his deadly smile ever closer. "I find it hard to believe that no one has fallen for you yet."

"They only say it to get me into bed," I mutter. My eyes widen. "That's it, isn't it?" I snap.

"What?"

"You just want to get me into bed, don't you, Jeff?"

"What? No!" he says and I see the truth in his eyes but, having found my brain and dragged it off the beach where it was sunbathing, I decide that this is the track I'm sticking with.

"I don't believe you,"

"Elizabeth-"

"Just leave, Jeff," I say and I stand, moving quickly to the door. "I'm not some bimbo you can woo with words. I know words. Heck, I am words. I get by with my words, I get what I want with my words...just get out." I say and he stands, staring at me with confusion and hurt. I steel myself from my emotions, traitors that they are.

"Look, I don't know what I said but I'm sorry," he says as he moves past me. "I'll see you in class. We can talk then...rationally." he concludes as he turns and goes down the stairs to his car. I slam the door.

"Not likely, Jeff, since I'm not going back to class. Hopefully, I won't see you again."

***

"So, how is your dating life going?" Mark asks, his pen poised in writing position. I hate to disappoint him.

"Great, terrific, in fact," I say boldly.

"And the cooking class?"

"Um," There's that word again! How does it keep slipping past the guards and emerging from my mouth?

Mark lifts his eyebrows. "Um?"

"I quit the class two weeks ago," I admit. "But I make killer French Toast." I add.

"Two weeks ago? Why tell me now? This is our fifth session since you quit the class."

"You didn't ask before," I say coldly.

"Tell me about your dates," he says after a moments pause and scribbling.

"What's to tell?" I ask with a shrug. "One date is like the other is like the other, you know?"

"How many have you gone on?"

None. "Seven,"

"Hmmm...that seems like a bit..." he says.

"Does it?" I ask, doing a quick addition in my head. "No, seems right to me."

Mark looks at me and I look out the window. I've only been here fifteen minutes. Maybe if I break out in song...

"All the same man?"

"What?"

"Were all seven dates with the same man?"

"Are they ever?"

"How many different men had the pleasure of your company, Elizabeth?"

I smile snidely. "Seven."

He writes that down.

***

Okay, so I'm miserable. Not like it matters to anyone but me. Emily and mom are all wedding headed and I can't get anyone to notice the gloom and doom cloud hanging over my head.

And I'm not completely blameless, either, my friends, because if Jeff truly 'loved' me, as he claimed, wouldn't he be knocking my door down? Huh? Wouldn't he?

I think that everything is relative and it's all relative to the fact that it's Mark's fault. I told him so at the end of the session. He just nodded and wrote it down.

So, alone and miserable, that's me. And what does it matter? I ask you. What does it matter? No one cares about the flirts. Once they stop flirting, they're forgotten and alone.

Well, I did try to flirt last week but I sounded lamer than the guys that try to flirt with me did. I wonder what that means?

***

"Coffee and that pathetic looking danish, please," I say to the angry looking woman behind the counter. She tosses the plastic-wrapped danish on the counter and turns her back to serve the coffee. I crane my neck to see if she spits in it. She doesn't.

I pay for my pathetic breakfast and find a table on the patio in relative shade. I just wasn't in the mood for French Toast and so I emerged from my hovel at ten in the morning to find something edible in the streets.

Okay, not literally the streets. Usually, Brenda's Deli has great food...but, obviously not today. I tap the still wrapped danish on the table. Hard as a rock.

"Try dunking it in the coffee," comes the voice I have been hearing in my dreams constantly. I look up at Jeff and see his full-watt smile beaming down at me.

"I don't think the coffee's any softer," I quip. Its back!

Jeff laughs and I feel my body go numb. "May I?" he asks and I nod, not needing clarification. He sits across from me. "I failed cooking."

"Me, too," I say with a smile as I place the danish aside. "Sorry, by the way."

"Hey, I freaked you out. I get it. No problem." he says.

"Are you for real?" I ask and he just looks at me with his heavenly gaze and I look down at my coffee. "Most the guys I know are, well, crude." I say with a shrug.

"Well, I'm not most guys," he says and I look up at him. He bursts out laughing. "Too corny?"

"A tad," I say with a wry smile.

"Hmmm," he murmurs and I melt inside.

"You'll have to work on that if you're going to date me," I say at last.

His eyes twinkle as they meet mine. "I guess I'll have to, then."

***

"Not so!" Brian shouts as Emily finishes telling an embarrassing tale from their youth. "Just wait, Emily, for your time will come!"

"Will it?" she asks, wrapping her arms around him and giving him a kiss.

"I think she won," Jeff says as he puts his arm around me and pulls me to him.

"I think we all did," I reply as I lean in and kiss him. Even me, the hopeless flirt.