08-08-2026, 06:08 PM
When Ayesha’s small hand landed in his palm, the hard knot of tension in
Aditya’s gut loosened, but an awful brew of guilt and sadness
continued to eat at him.
She looked terrible. Her bun was off-center, and messy strands framed her
drawn face. Her normally bright, expressive eyes were dim, swollen, and
shadowed. His heart dipped when he realized she must have cried a lot to
make them that way. He’d made her cry.
This was not his Ayesha.
Well, the sweatiness of her hand was all Ayesha. He squeezed gently and led
her to the front porch.
When he opened the door and prepared to enter, she stiffened and dug in
her feet. “I forgot to bring something. Google says I’m supposed to bring
something. Let me go and—”
“It’s fine, Ayesha.” He wrapped an arm around her waist and propelled her
into the house.
Inside the entryway, she shut her eyes and took a breath. He could see her
absorbing the silence, feel her body relaxing against his arm.
“You know you can always tell me when things bother you, right? Like the
TV last night . . . or the club last week.”
Her eyelids fluttered open, but instead of looking at him, she stared off to
the side, suddenly tense all over again. “Did Sunny say something to you?”
Aditya hesitated to answer. Something told him it was extremely
important to her that he didn’t know, so he did what he’d learned from his dad even though he hated it. He lied. “Only that the noise and crowd were too much for you. Why didn’t you tell me? I wish you had.”
“I already told you I don’t like it when people have to act differently for
me.”
“We could have done something else,” he said in exasperation. The last
thing he wanted was to hurt her or make her uncomfortable.
“Why are there oranges here?” she asked, indicating the plate of oranges
next to the incense sticks and bronze Ganesh statue on the table in the
entryway.
“Don’t change the subject.”
She sighed. “Fine. It embarrasses me. A lot.”
All that self-torture . . . because it embarrassed her to admit she was
different? His insides melted down, and he grabbed her hand and squeezed.
“Can you tell me about the oranges now?”
He smiled at her single-mindedness. “It’s an offering for the Gods.
As a scientist type, she had to think this was silly. He did, too, but it
was something Granny and his mom liked to do.
A small smile played over her lips. “Do you give them other kinds of food,
too? I’d get tired of fruit all the time, myself. How about sweets and chocolates?”
He laughed. “You’ve had enough candy today.”
“What do you do with the fruit now that it’s been offered? I assume the
god don’t actually rise and consume it . . .”
“We eat it. I’m not entirely clear on how long you’re supposed to wait, but
at least a hour or so, I think.”
“Hm.” She inspected the Ganesh statue, angled her head so she could see
behind it. Judging by her expression, she was fascinated,
“Do you feel like you’ve entered the set of an Balaji Tele-serial drama? Is that what’s going on here?” he asked.
“This is better. This is real life.” She pointed to the box of incense hidden
away behind the statue. “Can I light one? Will you show me how to do it?
I’ve always wanted to.”
“Does it take very long?” she asked with a frown.
The corner of his mouth tipped up sheepishly. “I don’t think so, no. Let’s
go say hi to my mom and grandma, and then I’ll feed you. Okay?”
“Okay.”
She followed him through the dining room and into the kitchen where
Supriya and Shailaja were cleaning rice, shredded mint and coriander, and
barbecued chicken into large bowls. They looked to be back on speaking terms.
Considering their track record of enemies one day, best friends the next, that
was about right. Granny and his mom were slicing up heaps of mangoes at the informal seating area where they did all their eating—
the formal dining table was for presentation only.
Granny was dressed in her favorite green saree, and his mom wore a Traditional Marathi saree even though it wasn’t
holiday season.
“Hi Granny, Mom,” Aditya said.
His mom nodded at him before considering Ayesha. “Welcome back.
Dinner’s ready soon. Sit and eat, ah?”
Ayesha smiled, but her grip on his hand was fierce. “Sure, thank you. It
looks good.”
“These two are Supriya and Shailaja. They’re not twins,”
he said, bringing her to the kitchen island that was covered with food stored in brand-new Pyrex containers.
