The Trouble With Flirting by Claire LaZebnik Read Free Book Online

hipster ?”), his purple Converse, his way of talking, eating, breathing. He rolls hiseyes and teases her back, asking her if those eyelashes are long enough (they are bordering on drag queen) and why girls think they can get away with eating other people’s food (after she coyly sneaks a french fry off his plate).
    I’m on her other side, and Julia pulls me into the conversation, but only as wingman to her flirting. “Real men don’t wear purple shoes, am I right?” she says to me, but before I can even respond, her shoulder is back in my face and she’s saying to Harry, “Don’t get me wrong, I love a man who’s so confident about his masculinity he can spend the summer at a theater camp wearing purple and still assume every girl will fall at his feet.”
    “Do I assume that?” Harry says. He appeals to his other neighbor. “Marie, help me out here. Do I act like I expect all the girls are going to fall at my feet?”
    Marie has been poking at her food and casting annoyed glances their way during this exchange, but she quickly regains her interest in the conversation now that Harry’s paying attention to her. “Absolutely. You’re a total narcissist.”
    “Oh, hey, Marie,” Julia says, like she just remembered. “Franny said something about meeting your boyfriend today? Who is he?”
    Marie flicks at a crumb on the table. “He’s just a guy I know. Who happens to have a really cool car and doesn’t mind driving me around in it.”
    Harry looks interested. “What kind of car?”
    “Porsche.”
    “Nice,” he says, bobbing his head in a slow, appreciative nod. “My next car is going to be a Porsche.”
    “What do you have now?” Marie asks.
    “A Porsche,” he says with a cryptic smirk. I can’t tell if he’s joking or not.
    “Guys and their cars.” Julia tosses her head so her long dark hair flies around her face. “Franny, why do you think guys are so obsessed with cars? Doesn’t Freud or someone have a theory about that?” She’s supposedly talking to me. But she’s not really.
    “Freud or someone?” Harry repeats. “Am I supposed to be impressed by the depth of intellect you’re revealing here?”
    “Look who’s talking!” she shoots back. “The guy who carries a comic book around with him. I saw it, you know.”
    “It’s a graphic novel. Marie, could you please explain to our friend here the difference between a graphic novel and the Archie comics she reads?”
    Marie giggles and pushes at his arm. “You are so bad!”
    I sigh and twirl some spaghetti on my fork. I’d prefer a conversation where I’m not just there to help other people flirt, but Vanessa and Lawrence are both off getting something at the buffet, and everyone else has paired off in conversation.
    Sudden movement across the table grabs my attention. Alex is pushing his chair back and standing up. “That’s it, I’m getting you a cookie all your own!”
    “I didn’t say I wanted one!” Isabella protests, laughing upat him.
    “No, you just keep staring at mine—I know when someone’s about to steal my food the second I look away. It’s easier for me just to get you your own. What kind do you want?”
    “Surprise me,” she says. “Since you seem to be able to read my mind.”
    “Only when it comes to food.”
    “Really?” she asks archly. “You sure?”
    “Yeah, girls are a total mystery to me.”
    “We don’t actually have cooties,” she says. “In case you were stuck in that particular phase of development.”
    He grins down at her. “Good to know. I’ll file that bit of information away for future reference.” He looks around the table. “Anyone else need anything while I’m up?”
    I scramble to my feet. “I want something to drink, but I’ll go with you.” We head across the dining hall together. “So did you get in trouble for taking too long with the hats today?”
    “Nah. It was fine. How’d the rest of your afternoon go?”
    “Great. I only pricked my finger fifteen