Yesterday had been miserable, and today wasn’t much better. There were still patients and families receiving bad news. People continued to blame me.
Today, for lack of a better word, sucked. But it felt a hundred times better. And I knew exactly why every time I peeked at my phone and saw Daniel’s occasional check-ins. And there was, of course, Liya reeling the conversation back to my so-called hookup with Daniel. She actually had me cracking up, which made me feel weird and guilty. Maybe I didn’t deserve to be happy when Laura and so many other patients were suffering.
By now, Reema and Sana had jumped into the conversation.
Reema: Seriously! Liya just told me what’s going on in that…apartment of ill repute.
I laughed so hard that water almost spurted out of my nose. The text sex joke was just the distraction my day needed. So silly and lighthearted and anything except serious.
Reema: Don’t you think about using my gift toward this madness.
I hadn’t thought about that. But maybe I could repay Daniel’s kindness by cooking him dinner. Maybe having that relaxed type of evening would make it easier for me to tell him why I’d left the way that I had. I didn’t have to use Reema’s gift to show my gratitude. Although, how impressed would Daniel be if I came through with Parisian crepes? More importantly, why was I even thinking about impressing him?
Vegetable stir-fry and noodles seemed easy enough. Cook veggies, add sauce. Boil noodles for three minutes, drain, add to veggies. Easy-peasy. Yet I found myself standing in the international grocery aisle after work wondering which sauce and which type of noodles to get. There was a better selection at the actual Asian supermarket down the street, but that store had an entire aisle dedicated to noodles alone and another for sauces, and I wasn’t ready for that.
I texted the girls for advice, since everyone was already on the sex text thread.
Me: Making dinner for my man. Quick! How do you make stir-fry noodles? Which veggies and sauce should I buy? Also, which noodles?
Liya: Mm! Food is definitely the way to a man’s heart.
Sana: So NOT funny (if this is a joke)!
Reema: You lie. You’re not getting along with him, much less doing it.
Liya: We’re adults. We can say screw. And she’s screwing him hard. I mean…LOOK at him! He’s like Trevor Noah and Michael B. Jordan smashed into one fine-ass man. Rawr.
Sana: Okay, yes, I do agree with Liya about the level of fineness.
Reema: No one is questioning Daniel’s attractiveness, but I demand proof or stop playing this dumb game. Why are you doing this?
Me: Guys. I’m standing in front of the noodles. I need help.
Liya: Chow mein noodles are easy, quick, tasty, and won’t get soggy. Don’t do cruciferous veggies…ya know, the gas…
Reema: OMG. Just sauté red bell peppers, mushrooms, baby corn (in a can), and add spinach at the very end. Keep it simple if you’re actually cooking. And use a splash of soy sauce and some chili paste or get a stir-fry sauce in a bottle. Be basic.
All right. I could do that.
With everything I needed in hand, I arrived home without a trace of Daniel in sight.
That gave me time to shower and change. With Reema’s text still fresh in mind, I couldn’t believe that I’d forgotten all about her wrapped gift that I wasn’t supposed to open until I got home. It was still in the bag with the crepe ingredients, which sat on top of the long dresser. As my hair air-dried, I unwrapped the delicate lavender tissue paper and unraveled lacy fabric.
Oh…Maybe when she’d said not to use her gift with Daniel, she wasn’t talking about crepes at all. Maybe she meant this very sexy, very lacy Parisian underwear and bra set. The fabric was soft and textured in a gorgeous shade of pinkish-purple. The panties were, um, a thong. How daring! And the bra wasn’t padded at all. My nipples didn’t stand a chance in the air-conditioned world without padding.
Might as well wash these. I tossed them into the hamper and went to the kitchen, washed my hands, then scrubbed the vegetables. I took my time. I found a wok in the cabinet and started heating some sesame oil instead of olive oil.
The door opened as soon as I’d finished cutting up veggies with Liya’s expensive and super-sharp knives. Good thing I had a physician’s bag with an emergency kit just in case.
“Hey,” Daniel said from the foyer as he locked the door and stepped into the kitchen with his shoes on. I glared at them and almost jumped out of my skin. Seeing someone walk into the home with shoes on made me want to claw my face off.
“Shoes, please.”
“Oh yeah. Sorry about that.” He slipped out of his shoes, leaving them against the wall in the foyer.
“What’s going on?” he asked, peeking over my shoulder, his body heat meeting mine and making me want to arch into him.
“I thought I would make dinner to pay you back for breakfast.”
“Uh-huh,” he mumbled skeptically.
I glanced at him from over my shoulder. His eyes narrowed with curiosity, and his lips parted as if he couldn’t figure out what in the world I was doing. His face was so close to mine that I could see his pupils dilate, pushing against a ring of dark brown irises.
“What?” I scowled.
“Need help?”
“Nope. I have it under control.”