“Supriya—the one with that red stripe in her hair, God, when did
you get that?—is an interior decorator, and Shailaja is a physical therapist.”
“Hi, Ayesha,” they said at the same time. Mom must have told them about
Ayesha’s apology because it looked like they wanted to make a fresh start.
Ayesha gave a tiny wave. “Hi.”
“Is Anu here?” he asked.
“Nope. More work stuff,” Shailaja said.
“On a Saturday,” Supriya added with a sneer.
“Because people work—”
“On Saturdays—”
“All the time.”
The sisters faced one another and traded knowing glances.
Aditya whispered in Ayesha’s ear, “They’ve been finishing each other’s
sentences since they were little. I think they’re aliens.”
Ayesha’s lips trembled into another smile, and she leaned into him. Poor shy
girl. His family had to be overwhelming for her, and this wasn’t even all of
them. He tightened his hand around hers and fought the desire to kiss her.
Something about the way she turned to him like he was her safe place
satisfied caveman needs Aditya hadn’t known he possessed.
He cleared his throat and asked, “Where are pinky and chikki?”
“Upstairs doing homework. They’ll come down when they’re hungry.
They both have tests soon.”
“They’re the two youngest,” he explained to Ayesha. “Chikki aka Chitra is the baby. She’s a second year B.com at St Xaviers.”
“I’m going to forget everyone’s names.” She looked so worried—Aditya
melted a little. Why did she care? These people couldn’t be special to her.
They were just his family.
“That’s okay. I wish I could.”
“Very funny, Aditya,” Shailaja said with a roll of her eyes. “You only have to
remember me. I’m a PT, so if you get carpal tunnel or something, you know
who to look for. Posture is everything.”
“Why couldn’t you be a doctor, then, Shailu?” his mom asked as she peeled her tenth mango. “All I wanted was a doctor in the family, and not one of you could do that for me.”
“Ayesha’s a doctor,” Aditya said with a grin.
Her eyes rounded into giant buttons. “No, I’m not.”
“Yes, you are. You have a PhD. That makes you a doctor. And you went to
the ISB, the best college for economics in the INDIA, probably
the world. You graduated as topper of your batch.”
As he’d known would happen, his mom perked up with interest. “That’s
fantastic.”
Ayesha blushed, bringing much needed color to her cheeks. “How did
you . . .”
“Google stalking.”
Her eyes searched his, and a surprised smile hinted at the corners of her
mouth. “You stalked me?”
He shrugged. It was his turn to feel awkward now.
“Okay, lovebirds, dinner’s ready. Come eat,” Supriya said. She set down a
bowl filled with steaming hot rice in front of Granny and kissed her temple like she would a baby.
Once they’d seated themselves at the table, Aditya watched as Ayesha
carefully mimicked Supriya’s food preparation ritual, pickled mango and salad, and fish curry to her plate of rice.
“Have you ever had this before?” he asked.
She shook her head absently as she mixed everything together and took a
bite. Her eyes opened wide, and she grinned as she covered her mouth.
“You’re a good cook.”
“Aditya is very good with his hands,” his mom said with a proud nod.
Supriya rolled her eyes before she smirked suggestively and asked Ayesha,
“Do you agree? Is he ‘good with his hands’?”
His mom scowled at Supriya, but Ayesha merely smiled and nodded.
“I think so.”
Supriya arched her eyebrows and sent Aditya an is she for real? look.
As dinner progressed, Aditya watched Ayesha through a new lens provided
by his recent discovery. He didn’t notice so much when it was just the two of
them, but she had trouble with eye contact. She rarely spoke unless someone
asked her a direct question, and then her answers were short and to the point.
When she listened, however, her focus was the kind of stuff she probably used on complex economic problems. She frowned, hanging on every word like it was of utmost importance.
These people mattered to her because they mattered to him.
“Where did you grow up, Ayesha?” his mom asked after they’d moved to mangoes.
