How do you get good at being unblatant?

OK. Here’s the deal as far as I know and way beyond the point of any particulars you need to know.

J likes me and I like her. And by like, I mean she pressed her boobs onto my shoulder at work today then we smoked a cigarette and made out like we were in front of her locker in high school. But P, who is one of her supervisors and my main editor, has a thing for her. And J wants to be a writer, so M, my chief-level honcho writer boss, is keeping an eye on her. This is serious soap opera shit.

So, of course, as luck has it, P and M see us soft-core canoodling in a hallway today.

And it’s P’s birthday, so there’s a little party for him, and we make the hugely dumb move of showing up at the event together, trying to seem as if we just happened to show up at the same place 10 seconds apart with disheveled clothes and messy hair. And M sees us at my desk as we execute a way too erotic phone hand off—extended body contact version. Ugh. We might as well have been toweling each other off. We’re discovering that we’re not good at being unblatant. This might end in disaster way sooner than imagined.