Page 16 of The Rules of Playing with Fire

“You don’t drink, or are you abstaining for fear of falling for the wrong person?” I asked cheekily, ignoring the hormone-addled teenager in our midst.

She looked at Riya, who stood clueless at the insinuation, then smiled at me. “I don’t drink.”

“That’s unfortunate,” I said and requested a whisky for me and a Coke for Riya. “In many ways, alcohol can be quite…liberating. Virgin mojito?” I offered.

“Sure.”

We got our drinks, and Riya trotted away to talk to some teenagers who’d just arrived.

I took a sip of the excellent scotch. “I hope you’ll excuse my candor, but you look hot!”

“Do I?”

“Smokin’ hot!” I said as I brought my glass to my lips.

“And that’s perhaps something you hadn’t expected?” With a tiny smile, she put her pout around the cocktail straw.

My eyes remained arrested on her lips, and aware of it, she puckered hard before stepping away. I followed her to the table with warm appetizers, where she handed me her drink and began selecting small portions from the massive spread.

“What will you have?” she asked.

“Whatever you’re having.”

“We might have completely different preferences,” she said, making a point.

“Preferences can be adjusted if the circumstances are compelling.”

She brought her doe eyes to my face. “And are they? Compelling?”

“Oh, very.”

She regarded me for a second, then blinked and returned to the buffet. “I think you are wasting your time, Mihir, and mine. I’m clearly not your type.”

“What’s my type?”

“Tall, slender, gorgeous,” she responded while placing pieces of malai tikka on her plate. “Like the woman you were just talking to.”

I seldom scampered for a clever comeback, but she had the unique knack of stumping me. Also, she was spot on. It was pretty much the shorthand description of my past few liaisons. When I remained glued to my spot, she threw her head back in a laugh.

“Here’s more,” she said, walking toward me. “Someone who’d be smitten with your powerful personality and that attractive face, perhaps with your wealth. Someone who’d worship the ground you walk on. And…”— she seductively brushed past me to reach the croquettes—“I’m none of those things.”

Except, she was everything I’d been waiting for. It had been years since I’d felt drawn to anyone like this.

“Here’s the thing, Sona.” I took a sip from my glass. “You’re just my type, beautiful, brilliant, sassy. The question is, am I your type?”

She didn’t answer me. Instead, she peered into my eyes as she took her drink from my hand. “Thank you for accompanying me, Mihir. I hope you get something to eat.”

Then she was gone, gliding effortlessly with her drink in one hand and a plate in the other.

I piled some food on my plate and joined a boisterous group, busy ribbing a newlywed. My mind kept wandering to Sona, but I kept my eyes firmly on my food because the last thing I wanted to give away was that the infamous Mihir was helplessly attracted to a woman.

Then there was that other matter. Of Tara mauling me if she knew I was making the moves on Sona. Sameer was my close friend, but he couldn’t save me from Tara’s fury. It would be an uphill task to convince her that I didn’t intend to toy with Sona. Well, not entirely. For the first time in my adult life, I found myself considering something meaningful.

When an uproarious laughter broke my rumination, I doled out my measured smile, and sipped my drink.

When the bunch dispersed for dinner, Sameer pulled me aside.

“Eyes off Sona,” he said with a firm grip on my arm. “Hands off her too.”

---