Chapter 15
chapter 15
Drops of rain were scattering from the dark October sky when Dev and Naomi left Garba. With a frown, Dev squinted across the crowded parking lot to where his black BMW was parked on the other side of the lot.
Fuck , he thought, as if on cue, a light rumbling gurgled in the distance. Thunder. Figures.
Behind them, the door to the community center swung open and Cynthia stepped outside, a small black umbrella tucked under her arm.
“It always rains when I wear dry clean only,” she joked by way of greeting.
“There wouldn’t be room for two more under that thing, would there?” Naomi asked as Cynthia popped her umbrella open.
Under the canopy of what looked like a miniature, travel-sized umbrella, Cynthia smiled helplessly. “I wish, hon. Let me know if you need the name of a good dry cleaner. I can get you the friends-and-family discount,” she said before hustling into the parking lot.
Dev cursed under his breath as they watched her depart.
“Suddenly parking far away from everyone else to avoid dings on your car doesn’t seem like a good idea, does it?” Naomi teased with her bare arms crossed tightly against her chest.
Well aware of how ridiculous it now seemed—he had thought so many times as a child when his father had insisted on doing the same—Dev waved a dismissive hand at the rain, which had already transitioned from scattered to insistent. “It’s worth it.” Still, neither of them moved from their precious, dry shelter.
“Even now?” Naomi asked, as a crack of thunder mocked them from above.
Dev turned to scowl at her, but when he noticed Naomi rubbing her arms, he clasped her hand in his instead. “C’mon, we’ll run for it.”
“Whoa.” She laughed as she teetered after his long legged stride. “Heels, remember?”
Dev came to an abrupt halt and shook out his damp hair. Crouching, he gestured to his back. “Hop on.”
“Really?” Naomi asked with a delighted grin. “I wouldn’t want to impose,” she added, but already she was gripping his shoulder with one hand while trying to gather her long, heavy skirts in her other so she could climb on.
“Today, Naomi,” Dev said through gritted teeth after her third unsuccessful try. By now, the beginning of an all-out shower was underway, and the fabric of his kurta was wet and sticking to his skin, rough and itchy. This was why he never wore traditional clothing unless absolutely necessary. Yet as he watched Naomi struggle with her skirt, the long length of turquoise bracelets tinkling on her arms and her soaked curls spiraling over her ornately decorated blouse, he had to admit that the traditional clothing was undeniably appealing to look at. Even while wet.
A drop of water snaking its way downward across the few inches of smooth flesh between the hem of Naomi’s top and the waistband of her skirt caught Dev’s eye, and he painstakingly averted his gaze. Especially while wet.
Since childhood, he’d been dragged to traditional events like Garba. Dev was more than well acquainted with the gaudiness, the heaping of heavily spiced foods, the cacophony of drums, music, and jubilant South Asians trying to outdo one another. These events were like visiting the bottle depot: the same people were always working the sorting bins, the process never changed, and without a doubt, one walked away disappointed with the fruits of their labor while relieved to cross that annoying chore off their list.
In another month or two, they’d be back and it would be the same damn drill.
But nothing could have prepared Dev for tonight. In her brightly colored dress, a smile permanently etched on her face, and practically vibrating against the beat of the dhol, Naomi was more than her usual, bright self. She was brilliant . Several times, Dev had caught her adjusting the dupatta around her neck so it rested just so and twisting her hips from side so she could watch the graceful swirl of her skirts around her ankles. The fact that he’d contributed to her obvious pleasure by doing something as insignificant as buying her that dress did weird things in his chest.
When Naomi finally hoisted herself onto his back, Dev could feel the bunched fabric of her skirts creating a thick barrier between them, preventing her legs from finding a suitable angle over his hips. Already she was slipping off. Without thinking about it, Dev cupped her smooth, supple calves in his hands and gently pulled her as snugly against him as he could. He thought he felt her muscles flex in his grip, but he couldn’t be sure. His fingers might have twitched slightly, too, unable to resist luxuriating in Naomi’s soft, warm skin.
Maybe Dev wasn’t sure of anything anymore.
“Hold on tight,” he said before he shot out into the dark parking lot, zigzagging his way when cars were too tightly packed to ensure Naomi’s safety when they squeezed past. He waited for her to complain about the bumpy ride or, at the very least, urge him faster in an attempt to save her brand-new, dry-clean-only outfit. But she surprised him.
Naomi laughed the entire way, the musical notes of her joy seeping past his itchy kurta, more persistent than the rain, sinking bone deep. Her laughter, and the tinkling of the bangles on her arms wrapped around his chest, would be imprinted on his eardrums for a long time.
And he wouldn’t mind.
When they reached the car, Dev immediately cranked the heat, adjusting the vents so they pointed at Naomi, who was shivering. Water streaked across Naomi’s face, her haphazard curls dripping, and her gauzy dupatta clung to her neck like a wet plastic bag.
She looks absolutely beautiful , Dev realized with a start. But outloud he blurted, “You have raindrops in your eyelashes.”