He removed his messenger bag and tossed it onto the couch. “Cool. Are you feeling better?”
I smiled as the veggies hit the sizzling pan. Boy, sesame oil sure heated up fast in a wok. “Yes, thanks.”
“Just going to wash up and change, then.” He winked, seeming thoroughly entertained, and disappeared into the bedroom to grab his clothes and then to the bathroom.
Reema: Please tell him hello for me…if you’re actually getting hot and heavy…
I was in the middle of texting her back with the next level of this joke when I smelled something pungent.
“Oh!” I rushed to turn off the stove and remove the wok from the heat, waving off smoke. The veggies would be okay. Who in Texas didn’t like barbeque-style food, anyway?
Daniel emerged from the bathroom and snickered. “Are you sure you don’t want help?”
I guffawed. “I can make stir-fry veggies. Thanks.”
“Yep.” He tossed his clothes into the hamper and sort of did a double take. He pushed his clothes aside and raised a sharp eyebrow. “Nice…”
“Hey!”
“What?” He laughed. “Since when do you wear lacy underwear?”
“Not polite to look at those, and anyway, I didn’t buy them.”
“Did your boyfriend buy them?” he asked, his tone sharper than it had been a second ago. Was he jealous? No, that couldn’t be. Why would he be jealous of anyone in my life?
“No. Actually, Reema did, as a gift from her honeymoon in Paris.”
“Ah. Are you going to wear them?” He waggled his brows.
I tamped down the fire in my veins. “You shouldn’t flirt with me.”
He chuckled from the other side of the counter. “If you think that’s flirting, then your boyfriend is doing it all wrong. I mean, flirting is pressing my chest against your back and watching you cook.”
I swallowed. Crap. It was.
“Or taking my shirt off in front of you.” He lifted the hem of his blue T-shirt like he was about to strip, flashing those infamous abs, only to wipe his face with it. He grinned at me as he lowered his shirt back into place.
I bit my lip. Double crap.
“Brushing the hair from your face and telling you that you look beautiful first thing in the morning. Or does he not do any of the things I used to?”
I gripped the handle of the wok even tighter and changed the subject before it wandered too far down the wrong road. “Anyway. How’s the hospital project going?”
“Fine. Dull. Rudimentary.” He crossed his arms on the counter, his biceps straining against his shirt, and leaned down just as my phone pinged. He glanced at my lit screen a couple of seconds longer than he should’ve. His eyebrows went up. Way up.
He laughed. “So, uh, we did it, huh?” He looked at me, his head cocked to the side and amusement flourishing across his face.
I panicked in a flood of mortification. Exes should never know that you told your friends y’all were getting busy, even as a joke. “You can’t just go around reading people’s text messages.”
“I didn’t mean to, but you left it open to the message and the notification sound had me automatically looking. Hold up. We have to backtrack,” he went on and took the phone, although he didn’t scroll through the rest of the message. “You told your friends you’re getting some from me?”
Heat sprang to my cheeks as I hurried around the counter and tried to get the phone back from him. “I’m pranking Liya for setting us up like this. She can’t just shove us into an apartment expecting something to happen. I don’t know what that woman was thinking.”
He chuckled, holding the phone high and forcing me to claw at him to get anywhere near it. But he was so tall! “It’s kind of amusing. The sex is better than it was before, huh? I mean, damn, Pree. We had some amazing sex before, so how am I topping that now?”
The heat at my cheeks? All-out flames scorching my flesh off as I clambered up his body to no avail.
“According to your last response, which Liya just quoted and added an eggplant and an emoji with an open mouth, it says something about how I can get you wet with just one look.”
“Daniel! Oh my god!” Even on my tiptoes I couldn’t reach.
His hand landed softly on my waist as he held the screen down to read. “Liya wants to know if we…um…have tried other things? Because in the past you made sex sound kind of boring, unless you weren’t telling her everything, in which case she wants all the deets now. The dirtier, the better, because she’s here for it.” He laughed, his body rumbling against mine. “What kind of freaky things does she think we’re doing?”
I tumbled against him, tangled in arms and laughter. I poked him in the armpit, a ticklish spot that I hadn’t forgotten about.
“Can I play along, too?” he asked, laughing and turning from my poking. “Can I add to this entertainment?” He typed.
I gripped his side, clutching his shirt in my hands, fully immersed in his scent and touch and warmth. I wouldn’t mind being glued to him forever. “I give up. Oh my goodness. This thing is spiraling out of control.”
“Might as well have fun, right?” He handed me the phone. “After all, she did put us in this situation.”
I huffed and stepped back to read his message. I didn’t want to smile, but the mortification slipped away as I smiled anyway. “I’m going to delete this entire, absurd thing.”
“Ah, don’t be petty. You know it’s good.”
“Ugh, you’re right,” I admitted.
