Page 65 of The Ex Factor

An easy remedy would be to sleep with him and get him out of my system, like Mary Beth had suggested. But Sujit Rao wasn’t someone you wanted out of your system. He was someone you wanted buzzing in your nerves, rushing through your veins. He was someone you wanted to lose yourself in.

I wished for us to meld until the boundaries between our bodies disappeared. I wanted to languish in his admiration. I yearned to cherish him, dote on him, spoil him, relish him.

I wanted to be consumed by Sujit, and it was the opposite of getting him out of my system.

SUJIT

Iwas trying to get the fire going when Aarti came down wearing my sweats. She was only a few inches shorter than me, but her thin frame made the sweats look baggy and oversized in a way that tugged at my heart. She was wearing my clothes.Myclothes.

The poker in my hand stilled as I checked her out with greed in my eyes.

It was only when she said, “Hey, looks like you took a shower too,” that I realized I stood shirtless before this goddess of a woman.

Clearing my throat, I placed the poker back in its spot and grabbed a T-shirt from the arm of the large leather recliner beside me.

“Are you hungry?” I asked to distract myself from the fiery attraction I was trying to fend off. “I can make some pasta if you want.”

“Nah, that’s too much trouble. What else do you have in the pantry?”

“Let’s check,” I said, and she followed me to the kitchen.

I had already watched her studying the artwork on the walls and the accent sculptures on the strategically placed pedestals. Iwondered it she remembered it was Tara who had meticulously chosen each piece adorning this home.

When I had suggested driving here, it hadn’t occurred to me that the last time I was here with someone else was when I had thrown Tara a surprise birthday party. We broke up that night. Yet, being here with Aarti didn’t seem to garner any of the bitter memories I had carried for months.Au contraire, I felt happy. Blissful. Completely content.

I browsed the walk-in pantry as she peeked at the world outside through the windows.

“We have canned beans, grains, lentils, nut butters, and jellies of different kinds, a variety of crackers…” I listed, scanning the shelves. “Then, of course, there are my favorite ramen noodle cups.”

“Ramen sounds good. Let me make them,” she offered.

I gave her a smile as I grabbed two cups from the top shelf. “That’s alright, sweet girl. I’ve got this.”

“I don’t want to be a burden,” she argued.

“Yes, Aarti, you’re a terrible burden. I have to use the faucet to pour water into a kettle, then press the switch to the on-position, wait for it to come to a boil, pour it in a cup,thenhand it over to you. I wonder how you’re going to live with yourself after putting me through this kind of toil,” I teased.

“Alright, alright, smartass,” she said and climbed onto the bar stool at the island.

When the ramen cups were ready, we carried them to the living room to sit by the fire. The home was still heating up, but it was massive and was bound to take a while. I started on my noodles while Aarti pushed her fork around the cup, poking the desiccated vegetables into the soup.

“This was my go-to meal during college, big surprise,” I said.

“I always ate at the cafeteria. Never got into the habit of eating instant noodles.”

I nodded. “It shows.”

“How’s that?” She raised her brows in question.

“If you wait too long, the noodles are going to get all soggy and unpleasant.”

“But the vegetables are not plump yet.

“They won’t get plump, but they are rehydrated by now, trust me.”

She rolled the noodles on her fork and put it in her mouth like she was eating a gourmet dish at a Michelin-star restaurant.

“Slurp them. They are supposed to be soup noodles,” I said, demonstrating how to do it.

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