Can't Always Get What You Want (12 page)

“Umm, sure. I’ll buy two.”

Aaron looks at me with amusement. “You’re really going to eat those?”

“One of them. The other is for you.”

“You didn’t strike me as the kind of girl who likes to get messy,” Aaron says, while licking cheese off his fingertips.

Oh. My. God.

That is one of the hottest things I’ve ever seen.

Yup. I just thought a guy licking nacho cheese off his fingers was hot.

“Oh, I’m a very dirty girl,” I reply.

Aaron chokes on a half-chewed chip.

“You’re full of surprises, Miss Richards.”

I innocently shrug my shoulders.

“I may have underestimated you,” he says, rubbing his chin. “I might have to try a bit harder. You know, to keep you interested.”

My heart feels like it could take off and fly.

“Don’t worry about that. I’m interested,” I say quietly. Well, okay, I say it quite loudly, but it sounds like whispering over the cheering fans.

He smiles wolfishly at me, and I’m done for.

I have never felt this way about anyone before. And it’s not just his face or body. Great as they are, I am just so incredibly attracted to the person I am getting to know.

Just as we’ve licked our fingers clean, the home team scores a touchdown. He lets out a loud “Whoop!” and shifts his entire body toward me.

“We need to remember this moment somehow.”

“We do?”

“Yes.”

He digs his phone out of his pocket and opens the camera app.

“Excuse me,” he says to a young woman sitting in front of us. Her eyes widen as soon as she locks onto Aaron. She flips her hair up, and smiles sweetly. “Yes?”

“Could you take a picture of me and my girl?”

I freeze. “Am I your girl?”

A sexy lopsided grin plays on his face.

“If you want to be.”

How could I have ever resisted?

“I think I’ve always been your girl.”

I snuggle in close to Aaron. Partly for warmth, but also because I’m curious about what it would feel like for him to hold me. He’s so tall. What would it be like to kiss him? Would he have to fold his body in half or something? How do the mechanics of tall and short kissing work?

“What’s on your mind?”

I blush, wondering if he can tell where my thoughts have gone.

“Tell you later.”

His eyebrows waggle at me, and I giggle.

The sounds around me are crisper, happier. Colors are brighter, more alive. Cuddled up into his side, I sigh dopily and try (and fail) to remember a time when I was this perfectly happy.

—

I can’t believe it.

Aaron and I just had our first date.

Aaron is driving me home, and he’s holding my hand. My heart keeps doing flippy things in my chest.

“You know, I almost didn’t go tonight,” I say.

Aaron shoots me an alarmed look. “Why not?”

“Well, the first time I saw you I thought you looked scary. You reminded me of…”

Oh, I can’t say it. It’s stupid.

“Of what?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Of what?”

“Promise you won’t laugh?”

He laughs, and then backtracks when he sees my narrowed eyes.

“I promise not to laugh. It can’t be that bad.”

“You have such light eyes, dark hair, this whole bad-boy image working for you…”

He grins wickedly when I mention this,

“…and those wicked grins,” I accuse mockingly, pointing at his mouth. He playfully tries to bite my finger.

“See! You’ve just proven my point.”

“What point?”

“That you’re like…the big bad wolf.”

Aaron considers this for a moment. And then breaks out into howling laughter.

I giggle. “You’ve just proven it again.”

“Does that make you Little Red Riding Hood?” he says with a smirk.

“Well, I’m certainly not the granny.”

“Okay. From now on, I’m calling you Red.”

“Red?”

Nothing about me is Red. But, it’s kind of a cute nickname.

“Red. And what shall you call me?”

“How about Wolfgang?”

“Wolfgang?”

“Why not? I could call you Wolfie, for short.”

“No. No, I’d have to kick my own ass if I were named Wolfgang.”

I laugh. “That’s okay. I like Aaron better, anyway.”

We reach the house, and he parks his car.

“Well, for what it’s worth, Red, I’m glad you decided to join me tonight.”

