by Sajni Patel
“She is. Definitely a force to be reckoned with.” I tried not to look at my brother or the disappointing expression he sported.
Pranad Uncle’s hopeful eyes narrowed just a little, and I knew my telltale flickers of unamused honesty peeked through. The same flushed embarrassment from the day he caught Liya running off before dinner washed over him now. My heart truly ached for him. Such an outstanding man with such a difficult daughter.
Chapter Eight
Liya
Dad was, without a doubt, trying to convince the jackass lawyer to give me another chance. But Jayesh Shah had made it perfectly clear that I was not worthy of him or his family. At any minute, he would tell Dad just the same. While I didn’t mind someone putting Dad in his place, I did mind Jay prying into what I had hoped was a new friendship. Shilpa was a rare rose in a field of thorns. She didn’t bat an eyelash when my name, or Preeti’s, came up. Even her husband didn’t seem to mind.
But, whatever.
Jay glanced at me from across the room, annoyance blatant on his chiseled face. If looks could kill…well, I would’ve died a hundred times over.
Something in the pit of my belly turned numb, heavy, toxic as it eroded my insides and slowly marched up my throat. I hadn’t felt this way since high school, and I was damned if some pretty-boy jerk made me revert to those insecure days.
“Are you okay?” Preeti asked.
“Yeah. Why not?”
“You look a little pale.”
“It’s just being here. I hate it.”
She stole a glance at Dad and Jay. “Does it have anything to do with your dad trying to get Jay back into suitor mode?”
“Let’s not even go there. Dad didn’t learn his lesson, and I’m assuming Jay is telling him just how much he loathes me.”
She frowned, but I waved away her sympathy. “If that doesn’t teach him to stop this marriage nonsense, then nothing will. I’ll be back in a few minutes. I need fresh air.”
“Okay. I’ll get the girls together. We’ll meet you in the back room?”
I nodded and slipped my shoes on at the door. The air outside was muggy and hot and hit me like a stifling slap. Maybe it was time to just get out of Houston. Maybe that company in Dallas would give me another chance. If Reinli BioChem went down, then there was definitely no reason to stay, aside from my best friends. But Reema and Preeti had their men, their own lives, and Sana would soon get engaged and possibly move back to India. Everyone progressed while I remained stagnant. A new city and a new job were things my life needed.
I checked my phone out of habit. Mike’s name popped up on the screen. A text. Asking me out. Yet again. The guy was persistent, but there was definitely something off-putting about getting asked out via text.
The doors behind me swung open, offering a glimpse of Jay, who continued to speak with Dad. The numbing sensation in my gut returned shortly but was outlived by a pang in my chest.
Screw him. Screw all of them.
I texted Mike. I needed a distraction, and Mike was cute and flirty and made me feel tingly in all the good parts. I needed some good-part tingles.
I perused the heavy, embossed paper in my hand, my eyes drifting across appetizers, soups, salads, entrees, desserts, and drinks. None of them were cheap.
“Do you need help understanding anything?” Mike asked from across the round table just big enough for two settings plus a basket of bread in between.
“No, thank you.”
“Have you ever had French food?”
“Yes, when I was in France.”
My answer seemed to push him back a little, and the slight shake of my head conveyed my disbelief. I placed the menu down and admitted, “Although I’m not fluent in French.”
“Neither am I.” He laughed just as the waiter approached.
While I ordered the chicken Dijon, Mike ordered the almond roasted duck and a bottle of Burgundy wine.
We nibbled on petite salads and buttery bread before the main course arrived. Mike was a charmer. He constantly made eye contact, smiled, brushed his hand over mine on the table, and sprinkled compliments about my hair and dress. Pair that with an elite taste in restaurants and he quickly fell into favor.
“And those shoes…” He whistled. “So damn sexy.”
I gave him a sultry smile and poked my left foot out from underneath the table, displaying my Christian Louboutin pumps with the iconic red sole, a rouge-and-black glittery flower at the ankle, and peekaboo opening to showcase my candy cane toenails. “I know.”
