Page 49 of Protect Me
“Vikram and I grew up together,” I said, eyebrows high. “Which is where it started. Like, when I was ten or eleven, all right? It’s not a big deal. He’s . . .”
The wordslike a big brother to metripped on my tongue. While true, it also wasn’t true. No sister would feel this way about a brother. Like she’d tripped on stars and couldn’t stop falling.
“A friend?” Dahlia supplied.
“Ah . . .”
That word didn’t quite peg it either.
Vikram was safety, not just friendship . . . but he wasalsofriendship. The fun, flirty, happy side of things that so rarely came together in a boyfriend. Somehow, I knew that nothing could touch me when he lingered near. Vik was . . . comfort.
Companionship.
A deeper part of my soul.
Thatdeeper part of my soulwas currently slumming around at his townhouse after an awkward car ride home at the theater nights ago. After that, neither of us had much to say. I crept out of the house half an hour early and stayed at the shop late to be certain to avoid him for the last couple of days.
Like a total coward.
“He’s my best friend’s brother,” I continued, oriented back into the moment when Dahlia reached for a carton of full-fat milk. “His sister, Vinita, was my best friend and my world growing up. We were inseparable until college. She moved out to New York with her husband and is pregnant right now. I lived with her for a few years and moved back last year. His parents are like my parents. They buy me plane tickets to see them at Christmas and Amma calls me all the time.”
Dahlia leaned back. “Sounds like a perfect romance! The whole older-brother-next-door kind of best friend thing? I love that plot line. Sweet baby pineapple, but Jess should do that one next!”
I groaned. “Please don’t start talking about that romance author you’re obsessed with. You know that’s not real life.”
“It’s more real than you think,” Dahlia muttered, but covered the sound with a blithe smile. “Look, this is about you. You lit up like a Christmas tree when he stepped in the shop the other day. I saw it. You have to be feeling something.”
My lips parted to protest, but I slammed them shut again. The color drained from my face. I stared at her, horrified.
Was Ithattransparent?
“Do you think he can tell?” I whispered.
Dahlia squealed again.
“Confirmation!” she cried, one hand in the air, the other clutching the gallon of milk. She set it on the ground impatiently, hands flapping. “Youdohave a thing for him. I mean, who wouldn’t? He’s so beautiful. Also, no. I don’t think he notices anything at all. He’s a bit too rummy with hisowneyes on you. Believe it or not, he returns it. Boy's got the hots for you!”
“That is totallyimpossible.”
Dahlia reared back like I’d slapped her. “Excuse you? How is that impossible? You’re amazing, Katelyn. You have this demure look with your glasses, but then you’re super snappy when you actually speak.”
Snappy?
What didthatmean?
Before I could ask, movement from an aisle behind Dahlia caught my eye. One moment I sputtered over how to reply to such a statement, and the next all the blood squeezed from my body.
A figure slunk toward the deli section, slightly hunched. Hands in pockets, head down. He had light hair and a frown that appeared perpetual. Black shirt, black jeans.
Black soul.
His eyes fluttered up and locked on mine.
I gasped.
Timothy straightened, clearly startled to see me. He froze, hand outstretched toward a package of ground meat. Tattoos scrawled across his knuckles now, I couldn’t recall them before. His shoulders dropped and eyes widened.
“You okay?” Dahlia asked. “You’re so pale all of a sudden. Kate?”
