Page 62 of The Plus One
Grammy, food-motivated tension breaker that she was, let out a howl from the kitchen and pulled Indira’s attention from her feet.
“Better go feed the monster,” Indira said, giving Jude a tense smile before waddling off.
Jude blew out a raspberry, trying to pull himself together.
After a minute or two, Indira emerged from the kitchen, a wiry Grammy trotting behind her and licking her chops.
“I don’t think she even chews,” Indira said, looking down at Grammy with a concerned frown. “It’s like she unhinges her jaw and swallows the food whole. Hoover would have been a better name for her.”
“What made you get a cat?” Jude asked, mimicking the forced breeziness Indira was using for their small talk.
She shrugged. “I looked at my life one day and realized I wasn’t devoting enough of my time to being at the beck and call of an arrogant fluffball that thinks she’s God and licks her own asshole.”
“Ah. A very common milestone. I think I’m at a similar stage myself.”
“Lick your own asshole a lot, huh?”
Jude’s head jerked back and, for the life of him, he couldn’t think of a single witty thing to say. His face must have shown his surprise, because Indira’s own was filled with pure glee.
“Did I win that one?” she crooned.
Jude nodded appreciatively, giving her an exaggerated frown. “Expect a witty comeback text in seven to ten business days.”
She laughed so hard she started to wheeze. Jude would be damned if it wasn’t the most beautiful sound he’d ever heard.
He absolutely loved making her laugh.
After a few more moments of obnoxious giggles, she collapsed onto the couch—her costume swallowing her whole—then grinned up at Jude. Her smile melted into his skin and through his blood, flooding him like a fever. Some primitive part of him wanted the exclusive right of making her smile.
Quietness fell between them again, but this time it was more… comfortable. Soft. Like they were still communicating through the quiet.
And Jude had the overwhelming and disastrous urge to broach the distance between them and kiss Indira until she couldn’t maintain silence for a moment longer. An urge that had tugged at his self-control for weeks and was becoming harder and harder to resist.
But, before any further dangerous thoughts overtook his brain, the doorbell rang, the ding sharp and unexpected, making him jump up. Indira glanced at him, her eyes lingering for a beat before she hefted herself up and trotted to the door, candy in hand and giant bee suit quivering around her.
Jude could hear her cooing and complimenting the children’s costumes; he even saw her swoop into a small bow and address one of the children as “your royal highness.” But Jude couldn’t move. His muscles were tense and his heart beating too fast, too violently, for him to ignore.
Not now, not now, not now, he silently begged his hyperactive nervous system. This night was supposed to feel normal. A nonissue. But the familiar muffling of his senses descended upon him, making him simultaneously feel less than alive but also sharply aware of his fear response. He didn’t want that. He was scared of the pain but he was similarly starting to fear the numbness. Especially when he felt it around Indira.
The noises of a few more groups of trick-or-treaters stopping by filtered through the door, but Jude stayed rooted in place, trying to collect himself. To focus on breathing.
After a few minutes, Indira walked back into the living room, eyes locking onto Jude. She smiled at him, lips full and looking dangerously soft.
She set the bowl down, walked toward him, grabbed one of his stiff hands, and marched them toward the couch. With a flourish, she dropped onto the cushion and grabbed the remote, flicking through streaming services.
After a moment of Jude continuing to stand near her—staring at her and her curly hair and soft skin and eyes so kind they had the power to destroy him—she tugged on his arm and he rigidly sat down next to her.
“Do you still likeScooby-Doo?” Indira asked, gaze fixed on the TV.
Jude swallowed and shook his head, trying to clear out the thick fog up there. “Shocking as it may be, I graduated to watching big-boy shows about ten years ago.”
Indira scoffed. “Wow, Jude, so cerebral of you. Color me impressed.”
A smile twitched at the corner of his lips, and Indira caught it, her own grin melting his insides.
“I had a thought,” she said, turning back to the TV.
“Your first?”