“Can we hit send, or what?” He leaned against the counter so that he could peer over my shoulder.
“You’re kind of full of yourself, aren’t you?”
“You think so? That sounds pretty believable to me…”
“You walked in on me taking a bath and things kinda escalated from there? You do understand that I think baths are like simmering in your own body oils and dirt. Very gross.”
“But I drew you a bath.”
“With candles and rose petals?”
“And lots of suds.” He winked. Yeah. When he said it like that, the idea did not totally suck. It took everything in me not to let the visual image intensify from there.
“And then you stripped down and I was done for?”
He grinned, so proud of himself and his little erogenous tale. “Yep. See? Sounds very believable to me. Bathtub sex is the most erotic way to get it on. All that slippery skin and easy gliding.”
I swallowed hard and wished away the mental images of being butt-naked with soapy, wet skin slipping and sliding. Two people could easily accidentally have sex. Was it getting hot in here? Or was it the burnt veggies? I blinked a good few times and read more of his reply.
“Your…kisses are like drugs that have me hooked and pining for more? And your touch has my body on fire; I can’t stop thinking about you and can’t wait to get home? Forget about the extra on-call. Okay. That part? Sets off an alarm. I would never cut back on on-call shifts right now,” I said and deleted the last section.
We faced each other as my smile slipped. He blinked down at me and lifted a hand to brush the hair from my face, his fingertip lingering and gliding from my cheek to my jaw, sending shivers down my spine.
His voice lowered. “But if I’m that good and I keep you coming back for more…doesn’t it make sense?”
“Umm…” Talk about a man who stole my breath and my words.
He cleared his throat and backed away, rubbing the back of his neck and letting his hand hang there for a few seconds as if maybe his tale of eroticism was partly wishful thinking.
I took a much-needed deep breath and regained my senses, but sent the text and nudged him away from me. “Go eat your veggies.”
“The burnt ones?”
“The…pan-seared ones.”
“Pan-searing is for meat and fish. Not veggies.”
I stuck a fork into a piece of perfectly browned baby corn and winced. “Yum. So tender.”
Daniel opened the fridge, pulling out all sorts of ingredients. “I can’t with you, sometimes. You may be a rock-star physician, but you can’t eat burnt vegetables for dinner.”
I leaned a hip against the counter as he posed with a smile and a wink. He stayed that way for a good ten seconds. “What’s that for? Did you just freeze?”
“Photo ops. For the, uh, prank texting sex joke or whatever you’re calling it.”
“Oh! Yes. Perfect.” I took a picture, admiring how photogenic Daniel was. The way the light and shadow created perfect contours and highlights, accentuating the sharp cuts of his jaw, his framed cheekbones, the defined edges of his haircut, the formation of his muscles beneath the taut fabric of his shirt. Even his eyes glimmered. He might as well have been a model.
I studied the picture on my phone a little longer, zooming in on his face, on his smooth skin, on those eyelashes that I couldn’t get on my best eyelash curler days, on that amazing smile. Daniel had a mandibular structure that belonged in a textbook, dimples that should be considered lethal, and perfect teeth with oddly mesmerizing pointed canines that just did it for me. Like Henry Cavill canines. He hadn’t grinned at me like this in ages.
My heart fluttered and my belly did flips. Even though I knew perfectly well that the guts did no such thing, my body had me challenging basic medical facts.
I sent the picture to the group text and could practically hear the squeals of unadulterated joy through the screen.
“I take it they’re loving it?” Daniel asked while he deftly prepared vegetables and then moved on to cutting chicken breast into near-paper-thin strips.
“At this point, I think they’re just playing along to be rowdy. They can’t possibly believe this.”
“Why not? Is it so far-fetched? Even with a picture as proof?”
“That picture is proof that you’re cooking in this apartment and we’re actually having a good time.”
“Ah. So what you’re saying is that we need a more convincing picture?”
I shook my head. “No. This joke isn’t going to escalate any further. Besides, as soon as I see my friends, they’re going to know. I don’t lie well. Even with pranks. I’m the worst person to tell a secret to, much less invite in on a joke.”
“That’s too bad,” he said with a shrug as he glided back and forth across the kitchen to cook the chicken first and then added veggies. The succulent smell of butter, garlic, and parsley filled the room. “We could’ve had some real fun with pictures,” he added playfully.
“Like what? The only way they’d truly believe is if…we were kissing or in some indecent pose or in bed together—” I stopped myself.
His face was turned from me, but I could still see a sliver. He was grinning. He thought this was funny! “I was going to say something like having my shirt off while cooking…but the bed, huh? Okay. I could do a few boudoir pictures.”
“Stop enjoying this.”
“It’s kind of hard not to.”
“Aren’t you in the least bit upset with Liya about this situation? Or at least annoyed? I’m sure you didn’t expect me to be living here when you took the keys.”
