Dil or No Dil

by Suleikha Snyder

  He stood there long after she went back into the brownstone. Trying to wrap his brain around all of it. How had talking to her turned into her not wanting to talk at all? Wasn’t he supposed to be better at this—per all those positive ex-girlfriend reviews? Women liked him. Found him easy to get along with and fun and charming. He’d never had any complaints before. People even thought he was sensitive. Everybody but Saroj, apparently. Because he’d reached out to her, he’d listened and…and he’d screwed up big-time.

  Chapter Nine

  When a Facebook reminder for an upcoming Brute Squad show came around, Saroj deleted it on sight—and when Anu suggested she go to a hospital fundraiser with her and Vince on that exact evening, she figured it was the best possible insurance that she’d stay far, far away from any hot bass players.

  She dressed for the occasion carefully, eschewing her usual costume of casual print dresses and boots for a black cocktail dress and cute, strappy heels. She made herself into the woman Ma wanted her to be: classy, professional, and open to a higher level of potential husbands. Maybe Vince would have a colleague there who would meet her mother’s approval. Maybe she’d feel so comfortable with doctors and hospital benefactors that she’d decide that was the life for her, and not boys and bars.

  Vince was in front of her apartment building at six forty-five, with Anu already ensconced in the front seat of his luxury car. She wore some slinky red thing and had her hair in a fancy up-do. When she got out at their destination and the slit skirt flowed down to her ankle in a cascade of silk, the whole look was stunning. The two of them were stunning. “I hate you,” Saroj told her, making a face.

  “I love you, too,” Anu said, sticking out her tongue.

  “No Becca tonight?” she asked, following her out of the car.

  Anu shook her head, ruefully. “You know Becks. She wouldn’t be caught dead at a thing like this. Too many bad associations. Even the chance to shamelessly flirt with Vince wouldn’t get her in the door.”

  Saroj still didn’t know Vince all that well, but whenever they all hung out, she was struck by the sheer weight of his charisma. It wasn’t the all-American, boy-next-door vibe that drew her to Adam. Vince was almost as dark as she was, olive-skinned, powerful, sexual, and confident—and wholly Anu’s domain. She’d never before met a man who, so sincerely, seemed devoted to one woman.

  It made her heart ache a little, even as the good doctor took her hand in his free one—the other was occupied grasping Anu’s—and escorted them into the hotel ballroom.

  The gala was intimate. High-top tables and several different bar stations were decorated in tasteful black and white, with less than a hundred people milling around—all of who must’ve had seriously deep pockets. “Thanks for letting me tag along.”

  “Are you kidding? I am officially the luckiest guy here tonight.” Vince smiled and plucked two glasses of champagne off a passing waiter’s tray, doling them out with swift precision. “I have the most beautiful women in the room by my side. What more could I need?”

  “Research funding?” Anu suggested with a dry, bored note, though her eyes sparkled with fondness.

  “It depends on the research.” Vince took a sip of her champagne and stared at her over the rim of the flute until Saroj had to move away because it was getting a little indecent in their immediate vicinity.

  But she didn’t have to wait too long for her own dose of undivided male attention. Text messages from Adam started halfway through the event.

  Hey.

  Where are u?

  Are you coming tonight?

  She ignored them all. Johnny messaged, too. Not so much asking where she was as asking what she was wearing. She didn’t reply to that either. His attention was fun; it warmed her, made her feel wanted and alive, but there wasn’t any future in it. It was all about Adam, after all. Needling him. Trying to get a reaction.

  No more, Saroj promised herself, struggling to pay attention to the beautiful harmony of stringed instruments from the quartet in one corner. But her gaze kept drifting to how Anu leaned into Vince—so rugged and darkly charismatic, like a modern-day pirate—and how Vince hung on her every word. That was what she deserved: someone who could give credence to a relationship in such a basic way. Someone who didn’t have to be hit over the head with a club just to realize he cared.

  She wasn’t going to settle for less. Not this time.

  She shut off her cell phone, shoved it to the bottom of her purse, and went back to her friends.

