“How do you figure?” Samir asked, wiping his forehead with his shirt.
“I’m not sure yet,” Pinky said as the bus came rumbling up. “But I’m going to call Gloria as soon as we get home.”
CHAPTER 13 Samir
Samir glanced at Pinky as they sat in the cool interior of the kitchen, both of them on their phones, tall glasses of ice water in front of them on the table after their dehydrating excursion out to city hall.
It had sucked when she’d rejected him the other night, but he was over it. Totally, 100 percent over it. The thing was, he was letting the sun bake his brain a little too much. He was ascribing deeper meanings to the things he felt for Pinky because of this new situation, the lake house, the summer… It was all external. None of it had to do with him or how he really, truly felt. Once he’d convinced himself of that, it had been easy to go back to looking at this whole thing as a business transaction he was conducting with an acquaintance. Easy-peasy.
Seeing her morose face as she researched successful environmental protests, though, Samir felt a pinprick of sympathy. “Hey.” He waited till she looked up, a tiny crease between her eyebrows. “Want me to teach you how to make gazpacho?”
“Gazpacho?”
“Mm-hmm. It’s a great summertime meal, and it’s super easy. Your parents and aunt and uncle will be home soon from their yacht party, right? We could surprise them.” Dolly had already escaped to Cash’s. For not really liking that guy, she spent a lot of time with him and his friends.
“Um… okay,” Pinky said, getting up and slipping the phone into her shorts pocket. “I guess. There’s nothing better to do.”
“That’s the lukewarm spirit I like to see!” Samir went to the sink and washed his hands, and Pinky followed, snorting. “Okay, so now we need tomatoes, cucumbers, bell peppers, onions, and garlic.”
They walked to the fridge and pantry and got out the vegetables. “How do you know how to cook so well anyway?” Pinky asked, carrying a few heirloom tomatoes to the cutting board on the counter.
Samir shrugged. “It’s kind of my hobby.” Pointing to the tomatoes, he added, “Can you begin slicing those?” He sniffed at a red bell pepper from the vegetable bin to make sure it was still fresh. “I mean, I used to spend a lot of time cooped up at home, so… you know. You have to find ways to make it interesting. Food’s just something my mom and I have always been able to bond over.”
“Hmm.”
“Maybe you can try it with your mom,” Samir said, though he honestly couldn’t picture the Shark in an apron. Speaking of… he grabbed two aprons from the hook on the door of the pantry and held one out to Pinky, who’d begun dicing the tomatoes.
She held up her hands. “Too messy. Could you just tie it around my waist for me?”
Samir paused. “Um, sure.” He set his own apron down on the counter and then walked closer to Pinky, holding the one meant for her.
She held still as he slipped his arms around her from behind, pulling the strings of the apron against her stomach and waist, knotting them in the back. His fingers grazed her back through her thin cotton shirt. She’d taken a shower—as he had—after they got home, and he could smell her shampoo, something sweet and herbal mixed with her own soft scent.
“There,” he said, his voice just a touch husky. “All done.”
She looked at him over her shoulder, her gaze briefly catching on his lips. “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.” This was the moment when he should step back and away from her. When he should pick up a knife of his own and begin chopping something.
Instead, he stood where he was. And Pinky continued to gaze at him.
There was a moment of hesitance, of resistance, of “this is a bad idea” on his part, but it was crumbling too quickly for him to hold on to.
And then his mouth was on hers and he wasn’t sure who had started it or what was happening except that she’d set the knife down and turned to him, her messy hands tangling in his shirt, and they were kissing, falling, deeper and deeper. He studied her expression, looking for hesitation or confusion or regret, but he saw nothing. Just unbridled passion that mirrored his. Her eyes were closed and she was pushing into him, as if she couldn’t get close enough. Samir knew he should be questioning this in light of what had happened out on the deck, but he wasn’t. He was just accepting it, wanting it, needing it to happen.
Her phone beeped in her pocket between them, startling them both. She jumped back and they stared at each other, Samir’s heart pounding so furiously he could practically see it through his shirt.
“I should, um, see who this is.” Pinky turned away to wash her hands, though they were mostly clean now anyway.
“Yeah, and I’m gonna go change my shirt,” Samir said, holding the tomato juice–soaked shirt away from his skin to make his point. Really, he just needed to put some distance between them.
He ran up the stairs, shaking his head. What the hell was that? Calling it a practice kiss would be completely disingenuous. That had been the real thing. And he wasn’t 100 percent sure he’d initiated it… which meant what? Did it mean anything to Pinky beyond that she wanted to hook up with him? And was he capable of just hooking up with her, without letting it consume his feelings?
Samir groaned as he stepped into his room, peeling off his dirty shirt and grabbing a new one from the drawer. Pinky Kumar was, quite possibly, the most confusing person he’d ever met in his life.
* * *
They finished making the gazpacho. Samir made sure to keep at least four feet of distance between them at all times, and it worked out fine. By mutual, unspoken agreement, neither of them spoke of the impromptu kiss. Samir had already said what he wanted to say; the ball was in her court now. If she wanted to take it further, she could. From the looks of it, though, she was pretending the ball didn’t even exist.
“Pretty good,” she said now, tasting a bit of the gazpacho in her bowl. “My parents are going to be seriously impressed that I had anything to do with this at all.”
Samir smiled. “Well, you made it. I just gave you instructions. I’ll vouch for you.”
“Thanks.”
He blinked and looked away when she held eye contact. “So, um, who was that? On the phone earlier?”
“Gloria. She wants us to help her canvass the neighborhood later on in July. Oh, and I also got a text from Dolly. She wanted to know if we wanted to go swimming with Cash and her.”
Samir made a face.
“Yeah, I know. But she really wanted us to, so I’m thinking we should. I mean, if you don’t mind too much.”
“I don’t mind,” Samir said reluctantly. “Besides, we gotta keep up appearances, right? It’ll be weird if this is a double date and I don’t go.”
Pinky smiled. “Thanks.”
* * *
They walked out to the pier—Pinky dressed in her glittery black Kali bikini, Samir in his much more sensible plain blue swim trunks—after both sets of parents had had two bowls of the gazpacho each. Both of Pinky’s parents had looked like they might pop from pride when she told them she’d made it. Samir had flashed her a surreptitious thumbs-up; their plan was working. At least one thing wasn’t a total disaster this summer.