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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.