  ***

  “What the hell, man?” Graham mouthed across the small stage, scowling at Adam over the drums as he fucked-up his third chord in a row. Luckily, the song didn’t require a whole lot of work on his part and none of the drunks—or the girls who were all crowded in front of Johnny in the tiniest possible tops—had noticed. But Graham, Jamie, and JR definitely knew something was up. And when they got to the end of the set, his strap was barely over his head when they crowded around him.

  “What is wrong with you?” Graham demanded. His ball cap was pulled down so far that his eyes were barely visible, but Adam could still feel the annoyance radiating from him. “You’ve been off since before the break. That’s bullshit. We’ve never finished off so fucking weak!”

  Jamie, who saved all his energy and his vocals for rocking the mic, just shook his head in disappointment and slugged his shoulder, then stepped down onto the floor to be thronged by some of his admirers. That left Johnny Ray…who was definitely not going to stay silent.

  In fact, JR looked all kinds of smug, his pale eyebrows crawling up toward his hairline. “She’s really got you in knots, huh?” He wasn’t even going to pretend they didn’t both know who the “she” in question was. To buy himself a few minutes, Adam unplugged his bass from the amp and gently laid it in its case. All the while, JR kept running his mouth. “So she blew off your texts, too? I mean, I didn’t think she’d really tell me what she was wearing, but—”

  “What?” He jerked upright, almost kicking the guitar case across the stage. Johnny gave him the wide-eyed, innocent, country-boy look that only worked on girls who wanted to get in his—practically breakaway—pants. Girls…and guys, Adam mentally amended as he returned fire with a glare. “What the hell are you doing sexting Saroj? That’s disgusting, man.” And had he actually just used the word “sexting”? Christ.

  “You’re just pissed you didn’t think of it first.” JR shrugged. “Are you thinking of it at all? I mean, it’s unhealthy to go without, you know. Fucks with your chi and shit.”

  Adam was twenty-six seconds away with fucking with his chi. Probably how the Incredible Hulk felt on a daily basis. “Shut. Up.” He snapped his case shut, leaning it against the amp for transport. “This is all so funny to you, isn’t it? Just…hilarious. Well, I’m not laughing.”

  “Shit.” JR had the gall to look offended. Like he was blameless in all of this. “You think I’m not taking this seriously? Dude, I’m not the one who’s been completely oblivious to a hot girl that kisses like a dream and worships the ground he walks on.”

  Somewhere between the beginning and the end of that sentence, Adam’s fist and Johnny Ray’s face had a very eloquent sidebar. JR stumbled, barely kept from landing flat on his ass, and Adam jumped off the stage. He stalked through the bar without even registering where he was headed until he was out on the sidewalk, inhaling deep breaths of air, and flexing his purpling knuckles. Ow.

  Under no circumstances did he ever need to hear JR’s opinion of how Saroj kissed. Because he knew firsthand. She didn’t kiss like a dream; she kissed like reality. A reality he was totally losing grip on.

  He had to find her.

  He had to make this right.

  Chapter Ten

  In an hour and a half, Saroj had handed out three business cards—medical journals weren’t an ideal job, but any connection was a good connection—turned down drinks from two anesthesiologists twice her age, and narrowly avoided getting canapés dumped down th
e front of her dress by a preoccupied surgeon who clearly didn’t want to be at the gala.

  “I’m on call,” he said, apologetic, as she sidestepped the very efficient and discreet waiter who righted his tray and vanished. She’d gotten as far as his name—Rick or Rik—before the near faux pas.

  “It’s okay.” He wasn’t a bad-looking guy—the typical arrangement of tall, dark, and handsome. Very much desi, if not by birth country than by genetics. But his eyes kept cutting toward the door, and his hand hovered over the pocket where he’d probably stashed his phone. “If you need to go, you should.”

  Between Anu and two of her cousins, she knew there was no distracting a doctor who was raring to get back to the hospital. One of the many reasons med school had never been in her plan. Or law school. Or grad school at all. She’d never really connected to anything besides writing and music. And Adam. But that, as far as plans went, had been a stupid one.

