Page 4 of The Rules of Playing with Fire

“Do you have another bag?” he asked.

“No, that’s it,” I replied as Tara’s voice reached my ears again.

“I guess you found him,” she said with laughter in her voice.

“He found me. See you soon.”

“Shall we?” Mihir said, rolling my bag behind him.

I followed him through the automatic doors, past weary travelers waiting for their rides, and over the walkway.

I huffed a breath, unable to match his long strides across the pedestrian crossing on the arrivals ramp. “Slow down.”

“Oh, sorry,” he said and got in step with me. “Nice to meet you, by the way. Welcome to Dallas.”

“Thank you,” I replied, slightly embarrassed. “Nice to finally meet you. Thank you for coming to get me.”

“No problem.”

As we reached the row of cars in the parking garage, he handed off the bag to a driver in a sharp uniform who popped the trunk of a jet-black Lexus LS and glided the heavy bag inside.

“I’m usually a bit more alert than this,” I offered sheepishly as Mihir held the door open for me. “I’ve been up a long time, getting things done before the trip.”

He smiled back, a measured but decidedly gorgeous smile.

The flight from JFK to DFW wasn’t a long one in absolute terms. A nonstop flight takes just under four hours, but it had felt interminable. I’d tried to rest my scratchy, burning eyes, but the two chatty passengers behind me kept flirting loudly and badly. I’d spent half the time cringing and the other half intrigued by what passed as flirtation these days.

“I’m sorry about the scary beard comment,” I said softly as we both buckled our seatbelts, and the driver pulled into the bright Texas sunlight. “I was only trying to annoy Tara.”

He threw me a glance as we merged into the two exit lanes off the ramp. “What about the annoyingly handsome bit? What does that mean?”

This unexpected question made me lower my eyes on instinct.

“Something that balances out the scary beard part,” I said coyly.

I was someone who blushed and flushed at the drop of a hat, but that didn’t mean I was timid. I could dole it out to the fiercest of people, and this delightful-smelling man was one of them.

He gave a short, soft laugh. “I’m kind of insulted, though, that you didn’t know what I look like. Has Tara never shared my pictures with you? She’s shown me plenty of yours.”

“Maybe she loves me a little more than she does you,” I teased.

This time, his smile grew a little wider.

Tara, my closest friend and sister from another life, had relocated from Brooklyn to Dallas. A free-spirited, talented artist, she was also a much sought-after art consultant. During the summer, she’d come to Dallas for a three-month consultation job, reconnected with her ex, Sameer, and moved in with him at the end of her contract.

The tall, annoyingly handsome man escorting me to her place was Sameer’s closest friend. Over the few months Tara had known him, he had also become her friend and confidant, and I was already a tad jealous.

“Is this your first time in Dallas?” he asked.

I nodded. “Yes, I’ve always lived on the East Coast.”

“What do you think of it so far?”

I hesitated. “How would you like for me to answer that? The truth or pandering?”

“Truth, always.”

“Well, then here’s what I think. It’s flat and brown.”

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