Chapter 32 #2
He pressed a kiss to her nose. “The year I marry the love of my life without her father scowling at me through the service.”
She snorted. “You’re impossible.”
“That’s why you like me so much.”
Cherry cupped a hand against his jaw. “No,” she said, her voice soft. “That’s why I love you.”
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The Roommate Risk
He saw her on a Monday.
He’d gone home for the weekend, to reassure Mum that he was still alive and hadn’t lost any weight, or contracted any life-threatening illnesses, since last month.
But on Monday, he returned to university and went to his usual spot in the library—second floor for accounts and finance, at the back, by the windows that wouldn’t open, just to feel like he was getting fresh air.
And there she was. In his seat, actually.
But of course, no-one owned library seats. Rahul just liked to stick to his routine.
He sat a few rows away and wasted an hour staring at her. At first, he told himself he was actually staring in longing at his seat, which she’d stolen, but that was a terrible lie. He knew from the start that he was staring at her.
And she was staring out of the window, her hair a dark cloud around her face. It was a pretty face. That wasn’t why he stared, though.
He stared because she was sexy. Sexy like Marilyn Monroe or Sridevi.
When she raised her arms in a languid, lazy stretch, it was sexy.
When she wrapped a springy curl around her finger, it was sexy.
Fuck, when she stared blankly out of the damn window, it was sexy.
He’d never seen raw sex appeal in person.
He told himself that studying it closely was academic.
The rest of the accounting floor seemed to agree. They were staring, too. But she didn’t notice, or if she did, she must not care. Because she kept shamelessly not studying, and kept being sexy. He suspected she couldn’t help the last part.
“Jasmine Allen.”
Rahul turned at the whisper, delivered with the kind of smug bite that suggested bad news was forthcoming. Luke Schnaigl, from his Financial Management seminar, had come to sit beside Rahul at some point in the last hour. He hadn’t even bloody noticed.
Rahul raised his brows, leaned in close and whispered, “What?”
Whispering in a library was an Olympic sport. Trying to out-silence silence while not being silent took practice and dedication. Rahul was shit at it.
But Luke was okay. “The girl,” he murmured. “That’s Jasmine Allen.”
Rahul’s gaze slid back, inevitably, to her. Jasmine . Yes, he decided. It suited her. But Allen? He wasn’t sure. Jasmine Khan would sound much better.
Not because Khan was his last name. He was just spitballing.
Since Luke seemed to expect a response, Rahul whispered, “She’s pretty.”
Jasmine Allen looked away from the window. She looked right at him. She smirked.
Rahul felt his cheeks heat. He raised a hand self-consciously to his hair, stopped himself, and pulled off his glasses instead. Now she was just a blur, and he couldn’t see the sharp amusement in those dark, dancing eyes. But he could still feel her gaze. Fuck.
Beside him, Luke released a little huff of laughter. “Careful, mate. If you give her a reason, she’ll eat you alive.”
Rahul snorted, cleaning his glasses needlessly on the hem of his T-shirt. “What are you, the student body’s fucking tour guide?”
“Just looking out for you. Everyone knows Jasmine Allen. But I know you don’t get out much. Thought I should warn you.”
Rahul’s lips compressed. “Warn me about what?”
“She’s a look-but-don’t-touch kind of girl. For guys like us, anyway.”
“And what does that mean?” Rahul put his glasses on again and was relieved to find that Jasmine had returned to the window. Relieved, and yet a little deflated. In the instant he’d had her gaze, he’d been as alive as he was embarrassed.
There was something powerful in her attention. He supposed that was part of the sex appeal.
“It means she’s out of our league,” Luke said dryly.
“She’s a genius. Her family’s loaded. You know she’s secretary of the Law Committee?
You know she’s a cheerleader? And,” he added darkly, “she looks like that . I don’t know what she’s doing here.
I bet it’s part of an elaborate plot to get one of us to make a fool of ourselves. ”
Rahul raised his brows. “Why would she do that?”
“It’s what they do,” Luke said. “Those kinds of girls.”
Rahul stared at his friend—well, acquaintance —for a moment as he turned that logic over in his head. He made sure he was quite positive of his conclusion before he spoke. “You’re a fucking twat.”
Luke scowled, holding up his hands. “Piss off.”
“Alright.” Luke hadn’t meant it literally, but Rahul gathered up his things.