  “I’m sorry,” Rik/Rick said in that way that meant, “I’m being polite, but this conversation is going nowhere.”

  She’d used it herself more than a few times tonight, and she watched him go without even a trace of regret. Maybe she just wasn’t ready for a different class of men yet. Ma’s deadlines be damned, she felt too young for this—for even the possibility of being a doctor’s wife. Or anybody’s wife.

  “One-night stand” was doable. “Occasional hookup” was manageable. “Girlfriend” was ideal. No, said the traitorous voice in the back of her head, Adam’s girlfriend is ideal. She ignored that voice, grabbing one more glass of champagne off a passing tray and drowning its echo in bubbles.

  After saying good night to Vince and Anu, who were still milling around in schmooze mode, Saroj took off. The night was clear and beautiful, just warm enough to be comfortable, and there was no sense in cabbing it when she could walk home and shake some cobwebs. She slipped on her earbuds, turned up the iPod’s volume just enough to allow for the footsteps of potential muggers, and clicked off at a pace that wouldn’t blister her feet.

  The music was about as far from pseudo-grunge as she could get. Bollywood. Some bhangra remixes. A few Gujarati classics Ma sang to her when she was little. The kind of thing that reminded her where she’d come from, what her life was before the U.S. and blue jeans and college applications. And before Adam.

  The sound of running rose up over the pulsing beat of Punjabi MC, and Saroj walked faster, trying not to give into the temptation to look behind her. Indistinct shouting followed…and then it was very, very distinct.

  “Saroj! Saroj, wait!”

  She knew his voice. Of course she knew his voice. Her hands shook as she turned off her music and stuffed the tangled earbuds and player into her bag.

  By the time he caught up, Adam was breathing hard, cheeks red and wind whipped, like he’d run the whole way from whatever bar he’d been playing in. He bent over, hands on his knees, drawing in a huge gulp of air before standing. “I’ve been looking for you!”

  “What is it? What’s wrong? Is it Johnny? Did something happen? Is he okay?” Was he hurt? Was Adam hurt? Saroj instinctively glanced over him, like she could see bruises through his clothes. Had they hurt each other? She had a sudden vision of Johnny getting thrown off his feet again and, this time, landing like a rag doll.

  But Adam just waved his hand, dismissing it. “Fuck Johnny,” he said in a near-growl. “You didn’t answer my texts. What the hell?”

  That was the emergency? Like she’d committed some grievous wrong by flipping past a few texts? It was a cause for simultaneous relief and annoyance. “I was busy.” She had half a mind to remind him of all the messages he’d ignored over the years. All the voice mails. All the signs. “I turned off my phone.”

  “I thought something happened to you,” he huffed, still with that accusatory tone. “You scared me.”

  “Bullshit. You don’t think about me that much.” It wasn’t condemnation so much as a fact. She knew men were wired differently. Their default setting was “out of sight, out of mind.”

  “Oh, yeah? Like I wouldn’t worry about you? Like I wouldn’t think about you constantly after everything that’s happened lately?” Adam’s eyes were dark with heat. “Jesus, give me some credit. I’m not a jerk.”

  No. He really wasn’t. He was decent. And totally clueless. That was his biggest sin. “What do you want from me?” She’d asked him before, and she’d keep asking it until he knew the answer.

  Adam spread his hands wide in the universal gesture of “I don’t know.” God. Not again. All of a sudden, she wanted to hit him. And she tried…but he caught her hand between his, gripping it tight. “What do you want from me?” He sounded so desperate and so confused. “I don’t get this. Any of it. Explain it to me like I’m five if you have to, but don’t keep shutting me out.”

  Shutting him out? If only. All she knew how to do was let this man in. Hot tears, equal parts frustration and exhaustion, sprang to her eyes. “You really need it spelled out? Are you that obtuse? I’ve been in love with you since the day we met. Horribly, embarrassingly in love. And I’d managed to lock it away, to put it in a little box, until you had to screw it all up.”