“Pali hills and Bandra. My parents still live in bandra,” Ayesha provided.
His mom’s eyebrows climbed at the mention of the wealthiest pin code in
Mumbai. “Do you like babies?”
Aditya almost dropped his fruit, and his voice was gruff with horror
when he said, “Mom.”
She shrugged innocently.
“You don’t have to answer that,” he said to Ayesha.
She met his eyes like she hadn’t with everyone else. Her facial muscles
relaxed, but the intensity of her concentration didn’t. Her beautiful mind
focused on him. Aditya admitted to himself he loved it.
Ayesha lifted a shoulder. “I don’t know if I like babies. I haven’t been
around that many. My parents want grandchildren, though. My mother,
mostly.”
“That has to be why she keeps setting up blind dates for you,” Aditya
said.
Ayesha nodded. “I think so.”
“Meddling mothers.”
At his comment, Ayesha’s lips curved into a smile, and her eyes shined. He
forgot what they’d been talking about. If he couldn’t kiss her soon, he would
go mad.
“When you get to my age,” his mom said, crossing her arms over her
chest, “you want to play with babies. It’s natural.”
Supriya jumped to her feet. “Help me with the dishes, Ayesha?”
“Sure, I’d love to help,” Ayesha said.
“Is there a particular way you do it?”
“Just whatever way gets them clean.”
Shailaja cleared the table as Supriya and Ayesha piled things into the sink.
His mom and Granny stared at him with serious expressions.
He braced himself for something bad.
“She won me at the shop today. It’s important to know how to admit when
you’re wrong. You should keep her,” Mom said in Marathi.
He shook his head and thinned his lips. “It’s not that easy.”
“Why?”
“We’re too different. She’s really smart and makes loads of money.”
“You’re smart,” his mom insisted.
He rolled his eyes.
“You’re not like your dad wanted, but that doesn’t mean you’re not smart.
And you don’t make as much because you’re busy helping me at the shop. I
told you I don’t need you anymore. You let so many opportunities pass
because of me. I don’t want that for you, Aditya, and I don’t want you to
lose this girl, either. She’s a good one. Keep her.”
“It’s not that simple.”
“It is. She likes you. You like her.”
If he had less control, he would have pointed out his mom’s relationship
with his dad, but that was hitting below the belt. His dad loved his mom—in
his own way. But he also loved cheating. Aditya would never understand
why his mom took his dad back every single time.
“Just promise to try, all right? I like this one,” his mom said.
Aditya could have laughed. Of all the girls he’d ever brought home, she
liked the one he couldn’t have. His client. His rich, highly educated, beautiful client, who was paying him to help her learn how to get someone better.
“You’re just saying that because she’s doing dishes.”
Aditya knew the way to his mom’s heart, and it wasn’t food. It was
cleaning, doing dishes. He didn’t have to do dishes because he cooked. For
whatever reason, none of the women in this house cooked. He’d had to learn
in order to survive.
“She doesn’t mind working,” his mom said. “That’s important.”
“Mmmmm,” Granny agreed.
For a moment, the three of them watched as Ayesha washed bowls, rinsed
them, and handed them to Supriya to dry. She’d rolled her sleeves up and
worked with great attention, listening and smiling distractedly as Shailaja
chatted with her.
“Take her home,” Granny said. “She looks tired.”
His mom nodded. “Take her back to her home.”
He pushed away from the table and went to wrap his arms around Ayesha’s
waist. Because he couldn’t resist, he ran his lips down her neck so she
shivered. The soapy sponge paused in midscrub, and her expression was
confused as she gazed at him over her shoulder. He slid a hand down her
delicate forearm and hijacked the sponge from her. He finished washing the
frying pan and the rest of the dishes with her in front of him, occasionally
pausing to kiss her ear, her neck, or her jaw.
Supriya slanted him a go get a room look as he handed her the last greasy bowl
—one of many that he’d made his mom promise never to stick in the
microwave again—and he could tell she was dying to say something dry and
caustic but was holding back because she didn’t want to embarrass Ayesha.