Naomi looked startled for a moment, but then she laughed and blinked a few times, causing the liquid there to shiver off her lashes and onto her cheeks. Without thinking about it, Dev reached forward to brush the moisture away, but at Naomi’s sharp intake of breath, his knuckle froze against her cheek, his hand opening as if independent of his brain to caress the side of her face. With her smooth skin against his palm, Dev couldn’t help but press his fingers against her cheekbone, mesmerized by the delicate curve he found there. He gave in to temptation and soothed the fullness of her bottom lip with his thumb, half shocked and half enthralled that he was touching the mouth that was as quick to tease him as it was to laugh with him.
The plumpness of her perfect, pink bottom lip felt like silk, her warm breath an electric current shooting through his nervous system.
He almost pulled away when Naomi’s eyes widened but couldn’t bring himself to do so, not when she nuzzled into his hand and leaned toward his seat. Dev met her halfway, flicking his eyes to her lips and back up again, seeking permission. She leaned infinitesimally forward, close enough that her breath tickled his bottom lip, and nodded hypnotically, her almond-shaped eyes never leaving his.
That was enough for Dev. He pressed his lips against hers in a quiet invitation, stopping just short of exploring her full, soft mouth. But when a sigh drizzled from her mouth to his, Dev couldn’t resist moving his left hand to cup the back of her head and deepen the kiss. Naomi’s mouth opened under his, accepting his attention and, if her tentative hand finding its way to the underside of his jaw was any indication, asking for more.
Everything in Dev was eager to fulfill Naomi’s quiet request. Lightly, he grazed his tongue along the inside of her lush, lower lip and was instantly rewarded by the slide of her tongue against his.
Salted caramel bourbon.
But so much better. Like quenching one’s thirst and awakening one’s taste buds at the same time. He’d never get enough of this, not with the smell of coconut and sunshine rushing his senses and one of Naomi’s stray, damp curls tickling the underside of his jaw.
Both of her hands moved to the front of his kurta, her hands balling the material in her fists so she could pull herself closer. Dev’s body was happy to accommodate, but once he did, a sharp rasp—like nails scratching over rough burlap—sliced the air.
They broke apart and looked down to where the sound had emanated from. Naomi’s bangle was caught on the fine threads of embroidery on Dev’s shirt.
“Oh my God,” she gasped. “I’m so sorry.”
Dev stared at Naomi’s balled-up fists, frozen in midair between them. They looked so small anchored to his shirt by a few loose threads. Those fragile, stubborn strings tethering her to him caused something to shift inside his chest, something he couldn’t quite identify but that was achingly comforting.
Carefully cupping her wrist to hold her hand steady, Dev gently unwound the threads to free her jewelry. Naomi pulled back and pressed her fingers against her lips. The only sound between them was their breaths—hers shallow, his ragged—chasing each other.
“I ruined your outfit.”
Dev glanced down at the loose threads on his kurta and shrugged. “I don’t care.”
Shyly, Naomi stared down at her own dress, still waterlogged. “I must be on a roll tonight seeing as I’ve ruined this outfit, too.”
“You can do whatever you like with it. It’s yours.”
“But…but you bought it.”
“Yeah, but I bought it for you.” An awkward silence descended upon them at Dev’s admission, and he immediately felt a telltale heat creeping onto his ears. “I mean, I bought it for you because that lady at the store assumed I was your husband.” And just like that, the silence grew even thicker, creeping over him and leaving behind the burn of full-body mortification. “It would’ve been weird not to pay,” he babbled. “Besides, I’m not going to wear it.”
“Well, thank you.” Naomi’s words were so soft and shy, Dev wanted to lean closer to feel the sweetness of them on his skin. Worried that he might do just that, he gripped the steering wheel with both hands and forced himself to stare out the windshield instead. The rain was already starting to let up. Figures.
When he didn’t respond, Naomi cleared her throat. “I think you’ve earned a morning off from helping me with the bazaar. Why don’t you sleep in tomorrow?”
“I can’t. I’ve got a game at seven in the morning.”
Naomi quirked an eyebrow. “A game?”
Dev scratched the back of his neck sheepishly—the welcome reprieve from his scratchy collar against his skin was almost better than sex. Dev shot a quick glance at Naomi, who watched him curiously, beads of moisture trailing her collarbone. Almost.
“Yeah, some of the guys and I get together on Sundays and play basketball at the Y. We’re trying to get back into it after slacking this summer.”
“?‘The guys’?”
“Some of the guys I went through the CPA program with,” he admitted. “We’re…uh…We’re not very good.”
“You guys are all accountants?”
“Well, yeah.”
When the corners of Naomi’s mouth flickered with a poorly repressed smile, Dev glared at her. He had the overwhelming urge to wipe her mirth away with his mouth.
Instead, he frowned and maneuvered the car out of the parking stall.
“Accountants on the court shooting hoops,” Naomi mused. “You guys play pretty early for a Sunday morning.”
Distracted by the traffic as he merged onto a busy street, Dev replied, “We have to get our game in before the legit guys show up and claim the court.”
He didn’t need to glance at Naomi to know she was grinning. The car had heated nicely thanks to the vents on full blast, but the knowledge that he had made her smile washed a different kind of warmth through Dev, the kind that soothed away some of the rough edges that were all too familiar to him. He knew she was probably holding back laughter at his expense.
But he didn’t mind.