Page 103 of The Rules of Playing with Fire

“Yes,” he said and leaned back into the sofa. “Came straight from the airport.”

“You’ve lost weight,” I said, even though I hadn’t intended to.

He sighed. “I’m a stress runner.”

I wondered what kind of stress had caused him to lose that much weight in such a short time.

“I’m a stress eater,” I said, and on cue, we heard a sizzle from the kitchen, followed by the aroma of dal and spices.

“You look great,” he said with a small smile.

“Look, I don’t mean to be rude, but when I offered to help, I meant in the U.S. I really didn’t expect you to appear at my parents’ home like this,” I looked around to make sure Aai wasn’t within earshot.

“I’m sorry. I should’ve called but?—”

“You blocked my number,” I cried with hurt.

With a guilt-ridden gaze, he replied, “Yes. I was in a dark place.”

“How dark?” I asked with a frown. What could have been so grave that he felt the need to cut everyone out of his life?

He gave a tired smile. “You want to know everything now?”

I let out a sigh. “You’re right. You look tired. Let’s get you some food and rest first.”

“I’m not tired. I flew First Class.”

“The body doesn’t care about class, Mihir. It will be tired when it’s tired,” I snapped back.

But instead of taking offense at my dig, he leaned back in the seat and curved his lip into his trademark smirk. “You gave me so much flak for being rich, and look at you! You’re pretty fucking loaded yourself, aren’t you? Look at this lavish condo, in a fancy building, in the heart of a snobby area of Mumbai, no less.”

I knew he was teasing, but I had no intention of being sucked back into that fiery pit of charm again. I glared back. “Watch it.” I put my index finger up in warning. “First things first, no swearing in this house. If Aai hears you, she’ll kick you to the curb, and I’ll land right beside you. Second, yes, my parents are rich and I’ve never said anything to the contrary. And third, this isn’t a condo. It’s called a flat.”

He leaned back, with a gentle teasing grin trained at me.

“And most importantly”—I lowered my voice to a hush—“my parents know nothing about us or what happened. They don’t know who you are, and I would love to keep it that way.”

The crooked smile disappeared as he sat upright and nodded. “Of course, I won’t impose. I just need your help finding someone.”

I frowned. “You realize the population of the greater Mumbai region is upward of twenty million?”

That seemed to rekindle the old spark in him. “Don’t be a smartass,” he quipped. “I know who I’m looking for. And where I can find him.”

“Then why do you need me?”

“I don’t know the city. I need a guide and someone who can speak the language.”

“The language? Are you serious? This is a metropolitan city. People speak almost every language here, including English. Which language are you talking about?”

“Okay, I meant Marathi and Hindi.”

“I thought you spoke Hindi?”

“I speak some Hindi.”

“No kidding!” I mocked. “Haldi.”

He chuckled, and we froze. I flashed back to the warmth we once shared and the hot sex that followed—our easy camaraderie and the freedom of being totally and completely ourselves in that relationship.

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