Page 14 of About that Fling (The Can’t Have Hearts Club #2)

A dam 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 the platform.

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. That was weird. 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.

Adam Thomas: 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 dry cleaner 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.