Ayesha’s eyelids had gone heavy, and her nails dug into the tile counter as
she tried unsuccessfully not to respond to him.
“Ready to go home?” he whispered.
She nodded.
They said their good-byes and piled into Ayesha’s car, and he pressed the
mini cooper's ignition button.
Before Ayesha could buckle her seat belt, he asked, “What are you seeing in
terms of living arrangements and frequency of visits?”
“What do most couples do when they’re in committed relationships?”
“They live together, and they see each other every day. Is that what you
want?” It was strange hearing himself say the words out loud. These were
things he’d spent his entire adult life avoiding, but with Ayesha, he might be
ready for them. If she wanted them, too.
She rubbed her cheek on her shoulder. “I want that, then. I have a guest
bedroom you can use. But if you’re uncomfortable staying with me, I
understand. Not all couples live in the same house.”
“What if I want to share your bed, Ayesha?” he asked in a low tone.
Despite how much he wanted to help her and prove he wasn’t his dad, he
wasn’t sure he could do this if sex was off the table. He wanted her too much.
Besides, most of her problems stemmed from lack of confidence. Bed was a
great place to work on that.
“You don’t have to do that,” she said.
“That wasn’t the question. I know I don’t have to.”
Staring out the passenger window, she said, “My bed is open to you if you
want it, but you know where my skill levels are at. That hasn’t changed since
our last time together.”
He smiled at that. She sounded worried about pleasing him. Something his
clients almost never cared about.
“Let’s seal the deal.”
“Oh, all right.” She pulled a hand out from under her thigh and held it out
toward him.
“We’re going into a practice relationship. I think we should kiss on it.”
She locked eyes with him as her lips parted in surprise, and that was all the
invitation he needed. Leaning across the center divide, he kissed her. He
meant for it to be a seductive, slowly enflaming kind of kiss, but the sighing
sound she made drove him straight out of his mind. He took her mouth with
hungry strokes of his tongue. She wound her fingers through his hair, scbangd
them down his chest and abdomen, and tucked them into his jeans. Yes.
Finally, they could get back to checking boxes—
Knuckles rapped against the driver’s-side window. A muffled voice spoke
incoherent words.
He launched himself back into his seat before powering the window down.
Supriya crossed her arms and tapped her bare foot on the pavement before
she bent down, narrowed her eyes, and clearly mouthed the word pervert at
him. “Mom wanted me to remind you your headlights are lighting up Granny’s room so she can’t sleep.”
“Sorry, forgot. We’ll head home now.”
Peering into the car, she said, “Good night, Ayesha. Hope we see you again
soon.”
Ayesha swiped at the loose hairs falling over her face and cleared her throat
with a cough. “Good night, Supriya.”
She sent him one last disgusting look and walked back into the house.
Seconds later, his phone lit up with rapid text messages from her.
Geez Aditya, go easy on her.
You’ll scare her away, and we all really like her.
Honestly, in the DRIVEWAY? What are you, 16?
He choked on a laugh and handed the phone to Ayesha so she could read the
messages.
She bit down on the tip of a fingernail as she grinned. “I’m not scared.”
He ran a hand through his hair, took a deep breath, and adjusted the
painfully stiff flesh rising against his zip. “Let’s get you home.”
He drove with gratuitous disregard of the law through the empty
residential streets, envisioning himself peeling her librarian clothes off and
pinning her against the wall, the floor—he didn’t care where.
It was going to be so good with Ayesha, spectacular even. He was going to
—he glanced at Ayesha, trying to decide what to do first, and his hopes
plummeted. He was going to carry her into her house and put her to bed.
In the few minutes since they’d left his mom’s, she’d fallen fast asleep.
Her head rolled to the side, and her glasses sat on her nose at a crooked angle.
She didn’t so much as flinch when her garage cranked open and her tires
squeaked over the marble floor.
He tried to shake her awake, but she didn’t react. Her breathing remained
deep and even, her body relaxed. With a sigh, he lifted her out of the car and
headed toward her bedroom—their bedroom as of tonight.