He leaned into the table and brushed my crossed legs. His hand trailed my calf to my ankle. Maybe the guy had a foot fetish, or a shoe fetish, because I could see his thoughts materialize on his face. And that’s what these expensive-as-hell date shoes did, put a certain image into men’s heads.
“I’ve got some ideas for these shoes and this dress,” he muttered.
“Forward, aren’t you?”
He shrugged and sat back. “Up front. No games.”
“Hmm. Is that what you think? I’m worth an expensive dinner?”
“You are.”
I narrowed my eyes just a little. Honesty was a good thing, but it was alarming to realize how easily men objectified women and thought a fancy dinner equated to a night in their bed. Who was I kidding? I was dressed to say the same thing.
As soon as Mike poured the last drops of wine, he called the waiter for another bottle. With one brow arched, he asked me, “If that’s okay?”
“Sure. Why not?” I was having a great time. Incredible French cuisine paired with delicious wine and a relaxed atmosphere was just what the doctor ordered after a long week at work.
“Dessert?”
I bit my lower lip. My appetite for sweets revealed itself when my eyes longingly lingered on the desserts page.
“I take that as a yes.” Mike laughed. “I’ll admit that everything here has been amazing, and I’d love to try the entire dessert menu.”
“Oh, you’re telling me! I can’t decide. I love crème brûlée, but lemon soufflé, raspberry dacquiose…okay.” I closed my eyes and touched the menu with a fingertip. Peering through one slit of an eye, I declared, “Strawberry savarin.”
“Excellent choice,” the waiter commented.
“I’ve heard incredible things about your tulipes with raspberry sorbet. Let’s try that. And a few of the assorted macarons to go,” Mike added.
“Excellent choice, as well.” The waiter left and returned with my light and fluffy cake with fresh strawberries and cream, and a cookie wafer with a brilliant reddish-purple scoop of raspberry sorbet for Mike. The mint leaf on the side added a nice pop, and I wondered if I could find a blouse in that color.
Mike hadn’t offered to let me try his roast duck, nor did he offer a taste of the beautifully arranged dessert. But I shouldn’t appear so greedily hungry…even if it was a French dessert that probably tasted as sinful as it looked.
I rolled my eyes. “Do you mind if I taste your dessert? It’s so pretty.”
He paused in mid-bite, as if my request meant that he might lose his soul if anything went wrong. Well, he paid for dinner, which meant he was entitled to his dessert. But he intended to take me home, so the least he could do was spare a sweet spoonful.
“Sure,” he said finally.
I used my spoon and dipped into the raspberry sorbet. Ah, screw it. I ripped almost half of the remaining shell and grinned as I scooped it into my mouth. The shock on his face was unforgettable. If he would only show some type of annoyance, I could walk away and call this a night.
But why was I thinking that? Why walk away? We had a good time. For an hour, he’d kept my mind off all the negative things swirling around in my life. Maybe he wasn’t enough. Maybe wine and fabulous French food wasn’t enough. Maybe I needed to go to his place more than he needed me to.
Then why was it so hard to turn my brain off? I wanted this. This made me feel good.
Once we finished, Mike paid and winked at
me as he took my hand and pulled me to my feet. In these heels, I was an inch taller than he was, but he didn’t seem to mind. He held my hand for only a second before moving to my lower back. He hadn’t opened the door for me all night, not when I climbed into his car, not when we arrived, not when we entered the restaurant, and not now when we walked out.
But I didn’t believe in that southern gentleman crap. I could open my own doors.
The valet swung around, and we hopped in. The second we started off, Mike’s hand was on my thigh, and as he babbled on about doing this again, maybe adding a movie to the mix, his touch gradually moved higher and higher. I leaned my head back and closed my eyes, and his voice silenced.
“Like that, huh?” he asked, his voice husky and heavy with desire.
“Yeah,” I whispered, wishing he’d just shut up and let me feel good without interrupting.
