Chapter 5
5
“C haaru…honey, wake up!”
Chaaru opened her eyes to find DP leaning over her in the passenger seat, his bare bicep gleaming in the streetlight. The damp made his short hair curl and the sweater vest stretched taut across his chest.
She blinked, the aching gorgeousness of him making her belly flip and roll, beating out the bone-deep weariness from a long day. “DP? Did I forget we’re supposed to meet?” she said, wiping at her mouth with the back of her hand.
“No. I’m dropping you off at your place, remember?”
A groan barreled out of her as the disastrous evening came back to her. She rubbed her eyes and looked at the familiar red-bricked facade of her townhome.
Her crowning achievement and her haven.
And yet, DP himself was just as much a landing place as the house made of bricks and concrete. The thought both warmed and worried her.
“Right. I ruined your date, but you still rescued me.”
“Are you going to start every sentence with an apology now?”
His tone was so abrupt that she stared. Her skin buzzed when he leaned forward to grab his phone from the dashboard and his arm brushed her chest. And then it came again—that new, unfamiliar awareness, arcing at every glance and touch. She needed to find the ground under her feet, fast.
Straightening the rumpled shirt, she grabbed the pizza box. The door opened on her side. “I’m good from here,” she mumbled, without looking at him.
“You want me to leave?” he said, holding the door open.
His broad shoulders shielded her from the rain and the little light from inside the truck highlighted ropey veins on hairy, corded forearms. She had the most insane urge to run her lips over those veins.
“Char?”
“What? No,” she said, shaking herself out of the miasma of longing. God, she was a forty-three-year-old woman. Not a teenager with new boobs and unfamiliar tingles. “I didn’t mean you should leave.” The lie was as smooth as the butter-soft leather under her ass. “Let’s get out of this damned rain. Maybe my brain will take pity on me and come online.”
She put her stiletto-clad foot on the narrow, wet step and hesitated. Her driveway was a steep incline, and she had four-inch pointy heels on. God, she hated DP’s truck.
She’d had enough of her ex trotting out metaphorical penises all over their married life in the form of a huge plasma screen tv and a bike that she, in her worst moments had wished would maim him. Let’s not forget the mortgage for an enormous house in a suburb they couldn’t afford. A house he’d expected her to maintain like a model home without a speck of dust or toy out of place.
She didn’t doubt it was DP’s brother TJ—a player if she’d met one, who’d had the truck all souped up. Even with her long legs, it always made her feel like she was jumping off a platform.
Beer cans dangling from one hand, DP waited patiently as Chaaru went through scenarios where she could get off the truck without touching him. He extended his hand.
She exhaled in frustration. “Can you please look away? I don’t want to flash you-”
“Fuck, Char! Why the hell are you suddenly acting like I’m some sketchy stranger you don’t want to touch?”
Her name on his lips, bit out in a rough growl, shouldn’t have felt like a stroke between her legs, but it did. Something about riling up his steady, cool temper sent an achy pulse to her core. She wanted to get under his skin as much as he already was under hers.
Sighing, Chaaru put her hand in his and slithered to the edge of the seat. His large hand swallowed hers. Struck by the contrast, she hesitated.
“I’ve got you,” he said, mistaking her reluctance for fear.
“I know,” she said, wishing she could just tell him the reason for her strange behavior.
Maybe they could laugh over her one-sided attraction and sweep it under the rug? They were adults, weren’t they? And they’d been through so much together. Maybe they could even make one of those ‘let’s get together at sixty’ pacts. Hopefully, by then, her libido would have dried up and they could sustain their relationship without adding sex and her fears to the mix.
He clasped her cheek with his palm, his gaze searching hers. “What’s gotten into you today?” he said, frustration replaced by infinite gentleness.
She placed a hand on his chest, the nap of the wool soft to the touch. The steady thump-thump of his heart echoed through her, as if calling out to her own. “I couldn’t imagine life if I didn’t have you to catch me.”
“And who said you would have to?” he demanded, searching around him. As if there might be someone lurking behind the three evergreens in front of her townhome. “Let’s go in. A hot shower should set you straight.”
She groaned at the thought of hot water pounding into her skin, pulling the damp shirt from her chest. And then she jumped.
Her chest crashed into his as she landed awkwardly, breath punching out of her at the impact.
Not being a feathery, wispy thing, she almost took them both to the rough concrete. Almost because the man was as solid and rooted as an oak tree. Grunting, he tightened his arms around her waist.
The pizza box thumped to the ground, and the beer cans fell with a plop that matched Chaaru’s uneven heartbeat. She shivered at the drag of his hard muscles against hers.
Or maybe you’re shivering because that icy drizzle’s soaking through your shirt, you moron, piped up that sensible voice and Chaaru hugged it.
“I’m good.” Damn if her husky tone didn’t betray her. “You can let me go.”
For just a second, the flickering streetlight matched the indecision flashing across his face. His fingers on her hip tightened before he nodded and released her.