Aditya’s gut loosened, but an awful brew of guilt and sadness
continued to eat at him.
She looked terrible. Her bun was off-center, and messy strands framed her
drawn face. Her normally bright, expressive eyes were dim, swollen, and
shadowed. His heart dipped when he realized she must have cried a lot to
make them that way. He’d made her cry.
This was not his Ayesha.
Well, the sweatiness of her hand was all Ayesha. He squeezed gently and led
her to the front porch.
When he opened the door and prepared to enter, she stiffened and dug in
her feet. “I forgot to bring something. Google says I’m supposed to bring
something. Let me go and—”
“It’s fine, Ayesha.” He wrapped an arm around her waist and propelled her
into the house.
Inside the entryway, she shut her eyes and took a breath. He could see her
absorbing the silence, feel her body relaxing against his arm.
“You know you can always tell me when things bother you, right? Like the
TV last night . . . or the club last week.”
Her eyelids fluttered open, but instead of looking at him, she stared off to
the side, suddenly tense all over again. “Did Sunny say something to you?”
Aditya hesitated to answer. Something told him it was extremely
important to her that he didn’t know, so he did what he’d learned from his dad even though he hated it. He lied. “Only that the noise and crowd were too much for you. Why didn’t you tell me? I wish you had.”
“I already told you I don’t like it when people have to act differently for
me.”
“We could have done something else,” he said in exasperation. The last
thing he wanted was to hurt her or make her uncomfortable.
“Why are there oranges here?” she asked, indicating the plate of oranges
next to the incense sticks and bronze Ganesh statue on the table in the
entryway.
“Don’t change the subject.”
She sighed. “Fine. It embarrasses me. A lot.”
All that self-torture . . . because it embarrassed her to admit she was
different? His insides melted down, and he grabbed her hand and squeezed.
“Can you tell me about the oranges now?”
He smiled at her single-mindedness. “It’s an offering for the Gods.
As a scientist type, she had to think this was silly. He did, too, but it
was something Granny and his mom liked to do.
A small smile played over her lips. “Do you give them other kinds of food,
too? I’d get tired of fruit all the time, myself. How about sweets and chocolates?”
He laughed. “You’ve had enough candy today.”
“What do you do with the fruit now that it’s been offered? I assume the
god don’t actually rise and consume it . . .”
“We eat it. I’m not entirely clear on how long you’re supposed to wait, but
at least a hour or so, I think.”
“Hm.” She inspected the Ganesh statue, angled her head so she could see
behind it. Judging by her expression, she was fascinated,
“Do you feel like you’ve entered the set of an Balaji Tele-serial drama? Is that what’s going on here?” he asked.
“This is better. This is real life.” She pointed to the box of incense hidden
away behind the statue. “Can I light one? Will you show me how to do it?
I’ve always wanted to.”
“Does it take very long?” she asked with a frown.
The corner of his mouth tipped up sheepishly. “I don’t think so, no. Let’s
go say hi to my mom and grandma, and then I’ll feed you. Okay?”
“Okay.”
She followed him through the dining room and into the kitchen where
Supriya and Shailaja were cleaning rice, shredded mint and coriander, and
barbecued chicken into large bowls. They looked to be back on speaking terms.
Considering their track record of enemies one day, best friends the next, that
was about right. Granny and his mom were slicing up heaps of mangoes at the informal seating area where they did all their eating—
the formal dining table was for presentation only.
Granny was dressed in her favorite green saree, and his mom wore a Traditional Marathi saree even though it wasn’t
holiday season.
“Hi Granny, Mom,” Aditya said.
His mom nodded at him before considering Ayesha. “Welcome back.
Dinner’s ready soon. Sit and eat, ah?”
Ayesha smiled, but her grip on his hand was fierce. “Sure, thank you. It
looks good.”
“These two are Supriya and Shailaja. They’re not twins,”
he said, bringing her to the kitchen island that was covered with food stored in brand-new Pyrex containers.
