ACCORDING TO RAM I didn’t have to wait for the Ugh of malevolence to hit.
I could go out looking for it.
He explained this to me as I hefted the carton of Coke all the way up the stairs to Sanjay’s apartment. When I asked Ram for help, he pleaded sitar elbow.
Humble servant my ass.
Back in Newport, no one was home—a good thing since the sword would be rather hard to explain, and I didn’t want to leave it in the car. My plan was to shower, change, and go back out.
Afterward, dressed in a white silk robe, I threw open the doors of my mirrored, walk-in closet, and with one hand on my chin, the other on my hip, I pondered the eternal existentialist question.
What does a goddess wear to kick ass?
In Style magazine had yet to cover the issue, so it was all up to me. Black seemed a safe bet. I pulled out a black zip-up turtleneck by Guess, my favorite Seven jeans, and black Sergio Rossi slingbacks. Sure, running shoes or Doc Martens would be more appropriate for fighting, but not with these jeans.
I tied my hair back in a bouncy ponytail, added a dusting of Studio Fix powder and some lip gloss, and I was ready. I was going to prove that style and substance overcame malevolence and immorality any day.
I was about to put the divine in divining rod.
When I came downstairs I was greeted by the smell of frying onions and garlic.
Mom was home.
I walked into the kitchen to deliver my excuse for the night, but the one busy at the stove wasn’t my mom. It was Tahir.
He nodded to the two glasses of red wine on the side table. “Take your pick.”
Hmm.
Malevolence was out there, needing to be dealt with.
In front of me was red wine.
A girl needed sustenance.
I took a long, slow sip. “I’m totally loving this Shiraz. Where’d Mom and Dad go?”
“That’s obviously Pinot Noir, not Shiraz. We’re meeting them at the Kathak show at eight.”
“Kathak? They know that stuff bores me to tears. Why’d they buy me a ticket?”
“How can you hate Kathak? The dancers train for decades just to pull off such intricate footwork. It was considered choice entertainment in the court of Mughal emperors.”
I responded wittily by sticking my finger down my throat like I was gagging. “So why didn’t you go with them? Oh wait—” I batted my eyelashes teasingly. “You wanted to wait for me.”
Tahir snorted. “Hardly. I was expecting an important fax; otherwise, I would have joined your parents and their friends for dinner before the show.”
I moved closer and peered over his shoulder. “Speaking of dinner, what are you making?”
“Roghan Josh. Lamb curry with potatoes and turnips.”
“I know what it is.” Honestly, why were people always explaining elementary Indian cultural facts to me?
I was distracted from my irritation by the sight of Tahir’s broad, leanly muscled shoulder. No boniness there. I could lean my head for hours and my neck would be fine.
He turned to me. “Are you breathing through your mouth?”
I stepped away, and reached for the wine bottle to fill my glass, which as usual, had miraculously depleted.
Well, I was drinking for two now.
Tahir opened the oven to check on the lamb, and the smell made my stomach roar.
“So what’s with cooking dinner?”
He took a sip of wine. “You don’t cook, and we both had to eat, so…”
Even wearing a ridiculous red apron, Tahir was a splendid specimen of male anatomy. The arm that held the glass of wine up to his Roman nose was powerful yet slender. My limbs melted, remembering the way he’d caught and pressed me to him last night.
Warm fuzzies took up residence in my stomach.
I owed him an explanation for why I’d pulled away and left the party. “About last night—”
He shut the oven door and slung a dish towel over his shoulder. “First of all, you’re weird, and not in an appealing way. Second of all, neither of us is interested in a relationship with the other; so let’s just agree to lead our own lives without explanation.”
The warm fuzzies inside my stomach twisted into gut-wrenching tapeworms. “Fine. But if you think I’m weird, I highly doubt your definition of normal exists.”
“Fine,” he said.
“Fine.”
“You already said that.”
“Fine…I mean I know.” I took a steadying sip of wine. “Are you going to tell my family about us, or do I have to be the sacrificial Sita?”
He removed two plates from the cupboard. “You know this may be a good time for you to tell your family the same thing you told me.” His lips curled into a mocking grin. “That you’re an independent woman who doesn’t believe in arranged marriage.”
It was clear now that Tahir was going to be of no help with regard to the marriage mess…
I was struck by a strong feeling of déjà vu. Hadn’t I had the exact same thought about him before?
I decided to attend the Kathak show, thereby temporarily appeasing my family. Afterward, I’d hit the streets and try to save the world, or at least parts of Orange County.
Until then—
I consented to help Tahir set the table.
Carrying spoons and forks, I tossed them down along with a pile of napkins, buffet style. “So what’s with you and Nadia? Is she actually helping you find an apartment?”
Instead of telling me to mind my own business, Tahir began placing the fork and spoon neatly beside each plate and folding the paper napkins into flowers. “And why exactly do you care?”
I picked up one of the tissue tulips and raised an eyebrow. I couldn’t decide if the guy was creative or completely anal. “I just feel you should know that Nadia is one warped individual. She doesn’t use protective seat covers in public restrooms. She just plops down. I mean that’s totally disgusting. And she’s a doctor, for God’s sake!”
Slipping on bright red oven mitts that matched his apron, Tahir carried over the main dish and a plate of carryout naan he’d warmed in the oven. “And how do you know what she does in a public restroom.”
“That’s really a long story and not suitable for dinner conversation.”
“Speaking of dinner…”
We took our seats at the table across from each other.
There wasn’t much conversation after that. There we were, two attractive people sharing a delicious meal. It was like a date.
Except I thought he was an asshole, and he thought I was certifiable.
Toward the end of the meal, the fax machine began to beep, and Tahir excused himself from the table.
Leaving the dishes for him, I went upstairs and retrieved my sword.
Grasping the weapon in my hand, I couldn’t help smiling.
Who needed a man when I had this?
I’d stash it in the backseat while Tahir was scrubbing away in the kitchen.
Now I was ready.