Page 33 of Not In A Billion Years

I don’t know. Is your rubber duck gross?

To Blake

We’ve been together many years, I never got complaints

From Blake

Is that how you always deal with the competition?

Hijack their ballet classes first, and then threaten them with duck pics?

To Blake

A duck pic from me would be a gift, not a threat

And we both know I was the only victim in that class

An eye roll emoji pops into my inbox, followed by another text.

From Blake

I can’t tell if you’re flirting with me or just trying to rile me up

To Blake

If you can’t tell, then my male ego is a little more than dented

From Blake

I’m sure there’s still plenty to go round

To Blake

I am flirting, BTW

The woman bails on me again. The three dots appear and disappear a million times until I tire of waiting.

To Blake

I thought we were playing duck, not chicken

I hold my breath until a reply lights my screen.

From Blake

That’s the thing. I don’t like to play games. Neither in my professional nor personal life

To Blake

Then come to dinner with me

No games, I promise

Radio silence again. Blake is more skittish than a cat in a carrying case en route to the vet. I’m not scary, am I? Okay, our first introduction could’ve gone better, but I sort of made up for it, didn’t I?

What says “laid-back dude” more than a man with no dance experience willing to take a ballet class and make a fool of himself?

But I might be wrong. I’m not used to chasing women; it usually goes the other way around, which is probably part of the appeal. Even more unusual, Blake doesn’t seem to be interested in my money or family name—to the contrary, she seems repelled by them.

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