Page 76 of Isn't It Obvious?
“Good,” he says, and presses a quick kiss to the spot where her ear meets her jaw.
Yael drags her hand up the back of his neck, sliding her fingers into his hair and giving a gentle tug. Ravi closes his eyes, exhaling harshly. “Just kissing, you said?”
His eyelids flutter open, his lips spreading into a grin. “Yeah,” he says. “And anything else we don’t need a condom for.”
Yael rolls her hips up into him. Involuntarily, she closes her eyes at the contact, and she wishes she hadn’t so she could’ve watched the effect cascade across Ravi’s face. “It’s a good thing,” she whispers, “that we’re both very creative.”
It’s the last thing either of them says for a long, long while.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
When Ravi wakes up the next morning, Yael is still sleeping, her face barely visible through the pile of pillows on her side of the bed. They’re not cuddling, but they’re not far apart, either—Yael on her back with Ravi on his side, his hand lazily resting against her hip. The flamingo-shaped clock on her bedside table reads 8:54.
Slowly, Ravi pushes himself upright. Yael doesn’t stir at the loss of contact, or at him climbing out of bed, or even when he stumbles over one of her house slippers and swears under his breath. It’s sort of a wonder that she can sleep so easily through it, but he supposes he knows she’s a heavy sleeper already.
Ravi looks around for a pen and paper, finding both on the windowsill. He brings them to her nightstand to scrawl out a quicksupply run, back by noon—Ron the top sheet and tears it off. When he returns the pen and pad to their perch by the armchair, he notices that there’s a book there, peeking out from a woven blanket. He pulls the blanket aside—it’sThe Catcher in the Rye, and there are at least a hundred tiny colorful tabs poking out from its edges.
He freezes, the blanket still between his fingers. Elle is supposed to send him herCatcherrough cut next week.
Ravi shakes his head, drops the blanket, and heads forthe living room. Yael is a school librarian; it’s not weird for her to be reading a book from a school reading list. It’s just a coincidence.
He needs to stop looking for Elle in her. Last night, when she’d said she was Jewish, his first thought had beenElle is Black and Jewish. And his heart had raced, like somehow it meant something, even though he knows that Elle lives on the East Coast.
Whydoes he still want to know her so badly? They haven’t talked about anything but work in weeks. They ended whatever they were doing for good reasons. He genuinely likes Yael—more than he probably should. He’s torturing himself, and this isn’t fair to her.
He gathers his things, zips his rain jacket, and pushes his thoughts of Elle aside.
AS MUCH ASit felt like an utter tragedy last night, in the broad light of day, Yael is glad for her lack of preparation. And she’s grateful that Ravi left a note instead of waking her. It gives her some time alone to think and saves her the unsavory déjà vu.
In the shower, she stares at the faux tile while she finger-combs conditioner through her hair, trying to decide whether sleeping with Ravi is a sign of emotional instability. She made that initial choice quickly and in frustration. But after that first time, they’d slowed down, and her desire hadn’t dissipated.
It was impulsive, sure. But here she is today, still wanting him.
Yael pulls on lacy underwear and her favorite soft cotton jersey dress, not bothering with a bra, grabs her copy ofCatcher, and heads out to the kitchen for coffee and food.
She only has a chapter and a half left, so she’s finished and loading her mug and bowl into the dishwasher when Ravi knocks.
“Come in!” she calls, looking up as he does. There’s a certain ease in his shoulders and a smile that’s a little disarming, even after yesterday. He seems so completelycomfortablewith her, in a way that makes very little sense in their circumstance. Even less so that she feels the same every time she looks at or touches him.
“I’m back,” he says, turning to hang up his jacket and place his shoes on the rack.
“I can see that,” she replies. She sees the grocery bag dangling from his hand, and her toes curl in her slippers.
“Yael,” he says, his eyes raking over her for the first time since he opened the door. “You did this on purpose.”
“I did what on purpose?”
He looks at her incredulously for a moment. “You are wearing the exact same thing you werethatnight.”
Yael doesn’t have to ask which night he means, not with the emphasis he puts on the word. She looks down and, yeah, she is. It hadn’t even crossed her mind—it’s her go-to lazy weekend dress. “I got my slippers clean,” she says.
He laughs, crossing the room toward her, that grocery bag still in his hand. “Ah,” he says, “that’s good to hear. The slippers are definitely what I’ve spent the last few weeks thinking about.”
She’s thought about that night, too. She could probably recite everything they said to one another from memory. Could paint the way he looked at her on his doorstep. “I’m not wearingexactlythe same thing,” she says, stepping closer to him.
His free hand finds her hip, heat blooming through her from his touch. “Oh?”
Yael grins. “My underwear is a lot nicer.”
