Chapter Twenty-Four
Twenty-four
Sunny
“Now that you’ve succeeded in getting so much personal, and embarrassing, intel on me, it’s your turn. Why aren’t you dating anyone?” I asked Bane, who was lounging on a patio chair, basking in the last remnants of sunset glow.
“Rude. You never ask a woman that.”
After a moment of her signature simmering, she replied in an unexpectedly lively tone, “Okay! So let me preface this by saying I’m happy where I’m at, okay?”
I nodded. Clear indication she wasn’t looking for a relationship. Noted.
“I don’t need a man or a house or a family to be fulfilled.”
“Of course.”
“Just like buying a house, I have standards. Why waste the time and energy and money on anything less? I’m not going to buy a place just because society or family says I should, or any reason aside from knowing it’s the one, the house that makes me happy and makes me excited to go home every night. Similarly, I want a man who does the same and makes me feel loved.”
“You’ve never felt loved before?”
“My exes have said they loved me, but it was more that they really, really liked me. I want…romance; unbridled passion would be nice.”
“Same thing Sejal said.” I spoke before thinking.
“I mean, look at you. Why did she expect you to be something you’re not?”
My chest spasmed. Talk about a hard-hitting jab.
“Oh, no. I don’t mean…Sunny.” Bane swallowed her words and gnawed on her lower lip. “That was insensitive of me.”
“It’s true.”
“But you’re not that guy, and that’s okay.”
“Yet you want what she wanted.”
Bane shrugged. “I don’t mean flowers and dates and candles and parties and vacations. I want to feel like I’m meant for him, and he’s meant for me. Like rom-coms.”
I eyed the yellow book haphazardly left on the foot of her lounge chair. “Rom-coms are cheesy and unrealistic.”
“Rom-coms remind me of what real love can be. Not simply feeling adequate in a relationship, but feeling amazing, thriving, belonging. Maybe that’s not the norm, but no one should have to settle for something because it’s common. I’m not dating anyone because I’m not settling for anything less. But I wouldn’t force anyone to be that way. Defeats the purpose.”
“Tell me what you want.”
She watched me for a second before calmly replying, “I want hugs from behind.”
Now I was the one waiting for her to go on, to know more.
“Kisses on the forehead. Little things to show that he cares and thinks of me. Texts or calls during the day to tell me dumb jokes. When he knows I’m not feeling well and brings me something to cheer me up. Sees my social anxiety and takes action.”
Ah, so I’d guessed correctly. Bane did have social anxiety.
“Looks at me like there’s no one else. Makes me feel alive, happy to be around him, miss him when we’re apart. Someone who misses me when he’s gone, like really, truly, deeply misses me. Someone who makes my stomach lurch, my skin tingle, my toes curl.”
“That’s impossible. What the hell are you going to do with curled toes?”
She glared at me.
“Continue. Please.”
“Someone who helps with cooking and cleaning because he knows I’m not his maid. Who holds conversations like an adult and does not throw tantrums or make assumptions. Someone who supports my career ambitions.”
“Even if it takes time away from couple things?”
She nodded. “Because I would support him if he wanted to do something to become better or change course to be happier, fulfilled. We both need growth.”
I mulled over her words. “So…let’s say if we were dating and I chose to study new coding languages instead of going to a party with you—”
“You know me, right? Parties exhaust me.”
“Okay, not a party. A family dinner?”
“I think family time is important. I’d ask if you could come for a little bit, and everyone would understand why you left early. They’d also understand if you missed dinners once in a while and would make extra for leftovers. It couldn’t be missing every family dinner, but if you did, we would discuss why. There has to be a reason other than you having other obligations. I’d hope that you would be happy to have family dinners and try to make them. If not, then there’s something bothering you about them and we should approach that.”
Hmm. Definitely not a Sejal answer. I leaned toward her, my elbows on my thighs. “What if I stayed awake all night to work?”
“I’d encourage you to have better work-life balance, but I do the same thing. Just be in the other room with sufficient lighting, and make sure you’re hydrated and exercising and eating healthy. Munch on a salad while you’re working.”
“So we’d just enable one another?”
She thought for a moment, pensive. “I’d say, maybe we can work out a system. Limit ourselves. No work after midnight. At least seven hours of sleep. No extra screen time one hour before sleep or within thirty minutes of waking up, preferably longer times on both ends. And…let’s read together. Or walk. Whatever. Build heathy habits, but together. But mainly, I’d want to make sure you’re in a healthy place.”
I cracked a smile. “And hold each other accountable?”
“Yes. As long as you bring me treats.”
“Treats?”
“Didn’t you make cookies when you came to my apartment for a work party last year?”
I laughed. “You remember those?”
“Yes. They were amazing cookies.”
“Now you’re just flattering me.”
“I’m being honest.”
“And yet you don’t remember where things went wrong that night?”
“Wrong? Aside from you barging into my bedroom? Felt like an unwarranted violation.”
I groaned, rubbing the bridge of my nose.
“Ah, our time of civility must be up. Back to bickering already?” She looked at her wrist as if she were wearing a watch. “And here we were having such a normal time.”
I took her wrist, lowering her hand. “All right, smart-ass. Tell me what you think happened that night.”
“What I know happened?”
“Sure.”
I was still holding her wrist when she explained, “I put on a work party every now and then for fun and morale and a way to meet people outside of work all in one go. Plus drinks.”
“They were good.”
“And the food.”
“Divine.”
“But being around people in social settings for too long drains me. Being at a party that large sucked my energy dry that day. Other people are like…energy vampires. Oh! That’s another thing I need in a man: someone who doesn’t suck my energy.”