He takes my hand and plants a gentle kiss on my palm. I reach up to caress his face, and he leans into my touch, eyes closed. Seconds later, his eyes flash open.

“Hey! What were you thinking of back at the game? You said you’d ‘
tell me later
.’ Well, it’s later now.”

“Oh.”

How do I say this without feeling embarrassed? “I was thinking about what it would be like to kiss you.”

He involuntarily licks his lips, and leans toward me. “I’ve wanted to kiss you all night.”

Aaron hovers above my barely parted lips. The anticipation is driving me insane; I feel my pulse racing, my stomach clenching into a tight ball. If this is what Aaron’s nonkiss feels like, I can’t imagine the sort of convulsing motions my lips will do when he finally touches me.

And then he does.

Fire bolts through my body, and I’m shining that glorious light again. It’s a slow, gentle first kiss, perfect in every way.

“Wow,” he says, pulling back.

“Mmm.”

“I’ve never felt…”

“Me neither.”

The beautiful sense of foreboding I had on the first day I saw him overwhelms me again. Life as I know it is over. And I wouldn’t want it any other way.

Chapter 10

She’s a Rainbow

My mind is finally starting to settle. What happened in the ER was just a fluke. I’ll just move on and go back to not thinking about Aaron. I have had five years of practice, after all. How hard could it be?

—

As per our Friday night tradition, Samira has invited me over to watch a movie. Tonight, we are at her parents instead of having a
Mad Men
marathon at her place.

“You look terrible,” she says as I walk through the front door.

“It’s my new look. I call it sleep deprivation. Like it?” I say, twirling around on the spot.

Samira regards me cautiously. “Are you okay? I’ve been worried about you since your drunken performance at the BBQ. You clearly weren’t okay after seeing that guy.”

I frown at her. “I’m fine. I’ve decided to forget what happened in the ER, and move on. Brett and I are both single, and we make each other happy. I’m trying not to overthink it.”

I hang up my coat.

“It does freak me out a little, though. I don’t know where we stand. Are we just friends? Dating?”

Samira nods.

“Why didn’t you feel this way around Joel?” she asks. “It’s not like you haven’t tried dating again.”

Hmm. Good question. Why didn’t Joel’s interest make me feel awkward? Maybe his Barbie fetish set off subliminal signals. On another note, I’m so glad I didn’t “
do
” anything with him. What if he had wanted to rub his bump against me, like a Ken doll? And dress me up like Barbie? I can picture it now: Velcro-backed dresses and stilettos.

“Umm, I don’t know. I guess I never really felt that way about Joel. That, and I didn’t have a clone of my old lover fry my brain just when we were getting to know each other. But, I guess he just never sparked any romantic feelings in me.”

“And Brett does?”

“Yeah. He does.” I fiddle with the ends of my hair. “He’s kissed me three times.”

Samira’s eyes widen.

“Okay, spill.”

So I fill Samira in on what happened after she and Narayan left that night. Washing dishes, a shared love for
Wayne’s World,
cuddling on the couch, and innocent kisses to my cheek and forehead. It was fairly PG, so I don’t feel the need to edit much out.

“Wow. Brett has been a loner for so long, I was starting to wonder if he even liked women,” Samira confides to me, laughing.

“He said he’s been single for two years.”

“Did he say why?”

“Nothing specific, just that he was tired of the dating game.”

“Maybe he was just waiting to find someone like you?”

I roll my eyes. “Yeah. Sure. I’m pretty spectacular.”

Samira leads me into the kitchen. Mr. and Mrs. Singh live in a large, older house. Each room is painted a different color. I squint as we enter the kitchen. It’s recently been painted a blinding shade of yellow.

“Sophie! How are you, my darling?” Nita calls out as soon as she sees me. I love that she thinks of me as her “darling.” The Singhs feel like part of my family.

Nita is tall and lanky, and looks like an older version of Samira. Her warm, kind face is framed by a sleek shiny bob, pushed back with a fabric headband.

Every available inch of counter space and tabletop is covered in food. A very common sight in the Singh household.