  “Saroj.” He rocked backward, like she’d dropped some kind of bomb. Like he honestly hadn’t considered the possibility that her feelings ran so deep. Why would he? He’d never bothered to look any deeper than the surface. “I—”

  “Have been willfully ignorant,” she interrupted. “Because it’s easier. Because a little crush is flattering, but love…it requires thought. It requires delicate handling. Kid gloves.”

  “Damn it, stop accusing me of not thinking.” He scowled, managing to make even that expression look boyish. “All I’ve done for days is think.”

  “And all I’ve done for years is feel. To what end? It will get us nowhere. And I don’t want to ruin the relationship we do have.” It was amazing how easy it was to get the words out. To pretend she really was that strong, that together and mature. “Go back to the club, to Johnny Ray and the guys. Let’s just move on from this.”

  “No.” Adam crossed his arms, suddenly stubborn and immovable. A big, beautiful rock. “You can’t tell me that you really want that. To just forget the past week?”

  “God, no.” These words came easy, too. “What I want is to marry you and have your babies and grow old and gray. But I’m not an idiot. I’m being realistic. Your new obsession will fade, and I’m not going to let myself fall apart over it.”

  Again he looked stunned. And he grasped hold of the most random bit of her speech: “Babies? You want to have kids? With me?”

  No. With Harry Patel. Who else?

  “Saroj…I didn’t know.” His voice dropped to a whisper. To something that was almost like awe…but it couldn’t be, could it? “I seriously had no idea that was even an option.”

  “Screw you.” She nearly struck out at him again. Nearly. She reined in the impulse, instead turning and heading down the sidewalk. It was more difficult than she expected. Lifting her feet was like pulling them through quicksand. Through the thickness of Adam’s skull.

  “Don’t walk away,” he called. “You can’t just drop all of this on me and leave.”

  One of them had to. That was one of the many things he didn’t understand.

  “No.” His hand closed around her shoulder so abruptly that she almost stumbled. It was only the security of his chest at her back that kept her upright. And then he encircled her waist with his arm, pulling her more snugly against him. “Don’t walk away,” he repeated, his warm breath grazing her ear, making her every nerve ending crackle.

  “Well, I can’t now, can I?”

  He’d trapped her. And it felt far better than it had a right to. She couldn’t help it…she relaxed into his embrace. For just a moment. Surely it was okay to cling to him for a moment.

  “I know what I want.” He sighed against her cheek. “You. Okay, Saroj? I want you.”

  *

  Adam had thought it
before, felt it before. That night at the club. But putting it into words now was different. Now, it made a thousand kinds of sense. Of course he wanted her. This girl in his arms was sexy. Kissable. He’d done it once already, and the throb against the fly of his jeans advocated a repeat performance.

  He trailed his lips from the soft lobe of her ear, heavy with a dangling earring, and traced the slope of her throat down to the hollow. Her skin was so soft. She shivered, her head falling back to allow him free rein. “Adam…” His name was equal parts “stop” and “don’t stop.” He listened to the second half, licking at the warm spot where her pulse jumped. For him. Right now, Saroj was alive for him.

  She wanted to marry him. Have kids with him. Have a future with him.

  “Baby, be patient with me,” he pleaded. “Don’t stop this before it even starts.”

  “H-how much more patient do you need me to be? I’ve loved you my whole life.” She said it with no hesitation, no expectation. The simplicity of it went straight to his cock, making him even harder. When he whispered her name, it was equal parts “come home with me” and “come home with me now.” And he probably didn’t deserve it, but she pressed her wet, hot, mouth to his and said, “Yes.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Even standing in the middle of Adam’s apartment, Saroj couldn’t believe it was happening. She’d demanded answers, she’d demanded action, and, oh, he was about to deliver. They’d driven to his place in taut, charged silence—barely daring to breathe until they were over the threshold. And then he’d just said, “Saroj,” in a pleading gasp before he dragged her into his arms again.

  God, she would never be tired of his arms, of the solid reassurance of his chest under her palms. She’d dreamed of this for an eternity, and now it was finally hers.

  Coming to the game far later, Adam needed guidance, direction. His kisses were ravenous, but his hands were too shy. She had to press them to her hips, whisper encouragement, and tell him to tear what he couldn’t readily unfasten.