Awkward Flirting Novels & Stories

They truly were having a relationship no matter what she wanted to call it. "You're so missing out, but to each their own, I guess." "Exactly. Different strokes for different folks," she added. A twinkle appeared in his eye, and he licked his lips of the soy sauce that lingered there. "I'd like to know how you stroke," he whispered. Her cheeks bloomed a bright red with embarrassment. His flirting was so different from the blatant flirting she was used to. He flirted by turning her own words around on her. It was much more effective than just grabbing her ass, but it also left her speechless.

“But you’re sitting with me.” “That’s the sad part.” “You like it,” I say, nudging him again. He doesn’t deny it. Instead, he turns his head, his face just barely inches from mine. “Why do you always flirt with me?” I tilt my head, considering. “Because you’re pretty. And easy to rattle. And... because it’s the only way I know how to talk about the fact that you make this hell feel less like a graveyard.” He stares at me. I stare back.

It wasn't until I was a distance away that I realized I was quaking in my boots. Fortunately, Leslie was with me. Perhaps he sensed my discomfort as he spoke with faux trepidation. "Pulling someone's hem is considered flirting in Brundela, Queenie. You have to make me your official partner." I shot him a look that said, "Are you being serious right now?" He nodded earnestly, his eyes wide and innocent. "Fuck off." I tapped his head with my phone. "You guys say hi with a kiss to the lips. Tugging on someone's hem isn't even close to what the locals here would consider intimate."

*Shit, he caught me staring* “Um, I, uh…” I stuttered awkwardly and obviously at a total loss for words. I pinched the tips of my fingers as I hung my head low. Hopefully, that would distract both of us from the heat rising up my cheek. “ No, I didn't. I was just…” “It's okay.” He grinned. “ It was just harmless flirting. I understand.” I smiled as he threw in a wink. A slow breeze rustled between us almost instantly, paving way for a new conversation, one I wasn't ready to start yet. Or ever..

“Horrible.” “What?” I asked. “You sound like a customer service bot,” she said. “I’m answering the question,” I said. “Try this instead,” she said. “Say, ‘Depends… what’s in it for me?’” I stared at her. “I can’t say that.” “Why not?” she asked. “He’ll think I’m joking,” I said. “Good,” she said. “Joking is allowed. Joking is your cover. You tease, he teases back. That’s how you open space for flirting without feeling naked.”

“Will, come on. I don’t need you to pity flirt with me. That’s just fucking depressing.” He arches a brow. “What pity?” “I don’t want you flirting with me because you have to or because you think it’s what you’re supposed to do on a date.” “Then when am I allowed to flirt with you?” I’m fucking reeling. “What?” He gestures around. “If this setting is inappropriate, when and where am I permitted to flirt with you?” Glaring at him, I rattle down my fork. “Am I getting punk’d right now?”

I walked toward the bar amid the crowd of bodies. I leaned against the counter and called the bartender after losing sight of the guys. I ordered a whiskey, planning to have just one drink to endure the torture. I had the feeling the guy was looking at me strangely. I looked at myself, trying to find the mistake. When he served me the whiskey and flashed a nice smile, I understood. He was flirting. Do people still do that? Of course, they do, Kate. Normal people go out at night and flirt.

This was all it took to attract the wrong kind of attention. The culprit at this particular wedding was the best man. He had a short, rotund build with a burgeoning beer gut even though he didn't look like he was out of his twenties yet. The flirting started early and, in truth, he wasn't bad at it. But as the empty beer glasses built up on the table, the flirting got clumsier and cruder until eventually I had to be careful not to walk too close to him, lest his hands began to wander. At least he was single.

I murmur, “I know when you’re flirting with me, don’t I?” A faint blush spreads across his cheeks. Pale, warming. He scratches at the back of his head, adjusting his cap nervously, pushing it down a little further. Our knees press together. Warmth spreads, subtle, teasing. His leg shifts ever so slightly, pressure increasing, matching mine. Neither of us moves away. Instead, he smirks a mix of arrogance and uncertainty that makes my stomach twist. “Yeah,” he says softly, “but that’s only ’cause I’ve got… mad skills.”

I had no right to feel this angry, this jealous. The waitress winked before walking away. I exhaled slowly, pressing a hand to my temple. “She’s bold.” He looked up at me, his expression unreadable. “She’s just being nice.” “Is that what you call it?” I said before I could stop myself. His brow arched slightly. “What would you call it?” I stared at the condensation on my glass. “Flirting.” He leaned back, folding his arms. “And that bothers you because…?”