“No vampires. Got it.”
“Are you taking notes?”
“Extensive ones.”
“Good. I’d already been at my limit when you introduced yourself to me. I should’ve been more present, and I apologize that I wasn’t. That was probably a bad first impression, but I was on the verge of having an anxiety attack.”
“That’s when you ignored me?”
She nodded. “Not intentionally. Everyone started to blur together, and the only thing I could focus on was how to get out, but it was my party at my place. I faked an important phone call and escaped into the bedroom, where it was quiet and dark, and just stayed there. I didn’t know how long it had been, and I physically couldn’t move. Not even to say goodbye to people. I knew they were leaving. I heard them, people were looking for me, texts on my phone, but then someone thought I was outside, so more people shuffled out. And then you came barging in, but I was still having an anxiety attack at two percent battery on my way to shutting down.”
I stole a breath. How often did misunderstandings happen because both views were dramatically different? How many ruined moments or failed relationships or failures to become more? A hell of a lot. We were a prime example.
“Then you said something about me ditching my own party and I wanted to cry.”
My heart fractured. “I…had no idea. It was a joke. To break the awkwardness of me walking into your bedroom. I know. I have to work on my tone.”
“It wasn’t you. Tack on a panic attack and exhaustion and worries over career and work and life and failed relationships and…a lot of things snowballed into that one moment. I wanted to cry, but you were there, so I couldn’t.”
“I’m sorry I made that moment worse. Had I known…” I rubbed the back of her hand with my thumb. “So that’s why you snapped at me?”
“Did I? I didn’t mean to. It was a blur. And I hadn’t even had alcohol.”
“I figured you didn’t like me, and you were short with me afterward at work to seal my assumption.”
“Short? No. No. We were swamped with huge projects and major deadlines, and everyone was asking me for everything, and I was giving everyone direct answers that were…”
“Short?”
She smiled, her shoulders relaxing. “They had to be quick if I was going to respond to everyone. But then you got snarky with me.”
“Because you gave short, irritated answers.”
“So that means you had to shove it back at me?” She shifted to face me so that our knees were almost touching. Annoyance flashed across her features.
“If that was a moment or days or weeks of stress, then how the hell did this last a year?”
“Because you were giving it to me!”
“Only because you started it!”
“Real mature.”
“But that means you kept playing this short, annoyed response game in spite of me, huh?” I arched a brow in challenge.
Her irritation faded. She clamped down on a smile.
“Don’t try to hide it.” I nudged her knee with mine.
She leaned onto her elbows, matching my posture. “I always assumed you were this grumpy, snarky, stoic person.”
“I am. But okay, it’d become a game with you. I admit it. To know that I could get under your skin is fun.” The corner of my mouth twitched.
“I started doing the same with you because I could tell you enjoyed annoying me.”
I tapped her fingers hanging close to my hands. Her skin was so soft. I couldn’t stop touching her. “What do you think of me now?”
She peered right into my soul with those beautiful, dark eyes. “I think you’re kind of nice. Maybe even rom-com cheesy.”
“That makes me boyfriend material, you know?”
“I thought you were my boyfriend.”
In all this fraud dating, I found myself wishing it weren’t so fake. That these sensations coursing through me were real reactions. That these moments were true, and that these sparks between us were everlasting.
“And what do you think of me now?” she asked.
I touched her bare knee, daring but irresistible. Her gaze darted to where we made contact, but she didn’t move away. “I think you’re still an effervescent smart-ass.”
“Lovely,” she jested. “Quite romantic.”
My thumb stroked the inside of her knee. Her breath hitched. Her eyes flashed to mine. “I love your reactions to me.”
“When you’re pushing my buttons?”
“Yep.”
My hand glided higher up her knee, moving to her outer thigh until I felt the underside of her chair and dragged it toward me. Bane squeaked, grasping my biceps as my right knee slipped in between her legs. Her eyes fluttered. Her chest moved in and out in mesmerizing bursts.
I leaned forward, touching my forehead to hers, my hands finding their way to her soft, warm thighs. Her hold on my arms tightened.
“I really want to kiss you,” I muttered against her cheek, where I could hear her panting. “So I need you to tell me not to.”
“I will do no such thing.” Her hand moved to the nape of my neck and clutched my hair.
“ Bane ,” I groaned.
She turned her head slightly, our mouths closer to alignment. “Yes?”
I dug my fingers into her thighs. “To be clear: You want me to kiss you.”
“To be clear: You want to kiss me.”
I chuckled, my lips grazing her jaw. “Smart-ass to the end.”
“All talk…”
“Yeah?” I dragged my lips down her jaw.
She gasped. “Yep.”
Until our mouths met. A slow, burning caress. A soft, tender kiss. It seemed to be something I’d waited my entire life for.
Her lips tasted like cherries, sweet, succulent. Her presence consumed me.
My left hand slid up, underneath the hem of her shorts, my other hand at her neck as she released a sigh against my lips. She was so damn perfect.
I opened her mouth with mine, darting my tongue inside, eager to find out what her tongue tasted like when she let out a moan.
And then her phone pinged in three rapid successions.
Flustered, Bane pulled back. “We…um…”
“Shit,” I mumbled.
“Right.” She jumped to her feet and hurried inside.
I dragged a hand down my face. I was such an idiot.
We weren’t really dating; that much was clear. We were coworkers returning to our real lives in a matter of days, to our bickering rivalry and competition for PM. This was all a fantasy, and we both knew what reality was like.
I was not her rom-com.