She put the clock in the basket and disappeared again.
Rahul wandered around the general area, careful not to turn any corners without her or get otherwise lost in the IKEA maze. He had no idea where Jas was at any given time, until she reappeared beside him with an armful of lavender feathers or a glittery cushion, plopped them into the basket, and dragged him on.
She was definitely having fun, though.
Until they came to the kids’ section.
Jasmine appeared by his side with more stuff to put in the basket. She looked up with a smile at the next step in their IKEA adventure... and faltered.
Rahul frowned at the section too, trying to see whatever it was that had made her face fall. There were two entrances into this part of the IKEA maze; one heavily decorated walkway, and one little slide that a ton of kids were lining up to use again and again. Beyond the walkway, he could see piles of colourful children’s furniture, plus an army of actual children, supervised by a worryingly small number of adults.
It looked like the best part so far, to his eyes. Put him in mind of a holiday at home with all his sisters and their broods present. He looked at Jas and found her jaw set as if they were walking off the edge of a cliff.
Whenever he brought her home for dinner or various family celebrations, she’d stay in the kitchen with his mother to clean up. He assumed it was because the two of them got on so well. But now it occurred to him that he’d never seen Jas play with any of his nieces or nephews.
He put a hand on her shoulder and felt her jump.
“You okay?” He asked.
She laughed nervously. “Fine. Just thinking.”
“About?”
“Nothing.” She’d shoved her hair up into an enormous, puffy ponytail—to concentrate, she said. Now she tugged nervously at the strands. “Shall we go a different way round?”
He raised his brows. “What, just to avoid the kids?”
She snorted. “Not to avoid them. I just meant... you know, we don’t want anything in there.”
“I don’t know. There’s a lot of glitter. You like glitter.”
“Piss off,” she said, then slapped a hand over her mouth. “Oh, see? We shouldn’t go in there.”
“First of all,” he said, wrapping a hand around her forearm, “it’s the quickest way out of this hellhole.”
She gasped. “Hellhole?”
He ignored her, tugging her forwards. “Second of all, I don’t think anyone’s going to hear your swear over all the damned noise.” Because IKEA wasn’t quiet at the best of times, but here? The din rose to unbelievable heights.
Jasmine grimaced as he pulled her past the slide. She eyed the kids around her with something that looked almost like anxiety. Which couldn’t possibly be right. Could it?
They made their way through in silence, despite the noise around them. When they finally stepped onto IKEA’s usual grey path, Jas released an audible sigh of relief.
Rahul arched a brow as they walked. “I take it you don’t want kids.”
“I do,” she said immediately. She could’ve punched him in the face and he’d have been less shocked.
They’d never talked about this, but Jasmine... Jasmine was allergic to commitment of any kind. She’d never had a relationship. Not ever. She hadn’t been joking, all those years ago, when she’d told him that she didn’t date.
She had fun, she fucked, she left.
So it had never occurred to him that she’d want... well, a family. She loved her dad, she kind of liked her dad’s wife Marianne, and she cared for her friends. That was it.
He stared at her. Knew he was staring, but couldn’t stop. She looked more than a little embarrassed at her words, her eyes skittering away from his. She wasn’t even looking around for more random shit to put in the basket. Her hands were folded in front of her, fingers laced together.
“You want kids?” He said, because he kind of felt like he might have just hallucinated.
“Yeah,” she said quietly. “Why wouldn’t I?”
Because you avoid human connection almost completely might be a little blunt. Rahul went for humour instead. “So you’re taking the sperm donor route, I assume.”
She smiled. “Obviously.” And then, after a pause, she added, “Let me know if you’d like to volunteer.”
He coughed. Cleared his throat. “What?”
“Well,” she said seriously, “I don’t know where I stand on the nature/nurture thing, personality-wise, but physically you’ve got a lot going for you.”
“What?”
“Solid immune system, good teeth...” She gave him a sly look. “You know. All that.”
She was taking the piss. She was taking the piss, but he felt like she had him by the throat, and as fucking always, he liked it. He barely even thought before saying, “So how would I donate?”
She stopped walking. But interrupting the stream of traffic in IKEA was always a bad idea, so Rahul caught her arm and pulled her off onto one of the little side paths.
She looked up at him with wide eyes, her tongue sliding over her lips. She was nervous. That fact sparked through him dangerously. Why would she be nervous with him? Why would she be nervous over a joke?
If there’s too much truth hiding here...
He tried to squash the hope. It was beyond ridiculous.
Still, he found himself leaning close, found himself murmuring softly, “Well?”
“I... What?” Her voice sounded hoarse. Her gaze flicked to his mouth, unmistakeable, then snapped back to his eyes. “What do you mean?”
“You want a baby? Tell me how to give you one.” He had no idea what the fuck he was saying, or doing, or thinking. His mouth just kept moving, words just kept coming out, and he could barely even regret it. “People do it. We could do it.”
He watched her throat shift as she swallowed. He waited, every muscle in his body tense, for the moment when she’d brush him off. When she’d laugh and turn away.
And it came, just like it always did. She stretched her lips into a smile and swatted at his chest, stepping back. “You’re ridiculous.”