It wasn’t hard; he’d barely unpacked anyway.
Certainly hadn’t got a head start on the term’s assignments, as he’d intended.
He shoved his stuff into his rucksack with no concern for order—for once—and made his way towards Jasmine Allen.
He had no idea what he was doing.
But she was looking at him again. Watching him. In fact, everyone in the vicinity was watching him, most with looks of dawning horror. He didn’t care. He came to the table where she sat and took the end seat, leaving space between them. She studied him with a little smile.
“Hi,” he said awkwardly.
She nodded. “Hello.” She sounded like Joanna fucking Lumley. Posh, but like she’d just finished screaming someone’s name.
What the fuck is wrong with you right now?
“I usually sit here,” he said, words tripping over themselves. “And I... didn’t like that table.”
The tables were all identical.
But she murmured some sound of vague understanding and turned back to the window.
Rahul pulled out his work and tried to focus on his research assignment. For almost another hour, he failed. Then she left. It should’ve been a blessed occurrence, should’ve improved his concentration at least—but of course, it didn’t.
He was surrounded by the ghost of some tropical scent that might belong to her. Why had she been on this floor, if she was a law student? And why had she stayed so long and only looked out of the window? And why the hell had he come to sit next to her?
He left the library woefully early. When he came back the next day, she was in his fucking seat.
On Tuesday, he sat beside her like a fool, imagining a taut string stretched between them. A thread of glittering tension that connected his furtive gaze and his pounding heart to her raw beauty. He knew he was the only one who felt it.
On Wednesday, he finally got some work done. Not as much as he’d like, but more than he’d managed over the past few days. He must be getting used to her. Growing immune to her magnetic pull. He’d just started on the second part of his assignment when the rain began.
“Ah, fuck,” she said. “I didn’t bring a jacket.”
She was still staring out of the window, but she didn’t sound as if she was talking to herself. So Rahul looked out of the window with her, at the insistent drizzle, and said, “You can have mine.”
She looked at him, finally, a little smile teasing her lips. “You’d give me your coat?”
Rahul shrugged. He couldn’t speak. Turned out, he wasn’t used to her at all.
“What a gentleman,” she murmured, her smile growing into a full-blown grin. Her cheeks plumped up and little lines fanned from her almond-shaped eyes. She had an adorable smile. That was unexpected.
Rahul smiled back. “I don’t mind a bit of rain.”
“That’s good to know, but I can’t take your coat.”She said it with authority, in a tone that brooked no argument.
Still, Rahul hesitated to give in. His father had raised him to be a gentleman, whatever the hell that meant. So he said, “Look, I really don’t mind—”
“But I can win it.”
He blinked at the interruption. “Win it?”
“Yes.” She turned back to the window and said, “Choose a raindrop.”
“A raindrop?”
He watched as Jasmine leant forward. She put her finger over a fat drop dribbling on the outside of the glass. As it moved, her finger followed it. She had a dark, raised scar on the inside of her forearm, long and narrow. “Go on,” she said. “Choose.”
Feeling self-conscious, Rahul ignored the stares from the people around them. He got up to stand beside her and chose a drop at random.
She clucked her tongue. “That’s higher than mine. Choose one about the same.”
“For what purpose?”
She smiled up at him. “I like the way you talk. You should talk more.”
He didn’t point out that he’d had no reason or opportunity to talk to her before now. He didn’t point out that they didn’t know each other, so for all she knew, he might be the most talkative person in the world.
Instead, he repeated, “For what purpose?”
“Your raindrop is your horse. The windowsill is the finish line. I bet your coat on my raindrop.”
Gambling. Dad would smack him upside the head for even considering it.
But it wasn’t really gambling, because he intended to give her his coat no matter what.
It was a game, a game that brought a smile to a pretty girl’s face.
He wanted that smile to stay. He wanted a reason to stand beside her. He chose a raindrop.
“So we start like this?” he asked, frowning slightly.
“Yes,” she said. “This is how we begin.”
Rahul’s raindrop won, and she refused to take a rematch. Refused to accept his coat, either. So he put it over the back of her chair, packed up his things, and left her laughing protests behind. She’d have to take the coat now.
He remembered belatedly that his iPod was in the inside pocket, and prayed she wouldn’t be stubborn enough to leave the coat behind.