“Supriya—the one with that red stripe in her hair, God, when did
you get that?—is an interior decorator, and Shailaja is a physical therapist.”
“Hi, Ayesha,” they said at the same time. Mom must have told them about
Ayesha’s apology because it looked like they wanted to make a fresh start.
Ayesha gave a tiny wave. “Hi.”
“Is Anu here?” he asked.
“Nope. More work stuff,” Shailaja said.
“On a Saturday,” Supriya added with a sneer.
“Because people work—”
“On Saturdays—”
“All the time.”
The sisters faced one another and traded knowing glances.
Aditya whispered in Ayesha’s ear, “They’ve been finishing each other’s
sentences since they were little. I think they’re aliens.”
Ayesha’s lips trembled into another smile, and she leaned into him. Poor shy
girl. His family had to be overwhelming for her, and this wasn’t even all of
them. He tightened his hand around hers and fought the desire to kiss her.
Something about the way she turned to him like he was her safe place
satisfied caveman needs Aditya hadn’t known he possessed.
He cleared his throat and asked, “Where are pinky and chikki?”
“Upstairs doing homework. They’ll come down when they’re hungry.
They both have tests soon.”
“They’re the two youngest,” he explained to Ayesha. “Chikki aka Chitra is the baby. She’s a second year B.com at St Xaviers.”
“I’m going to forget everyone’s names.” She looked so worried—Aditya
melted a little. Why did she care? These people couldn’t be special to her.
They were just his family.
“That’s okay. I wish I could.”
“Very funny, Aditya,” Shailaja said with a roll of her eyes. “You only have to
remember me. I’m a PT, so if you get carpal tunnel or something, you know
who to look for. Posture is everything.”
“Why couldn’t you be a doctor, then, Shailu?” his mom asked as she peeled her tenth mango. “All I wanted was a doctor in the family, and not one of you could do that for me.”
“Ayesha’s a doctor,” Aditya said with a grin.
Her eyes rounded into giant buttons. “No, I’m not.”
“Yes, you are. You have a PhD. That makes you a doctor. And you went to
the ISB, the best college for economics in the INDIA, probably
the world. You graduated as topper of your batch.”
As he’d known would happen, his mom perked up with interest. “That’s
fantastic.”
Ayesha blushed, bringing much needed color to her cheeks. “How did
you . . .”
“Google stalking.”
Her eyes searched his, and a surprised smile hinted at the corners of her
mouth. “You stalked me?”
He shrugged. It was his turn to feel awkward now.
“Okay, lovebirds, dinner’s ready. Come eat,” Supriya said. She set down a
bowl filled with steaming hot rice in front of Granny and kissed her temple like she would a baby.
Once they’d seated themselves at the table, Aditya watched as Ayesha
carefully mimicked Supriya’s food preparation ritual, pickled mango and salad, and fish curry to her plate of rice.
“Have you ever had this before?” he asked.
She shook her head absently as she mixed everything together and took a
bite. Her eyes opened wide, and she grinned as she covered her mouth.
“You’re a good cook.”
“Aditya is very good with his hands,” his mom said with a proud nod.
Supriya rolled her eyes before she smirked suggestively and asked Ayesha,
“Do you agree? Is he ‘good with his hands’?”
His mom scowled at Supriya, but Ayesha merely smiled and nodded.
“I think so.”
Supriya arched her eyebrows and sent Aditya an is she for real? look.
As dinner progressed, Aditya watched Ayesha through a new lens provided
by his recent discovery. He didn’t notice so much when it was just the two of
them, but she had trouble with eye contact. She rarely spoke unless someone
asked her a direct question, and then her answers were short and to the point.
When she listened, however, her focus was the kind of stuff she probably used on complex economic problems. She frowned, hanging on every word like it was of utmost importance.
These people mattered to her because they mattered to him.
“Where did you grow up, Ayesha?” his mom asked after they’d moved to mangoes.
“Pali hills and Bandra. My parents still live in bandra,” Ayesha provided.