“It’s not that bad. It’s not like we hate each other, right?” He looked at me, as if waiting for an answer.
“No. At least, I hope not?”
He shook his head and replied distantly, “I could never hate you.”
Hearing that confession lifted a small weight off my shoulders. “Is there anything I can help with?” I asked, pulling out dishes and forks.
“Nah, I got it.” His shoulders relaxed as he cooked. He was so at ease, almost fluid in the kitchen, that it was mesmerizing to watch. The play of muscles in his arms, how he timed every portion of the meal from cutting to cooking.
As he sautéed and the savory aroma of a well-cooked, unburnt meal made my stomach rumble, I greedily looked around for something to busy my hands with, for something to do.
I went to work on my failed dinner and poked a piece of bell pepper with a fork. Then I brought it to my mouth. Surely it was still edible.
“Don’t eat that,” Daniel said and took the fork from me.
“But we can’t waste it.”
“It’s done.” He scraped the plate into the trash.
“But…all the hungry kids in the world…”
He raised an eyebrow. “We’ll find a way to donate to a reliable organization that feeds the needy. But this ain’t it.”
He took a different fork, pierced a piece of asparagus with a cut of chicken and a sliver of almond, blew against it, and brought it to my mouth.
“Did you just blow on my food?” I cringed.
He gave a real RBF. “Like we’ve never swapped spit?”
“That was a long time ago. I don’t know who you’ve been exchanging germs with.”
“No one, Preeti. My germs have not been getting freaky with other germs. Try this.”
Before I processed his words, I took the fork and savored the perfect combination of herbs, meat, vegetable, and a nutty crunch from the almond.
My mouth watered even more. All right. Forget my burnt veggies. I needed an entire plate of this. “Um, are you going to eat all of that?”
“Good, right?” he asked, pointing the tongs in my direction. “Need to give you a cooking lesson while we’re in this living arrangement.”
“Hey! I can cook.”
“Can you, though?” he asked as he drained pasta.
“Hush up. Just plate me.” I held out my dish.
Daniel mixed the pasta in the skillet with the veggies, chicken, and buttery garlic sauce. He used the tongs to scoop up a little of everything and then twisted as he pulled them away from my plate, creating a cute little spiraled ball of food.
“Uh-uh. Wait,” he said when I took the plate back. He drizzled extra sauce around the edges and then sprinkled vibrant green chopped parsley over the top.
I smiled and walked around the counter to a barstool, holding the plate almost reverently, and inhaled. By then, Daniel had already grabbed his plate, dished up, and met me on the other side of the counter. His shoulder almost touched mine. There were four stools to sit on, yet we occupied the middle two.
“This is heaven,” I said around a bite.
“You haven’t seen me get fancy.” He slurped a noodle, and a drop of butter sauce splashed against his cheek. Maybe he didn’t notice it, because he didn’t bother wiping it away. It just sat there on his otherwise deliciously perfect face. It was making my eye twitch.
“Will I see you get fancy?” I asked.
“Do you want to?”
I took a napkin and dabbed his cheek, realizing too late what I was doing, being so casual. “You had sauce on your face.”
He held my hand to his face for a second before letting go. “Thanks. How are you feeling? You had a rough day yesterday. I’m here if you want to talk about it.”
I regarded him for a moment before checking the time on my phone. “Is that a genuine offer, or are you offering to be polite?”
“Now, you know me better than that. I want to listen. I want you to be well. I know from the past that this is a current that can take you under, and neither of us wants that.”
We ate quietly while I mulled over his words. Very few knew this side of me, and Daniel was the only one who’d gone above and beyond for me during these episodes. Not because no one else cared, but because no one else knew. I never had to tell him. He saw it on my face, in my movements, in my behavior.
I took a deep, meditative breath and turned to him. “Can I ask a favor?”
“Sure.”
“I have an appointment with a therapist tonight, perks of being virtual. Um. It’s my first time and, you know…it’s…” I exhaled, annoyed with myself. How could I put together an eloquent and detailed presentation on infectious diseases and not say these few simple words? “Can you sit with me during my appointment?”
He set his fork down and twisted toward me, his left shoulder hunched over the counter. For a moment, I thought he’d decline or ask why I couldn’t ask my boyfriend. Instead, he gave a soft, encouraging smile. “Of course.”
“Okay.” I smiled nervously.
We finished our meal. Daniel soaked dishes while I sat on the couch with the laptop prepped for a virtual appointment. My first therapy session. My first time letting some things out, but not everything. There wasn’t enough time in our allotted hour.
After I checked in but before the doctor joined, Daniel sat down about a pillow’s distance away. Close enough that he reached out and gave my hand a gentle squeeze, but far enough that he wasn’t on-screen.
I practiced my breathing, my palms clammy as I rubbed them against my pants. “I know better, and still it took me this long.”
“I’m proud of you,” he said with a warm smile.