He kissed me as soon as he parked the car in the parking garage beneath his apartment building. He didn’t waste any time. His hand had moved around to my right thigh, his open mouth kiss a sudden jolt that went straight to my core. And I wanted more. I yearned for more.
I kissed him back harder, feverish, like an addict who couldn’t get enough. My fingers roamed through his hair and tugged. He moaned against my lips, muttering profanities of what he wanted to do to me and how hard he was going to do it.
I didn’t pay attention. I craved the mind haze this euphoria created, allowing his hands to cup and grope and stroke. I wanted release. I wanted a reason to cry out and scream and, for a minute, have my body turn into mush and my mind explode.
He had my skirt scrunched around my waist, exposing the sexy black lace panties beneath.
“Do you want to go upstairs?” I grunted.
“We can do it right here.”
“In a car?” I rasped. “What kind of girl do you think I am?”
“Oh, I know exactly what kind of girl you are,” he muttered against my breasts.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“And what kind of girl is that?” I twisted into him.
“The kind who likes to get it whenever and wherever.”
The euphoria splintered, but I forced my brain to remain on shutdown and ignored his remarks. “It’ll be better upstairs,” I promised and bit his earlobe.
He hissed, his grip on my legs tightening. “Nah.”
“Nah?” I opened my eyes. “You don’t want me in your apartment?”
“Don’t take it personally.”
I shoved him away. “How should I take it?”
He groaned, exasperated, and a bit miffed, judging by the way his eyes rolled and his lips pressed into a tight line. “I thought you liked quick ones.”
“Um, no. And definitely not in a cheap-ass car in a public garage where there’s a security camera in the corner.”
He flushed. “I didn’t notice that there.”
“Really?” I crossed my arms. “You live here and you don’t know where the security cameras are? Or why you parked in this specific area when there are plenty of spots available? Were you trying to give your security man a show? Or have this on tape?”
He scratched the back of his neck. Caught red-handed, little bastard.
“Ugh. Take me home.”
“Ah, come on, don’t be like that.” He tugged at my arms.
“You don’t want me in your apartment so you can set me up to record me.”
“That’s not why. Let it go.” He kissed my neck, and I flinched.
“Then why?”
He hit his steering wheel and I jumped. “Girls like you don’t get the girlfriend treatment.”
“Meaning…?”
“I know your reputation.”
“Reputation and fact have nothing to do with one another.”
“Fine. Let’s go upstairs. If that’s what I have to do to get these off you.” He slipped his hand underneath my skirt, between my legs. Flashbacks screeched through my head. Harsh hands. Pleading cries. Relentless warnings. And worst of all, no one to believe me.
Well, I wasn’t that little girl anymore. I was an adult. A no-fear, badass, will punch a man in his throat adult. I shook, a volatile mixture of anger and fear. A triggered memory. What would my dad say about this? Oh, it was my own fault. Right? Why would I set myself up for this? Maybe I shouldn’t have come here, but that did not give Mike an excuse.
“Oh, hell no.” I pushed his hands away. “Take me home.”
“You don’t mean that.” He kissed my neck again, but this time he stayed there, his hand becoming more aggressive and completely shattering whatever euphoria I’d managed to create.
“Stop, Mike,” I growled, shoving his hand and pulling back from his too-eager mouth.
He laughed, as if this were a game, a tease. “I did not just drop two hundred dollars for you not to give it up.”
“I’m not a two-hundred-dollar whore. You were not paying for this.”
“No, you’re worth much more. But you can’t just go out with a guy dressed like this knowing what I wanted, and even encouraging it at dinner, to turn me down now.”
“You’re an asshat. I don’t owe you a damn thing. You ruined it by trying to do me here and calling me a whore.”
“Don’t be ashamed of what you are.”
I slapped him. And not a dainty slap, but with the back of my hand so that my rings left red and pink stripes across his face and broke skin. Yes, I was pissed and was only getting angrier, but a bit of my former self trickled to the surface. Anxiety bubbled out. My pulse raged. Sweat formed on my brow. I trembled. Because what if Mike did try something worse? Could I defend myself? Sure, he’d get pretty hurt, but so would I. And emotional wounds were not easily healed. Case in point? Me. Myself. Right here, after all these years.