Chaaru rubbed her hand over her face as they walked up the three steps to the main door. The front porch was dark but there was enough moonlight to reveal the bench seat with three pairs of shoes tucked underneath it.
In the six years since she’d bought her home, they had done this same thing a thousand times over. Returned home from a friend’s house or one of Kaasi’s orchestra concerts or Maggie’s soccer games. But the little ritual felt different today, weighed down by undercurrents.
She pressed the code into the keypad and opened the door. They took their shoes off and slipped into the inside ones, DP’s gigantic pair right next to hers. The smell of fresh flowers, the one luxury she indulged in, and chocolate chip cookies she’d baked last night filled the open kitchen and living room.
Before she could figure out how to dismiss him without looking like an ungrateful bitch, DP popped a beer can open and took a long chug. His vest rode up, revealing his drum-like stomach liberally covered with hair. Heat prickled through her. Turning away, she poured herself a glass of water and drank it.
“I’m sorry I snapped at you earlier,” he said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. His wide brown eyes gleamed brightly under the soft pendant lights he had helped her install.
“I should be the one apologizing-”
“Not that again.”
“Don’t brush it off. I shouldn’t have-”
“If we’re going to argue about this and you’re stubborn enough to drag it until we’ve examined every little thing about tonight, maybe you should change,” he snapped.
Chaaru straightened, staring at the strong planes of his face. She was stubborn. Of course she was. It was the quality that had saved her ass on more than one occasion. She also knew it bugged the hell out of her parents and sister. But DP had never used it like that against her, in that tone of voice.
Still, if he was frustrated about something, she’d bear his grumpiness without complaint. “I’m going to grab a quick shower,” she said, trying to sound like she wasn’t twisted up inside. “There’s some chicken biryani in the fridge.”
Something gentled in his face. “You don’t owe me a peace offering, Char.”
“It’s not,” she said, pointing to the narrow entryway. “I’m hoping you’ll help me lug that vintage full-length mirror I scored at a yard sale upstairs. Tried it myself and nearly threw my back out.”
“Still trying to prove yourself then?” he taunted.
“Actually, no. I value my body far too much to risk it. Especially my back. You know it’s my income source. But I…”
His mouth twitched, a wicked light making his eyes shine. For a second, she got lost in the aching beauty of it, at how perfectly that smile adorned her home. As if it belonged here, with her.
To her.
Shaking her head, she backtracked what she’d said and pouted. “Noticed that my current look matches a hooker whose best days are behind her, huh?”
“Or you could be a supermodel? You have the body and the bones for it,” he said, without missing a beat. His gaze did a quick sweep of her body that left a hot trail in its wake. “Not that there’s anything wrong with sex work.”
“Exactly. It was my last resort all those years ago if the cleaning thing didn’t work.”
His smile vanished as he remembered her desperation. In the end, it had been the small loan he’d given her that had enabled her to pay for Kaasi’s after-school care and buy cleaning supplies, his recommendations that had gotten her the first cleaning job. For some reason, she’d been too ashamed to tell Mona, even though she’d been camping in her guest room for weeks by then. Of course, her best friend had blasted her later for not asking her for the loan.
“Did I ever tell you how proud I am of you?” he said, his throat moving.
She smiled, feeling as if the world was right again. God, please let them keep this even footing. Please.
She vowed to donate a hundred dollars that she could ill afford on her next visit to the temple and cook a giant pot of Lemon Rice for Sunday’s free meal service. Without the usual passive aggressive reminder texts from her older sister.
“I know how much you love my biryani.” Turning around, she peeked into her refrigerator and searched for the right box. “I packed it separately, in a non-transparent container, so that Kaasi doesn’t eat it all. Let me heat it up for you.”
When she emerged victorious with the right box, he was standing behind her.
“I can do that,” he said, grabbing the box from her. Then he popped the lid open and took a sniff. His chest expanded, and he licked his lower lip with a relish she felt deep inside her. “Shall I leave some for you?”
“No. I’ll heat the pizza.”
“Great!” he said, pulling out cutlery and even the lid she used inside the microwave. As it beeped, he walked into the entry foyer and ran his fingers over the vintage mirror. “That biryani should give me the second wind I need to bring this upstairs.”
“Thank you,” Chaaru said, watching his thick fingers trace the scroll edges of the frame with a dry mouth, her flesh eager for the same attention. “You know where the towels are in the downstairs bathroom,” she said over her shoulder as she took the stairs. “You got caught in the drizzle too.”
Pausing at the top of the stairs, she watched him like a besotted fool, tracing the breadth of those wide shoulders. His familiarity with her kitchen, his very presence in her home, had always felt natural, so much that she couldn’t imagine another man in this space.
Every inch of her wanted to walk to him, to ask him to hold her, and beg him to not let things change between them. And yet, she knew that the moment she touched him, her body would betray this new awareness. God help her but she didn’t know how to turn it off.