Page 72 of Protect Me
He bent it, face studious. “Not bad. Had to modify most of them, but it feels good to get back in here. Thanks for coming. I needed it.”
“I enjoyed it, too.”
His gaze dropped to my lips, then away. He swallowed, throat bobbing. I pushed the water bottle into his hand.
“This was, by far, my favorite class,” he continued. “Having you here changed everything.”
Before I could dissect that loaded statement—he’d been to this class at least twenty times—a woman approached. She had a sweet smile and low-slung eyelids. Her slightly flattened nose gave her a charming, girlish appearance.
“Hey, Vik.”
He dropped into the familiar wooden smile I’d come to expect when approached by other women.
“Hey, Zara. How are you?”
She pushed hair off her sticky shoulders with a brightening smile. “Doing great. So good to see you here again. I heard you had surgery?”
He nodded. “Recovering well, now. Had to use some modifications but I’m feeling good.”
The urge to flee nearly overcame me, but I remained rooted to the spot when Zara glanced at me. Too late, a smile came to her face. Calculation—perhaps some vague question—lingered in her eyes.
Good heavens.
This woman just sized me up.
“Are you busy after this?” Zara asked. Her fingertips lingered near his elbow. “I thought it might be fun to grab a smoothie, like we used to. What do you think?”
I stepped back, prepared to get out of his way, but an arm came around my waist. The pressure of his hand on my hip made my breath catch.
“Not today, sorry Zara. Thank you, though.”
A crestfallen expression followed but she smiled, sent me an appraising glance, and flounced away. Vik didn’t look me in the eye. My heart thumped painfully.
“Ready to go?”
I nodded, unable to speak around the jumble of emotions heavy on my chest. Zara hadn’t even tried to hide her simmering jealousy. Yet, the simper of a flattered woman evaded me. Instead, a question: how many other women would there be?
Hadthere been?
Vik gathered his things, dodged questions from other people with his usual smooth smile, and ushered me out. Heat baked off the sidewalk in sticky waves, cooler than the bikram yoga class we left behind. The prickling warmth subsided as a fresh breeze blew past. Vikram’s fingers brushed against mine as he reached back for his car keys. A fleeting breath, and I thought he’d grab my hand. His fingers skimmed right past.
Disappointment keened.
He ebbed and flowed. Made a statement, fell back.
Didheeven know what he wanted?
An awkward air filled the car as we climbed inside the Jeep. Words choked my throat. These moments served as solid reminders of who Vik was—or had been—and how that interacted with his daily life now. Those thoughts didn’t linger for long. If anyone knew that the past could be overcome, I did.
“Does that happen often?” I asked quietly.
He tilted his head against the seat as we idled at a stoplight. He blinked, then flipped on the blinker and turned down a different road.
“All the time.”
“Do you get tired of it?”
“I do now.”