His mom’s eyebrows climbed at the mention of the wealthiest pin code in
Mumbai. “Do you like babies?”
Aditya almost dropped his fruit, and his voice was gruff with horror
when he said, “Mom.”
She shrugged innocently.
“You don’t have to answer that,” he said to Ayesha.
She met his eyes like she hadn’t with everyone else. Her facial muscles
relaxed, but the intensity of her concentration didn’t. Her beautiful mind
focused on him. Aditya admitted to himself he loved it.
Ayesha lifted a shoulder. “I don’t know if I like babies. I haven’t been
around that many. My parents want grandchildren, though. My mother,
mostly.”
“That has to be why she keeps setting up blind dates for you,” Aditya
said.
Ayesha nodded. “I think so.”
“Meddling mothers.”
At his comment, Ayesha’s lips curved into a smile, and her eyes shined. He
forgot what they’d been talking about. If he couldn’t kiss her soon, he would
go mad.
“When you get to my age,” his mom said, crossing her arms over her
chest, “you want to play with babies. It’s natural.”
Supriya jumped to her feet. “Help me with the dishes, Ayesha?”
“Sure, I’d love to help,” Ayesha said.
“Is there a particular way you do it?”
“Just whatever way gets them clean.”
Shailaja cleared the table as Supriya and Ayesha piled things into the sink.
His mom and Granny stared at him with serious expressions.
He braced himself for something bad.
“She won me at the shop today. It’s important to know how to admit when
you’re wrong. You should keep her,” Mom said in Marathi.
He shook his head and thinned his lips. “It’s not that easy.”
“Why?”
“We’re too different. She’s really smart and makes loads of money.”
“You’re smart,” his mom insisted.
He rolled his eyes.
“You’re not like your dad wanted, but that doesn’t mean you’re not smart.
And you don’t make as much because you’re busy helping me at the shop. I
told you I don’t need you anymore. You let so many opportunities pass
because of me. I don’t want that for you, Aditya, and I don’t want you to
lose this girl, either. She’s a good one. Keep her.”
“It’s not that simple.”
“It is. She likes you. You like her.”
If he had less control, he would have pointed out his mom’s relationship
with his dad, but that was hitting below the belt. His dad loved his mom—in
his own way. But he also loved cheating. Aditya would never understand
why his mom took his dad back every single time.
“Just promise to try, all right? I like this one,” his mom said.
Aditya could have laughed. Of all the girls he’d ever brought home, she
liked the one he couldn’t have. His client. His rich, highly educated, beautiful client, who was paying him to help her learn how to get someone better.
“You’re just saying that because she’s doing dishes.”
Aditya knew the way to his mom’s heart, and it wasn’t food. It was
cleaning, doing dishes. He didn’t have to do dishes because he cooked. For
whatever reason, none of the women in this house cooked. He’d had to learn
in order to survive.
“She doesn’t mind working,” his mom said. “That’s important.”
“Mmmmm,” Granny agreed.
For a moment, the three of them watched as Ayesha washed bowls, rinsed
them, and handed them to Supriya to dry. She’d rolled her sleeves up and
worked with great attention, listening and smiling distractedly as Shailaja
chatted with her.
“Take her home,” Granny said. “She looks tired.”
His mom nodded. “Take her back to her home.”
He pushed away from the table and went to wrap his arms around Ayesha’s
waist. Because he couldn’t resist, he ran his lips down her neck so she
shivered. The soapy sponge paused in midscrub, and her expression was
confused as she gazed at him over her shoulder. He slid a hand down her
delicate forearm and hijacked the sponge from her. He finished washing the
frying pan and the rest of the dishes with her in front of him, occasionally
pausing to kiss her ear, her neck, or her jaw.
Supriya slanted him a go get a room look as he handed her the last greasy bowl
—one of many that he’d made his mom promise never to stick in the
microwave again—and he could tell she was dying to say something dry and
caustic but was holding back because she didn’t want to embarrass Ayesha.