“I’m fine, thanks,” I say, giving her a hug. I look around the kitchen. “What do you call this color?”

“Atomic daffodil,” she replies. “Really cheers the space up, don’t you think?”

It reminds me of urine after taking a ton of multivitamins.

“Yup. Super cheerful.”

“Have you picked a movie out for tonight?” I ask.

“I thought we could watch
Umrao Jaan
. The 1981 version, obviously. It’s much better,” she explains. Nita loves old Bollywood films. I enjoy most of them too, so long as they’re subtitled.

Nita turns from me and stirs some saucy concoction on the stove. She starts singing. A Hindi love song, I’m guessing.

Her voice is terrible. I laugh and wince at her attempts to reach the high notes—her voice sounds more like screeching tires than a glamorous Hindi actress. But, she looks so happy that the thought of stopping her seems cruel.

Samira scrunches up her nose. “I don’t think you’ll like
Umrao Jaan
.”

“Why not?”

“Long story short, Umrao is a courtesan who’s separated from the man she’s in love with. I’m just afraid it might hit a bit close to home, due to recent events.”

Oh. Yes, that might hit a bit close to home. Well, obviously not the courtesan, taking-sex-for-money bit.

“Yeah, perhaps not the best choice for me right now. Did you bring a backup?” Samira usually brings one along, just in case we get bored halfway through a four-hour Bollywood marathon and sneak off and watch chick-flicks.

“Nar and I just bought
Life of Pi
on Blu-ray. Have you seen it?”

“No, but I’d love to.” I read the book years ago and devoured it.

Meanwhile, Nita keeps on singing.

A loud, heavily accented voice booms into the kitchen. It’s Samira’s dad, Ravi. The word that best describes him is “average.” Average height, average weight, average looks. But the joy he takes in annoying his wife is anything but average.

“What is all this racket for? If I wanted to listen to
Umrao Jaan
sing about her lustful eyes, I would just watch the video. And at least hear it sung well!”

Nita flashes him a challenging look, and sings even louder. And even more off- key. Samira and I laugh at their banter. They’re always like this. They’d be great on a reality TV show.

“Mom, do you think we could watch this instead?” she interrupts, and our brief concert (thankfully) ends. She shows her the
Life of Pi
case.

“Oh, good. I’ve wanted to see that one too,” Nita says with a smile.

Shortly after, we are seated at the dinner table. It’s just me, Samira, and her parents. Despite his curt manner, I’ve grown fond of Ravi as well. I’m not as close with him as I am with Nita, but he’s sort of like an uncle to me.

“How are the wedding plans coming, Sam?” I ask.

She and Nita talk excitedly, mentioning venues, outfits, caterers, and invitations. They have only three months to plan this, but they seem to have gotten a lot covered already. How are they this organized?

“Ah yes, Narayan. Such a fine boy,” Ravi interrupts.

The kitchen grows quiet.

“Yes, he is, Dad. I love him very much,” Samira says.

“Yes, a fine, fine boy. And such a fantastic Indian name.”

Nita narrows her eyes at him, and pulls her lips into a thin line. Samira and I are suppressing laughs, but I don’t know how long we can hold out.

“Yes, a fine Indian name. Wish I could say the same for my own daughter.”

Nita drops her fork on her plate with a loud clank.

Samira snorts with laughter. This happens
every
time I come over.

“You chose the names for our
five
boys! I was allowed to choose our daughter’s name. She’s nearly twenty-five years old, Ravi. You should be used to it by now.”

“But you gave her an Arabic name!”

“What does it matter?”

It’s like watching a verbal Ping-Pong match.

“It’s just confusing,” he says, looking afflicted and wistful. “You could have chosen a lovely Indian name that sounds similar. Like Sameeha, or Samika.”

“Ravi, it doesn’t matter! People give their children names with different origins all the time. Perhaps I should have given her an Italian name? Or German?”

“Samita, Samyatha, Samyukthes
wari…” he continues.