Page 3 of Glass Jawed
Outside, the night air hits like a jolt—crisp and cutting, especially against my exposed stomach. I cross my arms, not just for warmth but because my stupid stick-on push-up bra is starting to peel at the edges. I can feel it giving up on me, slowly losing the battle with my skin.
Great. Soon the illusion of cleavage will vanish entirely.
Not that Tim’s been staring at it.
He lights his cigarette and takes a drag, eyes steady, almost thoughtful. The flame flickers across his face, catching the edge of his jaw. He’s hot. Like, obviously hot. But there’s something else—soft-spoken, a little guarded, the kind of guy who asks questions and actually listens.
“Canada’s cold, huh?” he says, exhaling a stream of smoke.
“Yeah,” I mutter, rubbing my arms. “Delhi never prepared me for this kind of betrayal.”
He chuckles. “Well, it’s warmer where we’re headed.”
I arch a brow. “And where exactly is that?”
“My place. Just around the corner. Warm, dry, decent wine. We can maybe watch a sitcom.”
Sitcom?
I don’t usually go for the “aesthetic boy” type, but the way he says it—smooth, confident without being pushy—sends something curling low in my stomach.
And his voice. That deep, lightly-accented cadence that makes everything sound like a dare wrapped in silk. Something tells me asitcomis not what I’m in for.
“You don’t seem like a sitcom guy,” I tease, biting the inside of my cheek.
He shrugs. “I’m a little bit of everything. Still figuring it out.”
Later, that line will clang in my memory like a dropped wrench. But right now? I just smile and follow.
His apartment is exactly what I expected: minimalist, clean, and somehow smelling like lavender and espresso at the same time. I linger by the doorway, eyes scanning the framed photos on the shelf. A few with friends. Two with one particular guy—close, arms draped around shoulders, laughing into each other’s faces.
Oh, so he has a roommate, probably.
I keep my expression neutral as I pull out my phone and discreetly share my location with Katie and Akshat. Just in case. One chaotic, newly-formed bestie and one overly cautious academic make a surprisingly good emergency contact duo.
Tim throws his denim jacket onto a chair and walks toward the kitchen. “You want anything? Water? Wine?”
“Water’s good,” I say, my voice tighter than I want it to be.
He hands me a glass and leans against the counter, gaze sweeping over me—but not lingering anywhere, especially not where I always expect it to.
Maybe that’s a good thing. Maybe he just isn’t like the rest.
Maybe my tiny boobs don’t matter.
“So... you’re in your Master’s?” he asks, tilting his head. “Management, right?”
“Yep. And you’re doing the same program. York University, right?”
He nods thoughtfully. “Means we’ve got something in common.”
“Besides questionable decisions on a Friday night?”
He laughs. “That too.”
His eyes soften, his smile shifts a little. Then, just like that, he leans in and kisses me.
It’s not a gentle lean. It’s sudden. Fast.