He grabbed his cheek, now as red as the rest of his face. “You little bitch!”
“Call me a bitch again, and I will cut off that worthless twig you call a penis,” I growled.
“Why the hell are you mad that I want to screw you? That’s why you came here.”
“I wanted a screw, but from a guy who had enough respect for me to take me to his apartment.”
He shook his head. “I’ve heard from plenty of guys how wild you are. Respect is not something I had for you.”
“Take me home,” I snapped.
“You can walk home.”
“Are you serious?” I stared at him. Unbelievable.
“Yep.” He turned off the car.
“You don’t have the right to be mad, jackass.”
“Get the hell out of my car. And don’t be mistaken about all the smiling faces around you. We all know what an easy slut you are. Case in point, you almost giving it up to me after one hour. It’s the reason I even asked you out.”
“You are more worthless than the crap on the bottom of my shoes.” I grabbed my bag and crawled out.
“Speaking of, it won’t be fun walking home in those screw-me shoes.”
I slammed the door. “Asshole.” But honestly? I was so glad to get out of that car, unscathed and unbroken.
I stifled a scream. Emerging from the dimly lit parking garage, I pulled out my cell phone, but the reception was inadequate. With head low, keeping an eye on my surroundings, I walked toward the end of the block just as Mike’s car zoomed by.
“Son of a…” I gritted out and walked beneath a tree with a low branch that dropped leaves and little green fuzzy things into my hair.
At least the breeze was nice and refreshing. I was free, not stuck in a car with a creep in the dark.
Swiping my hand through my hair, probably making it worse, I checked my cell.
Screw me harder…
My phone had two bars, just enough to get a call out, but the battery flashed red. I hurried to call Sana. It rang four times. I tapped my foot against the cracked cement. The call went to voicemail.
“Sana! Can you please pick me up?”
I glared at the phone. Dead.
&
nbsp; Where was I anyway? No bus stops in sight. No cabs in sight. This night could get worse really fast in this situation.
I stomped a few blocks before a lit diner came into view. Just a few more blocks. Still incredibly pissed, I continued stomping before remembering that my body weight was supported by delicate five-inch heels. But it was too late. My ankle buckled as one foot crashed down into a deep crack in the cement. The heel twisted, and so did my ankle. Pain careened up my leg.
Tumbling forward, I held out my hands to keep my face from scraping the sidewalk. The fall was brief, and the harsh surface scratched my wrists and forearms, as well as my knees. The scream building inside my lungs somehow stayed in check, although my blood boiled hotter than ever.
On my haunches, I tugged off the beautiful pumps and held the broken one up to the streetlamp light. There went fourteen hundred dollars down the drain. The heel was dead, and soon Mike would be, too.
The few taxis that drove by were already occupied. I kept trying to hail them anyway, to no avail.
With every bare step across the rough, disgusting city sidewalk, ripe with nasty germs, possible hookworms, and tetanus, I flinched. My ankle sent a lightning bolt of hot pain racing up my leg. Gritting my teeth, I marched on, and by the time the diner showered the red neon light from its “OPEN” sign over me, my ankle hurt so bad that tears blurred my vision.
Suck it up.
I gathered myself, my precious shoes dangling in one hand, and pushed through the doors. With eyes set firmly on the lady behind the register, I forced a slight smile and asked, “May I use your phone, please?”
She gave me the quick look-over, sympathy bubbling in the creases around her eyes and downturned mouth. “Oh, my. Looks as if you’ve had a rough night, my dear.”
“I have. I’ll even purchase something to use your phone.”
“No need. Give me one moment to take care of this customer’s bill, and I’ll walk you behind the counter to use our landline.”
“Thank you.” Thanks to technology, I didn’t have anyone’s number memorized, but a taxi would do.