He grinned. It was easy now, hiding the effects of every harsh reality check. “I know,” he said, if he’d been fucking joking. As if he wouldn’t give her anything she wanted and enjoy it.
Her smile became a little more real. She pulled him back into the stream of people and said, “You couldn’t have kids anyway. You work too much.”
Whatever IKEA-induced lunacy had caused him to start this conversation clearly hadn’t gone away. Because he found a truthful response tumbling from his lips, one he’d always hidden from Jas. “I have to.”
She gave him a sideways sort of look. She was walking more slowly right now than she had since they’d entered the damn building. Jasmine had never been subtle. When she finally said, “And why is that?” she sounded so much like a TV psychologist he had to bite back a laugh.
Then he realised that he was actually going to answer her, and the laugh died in his throat. “You know I’ve always wanted to be successful. You know I like getting things right.”
“I know you like controlling everything because you’re too hard on yourself,” she said.
He stared down at her. She—what? How the fuck—
“But I think you’re worse now. Worse than you used to be.”
His throat tightened. He thought he knew what she’d say next, only his instincts must be wrong, had to be, because there were things he and Jas didn’t talk about. Touches, moments, mistakes they filed away because it was safer. And there was no way she’d pull out one of those moments in the middle of fucking IKEA.
“Since he died,” she said softly, “you’ve been working much too hard.”
Rahul let his eyes slide shut for a moment. A tainted sort of relief bloomed inside him. She wasn’t going to mention his… mistake. The thing they never discussed. The thing he’d done the day of Dad’s funeral.
But she was talking about the death itsel
f.
While they’d walked, the busyness of the store had forced them closer, and their hands had brushed numerous times. So it took him a second or two to register the fact that she was touching him on purpose now, that her fingers were twining with his. He looked at her, and she looked at him, and smiled gently, and squeezed his hand.
And he was clearly weak, because that was all it took to release the prickly knot of pain in his chest.
“I’m the head of the family now,” he said quietly. He wasn’t sure she’d hear him over the general noise of the shop, but somehow she did.
“That would be your mother,” she said.
“No.”
“You’re not even the eldest.”
“You know what Dad would say. I’m the head of the family.”
For once, she didn’t argue about patriarchal norms or whatever. She just gave a slow nod, because he supposed she must know that, principles aside, this was his reality.
They walked in silence for a while, hands swinging gently between them, before she said, “Your mother wouldn’t like this.”
“I know,” he gritted out, his jaw tight. “I—I feel…”
When he didn’t finish, she didn’t push. Just waited.
“I feel guilty. I feel guilty for feeling under pressure, because she didn’t do anything to cause it. Neither did my sisters. They aren’t asking me to take the responsibility. I just… did it. I feel it. I act on it.”
And it had been less than a year since Dad died, but Rahul had slid into his place almost seamlessly. He wasn’t just himself now; he was a role model to his younger sisters, a support system for the older ones. He was the person his mother sat with quietly when she wanted to cry or fall apart, but couldn’t let herself. He cushioned every blow he could for his family, and always he felt the drive to become more successful—more powerful—so that he could do a better job of it. Everything had to be right.
He’d always thought like that. Everything has to be right. But Jasmine wasn’t imagining the fact that he’d gotten worse since Dad died. What had been motivational was now a steel collar.
The only time he didn’t feel it was when he was with her.
She was watching him thoughtfully, familiar calculation in her eyes. Trying to figure out a way to fix him, as was her usual style. He didn’t mind. She’d never guess that she managed it, if temporarily, just by standing at his side.
They were nearing the end of IKEA’s path when she said, “Your dad would be really proud of you.” Then she released his hand and walked ahead to check out a chest of drawers she couldn’t possibly need.
And he stood, frozen, irritated customers manoeuvring past him with barely-hidden glares. He would move, he told himself, in just a minute. Just a second. Or however long it took for him to stop feeling like those words had burned him alive and made him new.
Your dad would be really proud of you.
She caught him after IKEA, when he was still dizzy with the sheer amount of crap they’d bought, and cajoled him into poker with M&Ms as chips. They played for time again. She was a shark and a sugar addict and he knew from the start she would get exactly what she wanted. Which she did.
So the next day—Sunday—it was her turn to surprise him.
“This is how you’re using your win?” Rahul stared at the items cluttering his kitchen counter. A small mountain of junk food—microwave popcorn, Ben & Jerry’s, nachos and a six pack of Pepsi—stared back.
Jasmine drank Pepsi instead of Coke because, apparently, it was Beyoncé-approved.
“Yep.” She flashed a cheerful grin at him and waved the DVD in her hand. “Double feature, baby.”
“That’s way more than an hour.”
“So was IKEA, if we’re being pedantic. But my hope is that you’ll be having so much fun, you’ll forget all about the time limit.” She tapped the plastic-wrapped case against his chest. It contained, according to the cover, a copy of both Lara Croft films. Tomb Raider, and… whatever the other one was called. He couldn’t quite make it out.
He could already tell that Jasmine wouldn’t change her mind about this—but he felt the need to put up a token protest anyway. “I believe you won an hour of fun. Not an hour of me eating my bodyweight in saturated fat.”
