Page 86 of Isn't It Obvious?
“Don’t be,” he says, quickly catching her by the wrist. She looks back at him, and he lets her go just as quickly. “Could we talk, maybe?”
She nods and leads them to her office, waving him inside and closing the door behind her. This time, he leans against her desk. Yael steps between his legs, and his hands find her hips.
She breaks eye contact before opening her mouth. “Are you feeling any regrets about last weekend?”
Ravi’s stomach clenches, and he tightens his hold on her hips. “No,” he says firmly, and she exhales.
Maybe if I just talk to her…
And tell her what? What do you want from her that you can actually have?
“This doesn’t need to be anything big,” Yael starts, still not looking him in the eye, and he realizes how long he’d let the silence stretch. “I wasn’t really… planning to date right now. We can be, you know, casual.”
Ravi isn’t sure what sound he makes, but whatever it is elicits a look of surprise. Her eyes snap back to his. “Did this weekend feel casual to you?” he blurts.
Instantly, he regrets it.
Yael shakes her head before he can take it back.
He shouldn’t be in this office with her. He shouldn’t even be at book club, not when he’s this unsure of himself. He needs to leave, and he needs to write down what he wants to say to her before he comes back on Thursday.
Because he can remember being certain they couldn’t be together. But when she’s standing between his knees, her face open and anticipative, he can’t seem to recall a single coherent reason why.
His phone buzzes in his pocket, and he withdrawsit—Suresh. He declines quickly, before Yael can see the screen. “It’s my brother. I’m sorry, but I have to go.”
“It’s okay,” Yael says. “Deal with your family. I’ll see you Thursday.” And she kisses him.
He kisses her back.
She was right when she’d called him an asshole.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Yael sits tucked in the corner of the East Burnside Heart Coffee Roasters with a partly drained oat milk mocha in her hand and Sanaa in her headphones. If she had any doubt that Jami was serious about this, it should be quelled by her choice of restaurant—Luce, the upscale Italian spot right across the street, is a peak Portland wine and dine joint if there ever was one. And yet, the agreed meeting time isn’t for another ten minutes and Yael’s been sitting here, overcaffeinated and trying not to panic, for the last twenty.
“What are you wearing?” Sanaa asks.
“I came from work!”
“Oh, you’re gonna act like you didn’t fall asleep planning your outfit?”
At least Sanaa isn’t here to see her guilty blush. “Something normal but cute,” she says.
“Define ‘normal,’” Sanaa says, laughing.
Yael balks. “Bitch, if you say ‘Define cute’ next, I swear to God.”
“I’m notthatmean.”
“My sunflower corduroys,” Yael says, “my burnt-orange sweater with little tassels, and my embroidered boots.”
“See!” Sanaa says. “Not normal but definitely cute.”
“Sorry I’m not cool enough to wear all black.”
“Please, it’s because my closet has about one cubic foot of storage,” Sanaa says, even though they both know that’s half the reason at best. “Are you feeling sufficiently distracted?”
“Odds are fifty-fifty on whether I throw up the house-made bread. I dreamt last night that Jami looked me up and down, and when I extended my hand to shake hers, she said, ‘Psych’ and walked out.”