Ayesha’s eyelids had gone heavy, and her nails dug into the tile counter as
she tried unsuccessfully not to respond to him.
“Ready to go home?” he whispered.
She nodded.
They said their good-byes and piled into Ayesha’s car, and he pressed the
mini cooper's ignition button.
Before Ayesha could buckle her seat belt, he asked, “What are you seeing in
terms of living arrangements and frequency of visits?”
“What do most couples do when they’re in committed relationships?”
“They live together, and they see each other every day. Is that what you
want?” It was strange hearing himself say the words out loud. These were
things he’d spent his entire adult life avoiding, but with Ayesha, he might be
ready for them. If she wanted them, too.
She rubbed her cheek on her shoulder. “I want that, then. I have a guest
bedroom you can use. But if you’re uncomfortable staying with me, I
understand. Not all couples live in the same house.”
“What if I want to share your bed, Ayesha?” he asked in a low tone.
Despite how much he wanted to help her and prove he wasn’t his dad, he
wasn’t sure he could do this if sex was off the table. He wanted her too much.
Besides, most of her problems stemmed from lack of confidence. Bed was a
great place to work on that.
“You don’t have to do that,” she said.
“That wasn’t the question. I know I don’t have to.”
Staring out the passenger window, she said, “My bed is open to you if you
want it, but you know where my skill levels are at. That hasn’t changed since
our last time together.”
He smiled at that. She sounded worried about pleasing him. Something his
clients almost never cared about.
“Let’s seal the deal.”
“Oh, all right.” She pulled a hand out from under her thigh and held it out
toward him.
“We’re going into a practice relationship. I think we should kiss on it.”
She locked eyes with him as her lips parted in surprise, and that was all the
invitation he needed. Leaning across the center divide, he kissed her. He
meant for it to be a seductive, slowly enflaming kind of kiss, but the sighing
sound she made drove him straight out of his mind. He took her mouth with
hungry strokes of his tongue. She wound her fingers through his hair, scbangd
them down his chest and abdomen, and tucked them into his jeans. Yes.
Finally, they could get back to checking boxes—
Knuckles rapped against the driver’s-side window. A muffled voice spoke
incoherent words.
He launched himself back into his seat before powering the window down.
Supriya crossed her arms and tapped her bare foot on the pavement before
she bent down, narrowed her eyes, and clearly mouthed the word pervert at
him. “Mom wanted me to remind you your headlights are lighting up Granny’s room so she can’t sleep.”
“Sorry, forgot. We’ll head home now.”
Peering into the car, she said, “Good night, Ayesha. Hope we see you again
soon.”
Ayesha swiped at the loose hairs falling over her face and cleared her throat
with a cough. “Good night, Supriya.”
She sent him one last disgusting look and walked back into the house.
Seconds later, his phone lit up with rapid text messages from her.
Geez Aditya, go easy on her.
You’ll scare her away, and we all really like her.
Honestly, in the DRIVEWAY? What are you, 16?
He choked on a laugh and handed the phone to Ayesha so she could read the
messages.
She bit down on the tip of a fingernail as she grinned. “I’m not scared.”
He ran a hand through his hair, took a deep breath, and adjusted the
painfully stiff flesh rising against his zip. “Let’s get you home.”
He drove with gratuitous disregard of the law through the empty
residential streets, envisioning himself peeling her librarian clothes off and
pinning her against the wall, the floor—he didn’t care where.
It was going to be so good with Ayesha, spectacular even. He was going to
—he glanced at Ayesha, trying to decide what to do first, and his hopes
plummeted. He was going to carry her into her house and put her to bed.
In the few minutes since they’d left his mom’s, she’d fallen fast asleep.
Her head rolled to the side, and her glasses sat on her nose at a crooked angle.
She didn’t so much as flinch when her garage cranked open and her tires
squeaked over the marble floor.
He tried to shake her awake, but she didn’t react. Her breathing remained
deep and even, her body relaxed. With a sigh, he lifted her out of the car and
headed toward her bedroom—their bedroom as of tonight.
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