She widened her eyes. “But that’s what fun is all about.”
For a moment, his mind got caught up in the look of mocking innocence on her face. She captivated him at completely inappropriate moments, for no reason he could discern—not necessarily when she was prettiest. Just when she was completely herself.
“Anyway,” she said, her easy smile returning. “Do you have any cheese in this house?”
His forced his mind to process her words instead of getting caught up in the way her mouth moved. Then he realised that she was starting the fucking cheese argument again. “You know I don’t.”
“Well aren’t you lucky, then?” She held up the Tesco bag from which she’d produced all that junk food and pulled another item from its depths. “I picked some up!”
Rahul sighed. “Why?”
“Because you can’t have nachos without cheese, dinkus. Call it a cheat day.”
He didn’t do cheat days.
Although, if he did, he supposed Sunday was as good a day as any. And maybe he should. Maybe it would be fun to relax, and eat cheese, and watch shit.
But he certainly wasn’t admitting that to Jas, because he’d never hear the bloody end of it. He’d spent years telling her that cheese was practically poisonous.
Instead, he rolled his eyes and leant against the counter. “I thought you were working today. When did you get time to plan out an evening of torture?”
“I wasn’t working,” she said, stowing the ice cream in the freezer. “I was volunteering at work.”
“Isn’t that the same thing, since you work at a charity?”
She rolled her eyes as she emerged from the freezer. “Sure. Only I don’t get paid.”
He resisted the urge to point out that she was barely paid anyway. She had a first class law degree and could probably get any job she wanted, yet chose to remain at a place that offered, amongst other things, pro bono rep to those having trouble with housing.
But she didn’t like to talk about her job. She came over all embarrassed and uncomfortable if anyone dared to suggest that she was doing a good thing. So he dropped the subject and said, “Tomb Raider?”
She smiled slightly. “Let’s do it.”
Jasmine sat cross-legged on the sofa like a little kid while he fed the disc into the DVD player. By the time he sat down beside her, she’d already devoured a significant amount of the cheesy nachos they’d made.
“This film was, like…” She chomped on another nacho. “My spiritual awakening.”
He gave her a sideways look as Lara Croft’s mansion came into view. “I hope you’re not referring to all the magical brown children and the exotic monks.”
She snorted. “Shut up. I’m talking about the power of tits.”
“How is that spiritual?”
“You don’t think tits are spiritual?” She smiled slowly. “That’s disappointing.”
He licked his lips, then felt painfully conscious of the fact. Couldn’t help it. But he tried his very fucking best not to look at the vicinity of her chest, or think about the dark shadows beneath her T-shirt that might be her nipples. He waited for her to laugh, or flick the back of his head, or call him kitten. She didn’t. Her gaze held his, and he saw what he always saw there: challenge.
But it felt different. It felt dangerous.
Then she blinked, and in a sweep of dark lashes, whatever he’d seen disappeared. A smile curved her lips, and she turned back to the TV. “Camera quality really has improved, huh?”
He managed to grunt something that sounded vaguely like agreement. Then he grabbed a bowl of popcorn from the coffee table and proceeded to stuff as much as possible into his mouth.
That seemed like the safest course of action.
7
Now
The TV had turned itself off. To save energy, he supposed.
They’d fallen asleep. They must have, because outside, the city was early-morning quiet. The kind that only existed between blackest night and breaking dawn, all soft and shadowed and echoing.
Rahul kept his breathing slow and even, because he knew from experience that Jas slept light. And she was asleep on top of him, her body sprawled over his, the weight comforting and warm. How they’d gotten like this, he had no idea.
Maybe, some time during the first film, he’d gotten carried away and let himself lean a little too close to her. And maybe, as they started the second and laughed about Lara’s choice in wetsuit, she’d crossed the last of the space between them to let her head rest on his shoulder.
She’d been tired, clearly.
Now her head lay on his chest and strands of her hair brushed his face, tickling. That was probably what had woken him up. He was in two minds about the whole ‘being awake’ thing.
See, on the one hand, he had work tomorrow—or rather, today. Spending all night on the sofa would land him with a cricked neck and a late start, and really, he was lucky that his glasses were still safely on his face and completely unbent. Yes; it was better to wake now, to nudge Jas into the land of the living and head to bed.
Separately. They’d go to separate beds. Obviously.
So he should’ve been glad to wake up. But a worryingly large part of him was… pissed. Because she was so fucking perfect, her skin warm against his, her hand curled around his biceps as if she were actually holding him. Because his cock was half-hard and the pressure of her weight was delicious, and now he felt guilty for even acknowledging the fact, but fuck it. Because—this was his favourite part—his hand was resting against her arse.
If he’d been asleep, his hand could’ve stayed there. He wouldn’t have been conscious to enjoy it, but some part of his sleeping mind would’ve known, he was sure. The part of him that had secretly, shamefully lusted after Jasmine Allen for years would’ve rejoiced and sent him wonderful dreams involving bottom-heavy, curly haired, brown-eyed women.
Wanna Bet?: An Interracial Romance Page 7