Page 67 of Not In Love

Dancing like a woman who had chosen her life, her love, her joy, and was daring him to meet her there.

He felt pinned in place by the force of her—her courage, her beauty, her raw, open being. He felt helpless, wrecked.

He didn’t even realize he was smiling until Muriel, her friends, and Tia erupted from the crowd and rushed the stage to join her, turning the performance into a swirling, laughing group celebration.

The spell she cast on him broke, the thundering energy of the applause spilling wide and far, but Diego stayed where he was, his whole body still thrumming.

He laughed and shook his head. Coach had been right again.

The woman he had fallen in love with was one of a kind and she would claim him when she was good and ready.

* * *

The lightsstill pulsed gold overhead as Kash stepped down from the dais, her long skirt swishing around her ankles, the shimmering panels catching the glow.

She was breathless, skin slick with sweat, muscles trembling from exertion, but God, she felt alive.

The music thudded softly in her ribs, a different beat now, and around her the sea of family and friends surged forward. Clapping, laughing, throwing their arms around her.

“Kash, that was amazing!”

“You killed it!”

“Look at you, setting the floor on fire!”

Hands clapped her back, squeezed her shoulders. Tia barreled into her waist, arms flung tight around Kash’s midsection, her lehenga spinning out around her like a bell.

“You danced like a Bollywood star, Kash aunty!” Tia crowed, voice muffled against her.

Kash hugged her back tightly, burying her nose for a second in Tia’s coconut-scented hair, trying to catch her breath. The hall smelled like marigolds and warm sugar, cardamom-heavy sweets and champagne and the slight tang of sweat from bodies moving everywhere.

“You whupped our old asses out there,” Mona laughed, fanning herself dramatically as she and Chaaru sidled up, cheeks flushed and grinning.

“Next time, we’re putting in a damn age category.”

“You’re only three years older than me,” Kash said, kissing her friend’s cheek.

“I need a drink,” Chaaru gasped, pretending to stagger. “No, wait. I need a back transplant.” She mock-slapped Kash’s arm. “You better not have broken it before DP returns. I have work to do on my back.”

Kash laughed with them, the sound bursting out of her, rolling straight from her gut.

She tucked a damp strand of hair behind her ear, the thin gold bangles on her wrists sliding together with a soft, chiming sound. Her chest still heaved with the effort of dancing, adrenaline and euphoria humming through every muscle.

She turned slightly and then spotted him. At the far edge of the loose line of well-wishers, standing apart but waiting for her.

Kash’s heart gave a slow, deep twist inside her chest.

Up close, he looked like a dream in the navy-blue kurta. Clean lines, rolled cuffs showing the corded strength of his forearms, the dark fabric setting off the warm brown of his skin.

He wasn't smiling but something deeper, quieter, burned in his eyes.

Pride. Hunger. A kind of wrecked reverence that stole the air from her lungs.

He had a bottle of water in his hand and somehow that small, thoughtful detail made her chest ache more than anything else.

She could still hear laughter, the distant clatter of dishes, Muriel urgently calling for something. But it all blurred into a muted hum at the edges of her awareness as Diego reached her.

He didn’t grab her or pull her in. And she wished he would.

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