Page 46 of Ablaze

“If I knew what I know now–the anguish I’ve felt for the past three years, the sheer weight of life without him–I’d tell that naive girl sitting at the bar, looking into those alluring brown eyes and making wishes that should never have been made, that the worst thing she could do for herself would be to fall for a firefighter.”

I force myself to dredge up Jane’s words–they’re never really far away anyway, but I need to recall them now more than ever–but even they don’t seem to be the deterrent they usually are. Even they can’t restrain the hunger that seems to be overtaking my every logical thought.

Mala eyes my profile as I traipse us to my bedroom, hoping and praying that by the time I get there, I’ll have some control over my internal hysteria, the fucking frenzy building up inside me.

God, what I would give to have the fucking courage, the balls, to meet her gaze right this fucking second. To hell with everything and everyone–Warren, Rohan, my own fucking reservations–I’d like to meet her fucking gaze and just let instinct take over.

And maybe I fucking should.

Maybe it’s about goddamn time I did something I’ve wanted longer than I’ve actually acknowledged it, and just give in.

Because how long am I going to deny any of this–the fucking chemistry that’s always been there, the deep-rooted feelings, the insane connection? Did I really think it would just fizzle away? Or was it that I expected to keep it all buried forever?

In either case, it’s not buried now.

It’s here, reflecting back at me like a damn mirror.

I pull down the blanket and drop her gently onto my bed. Her arms stay encircled around me as I hover over her, our breaths entangling in the darkness of my bedroom. The veil of darkness trying to cover what it could never.

Fuck, this is happening.

There’s no fucking stopping it.

My mind feels overrun with every thought colliding all at once, as if in battle. But only one thought triumphs, beaming so clearly, it’s a wonder I ever denied it.

Mala is mine. She always has been and always will be.

I lean down, my lips less than a breath from hers, giving in to what I’ve always known. Giving in to her. I’m one second away from obliterating every line I’ve ever created for myself–for us–when Mala lets her arms drop to the bed, letting me go.

Her next words make my stomach plummet, creating yet another crack inside the organ that beats only for one.

“I’m moving in with Warren.”

Chapter Fourteen

MALA

Four Years Ago

“Do you love it?” Warren pulls my hand off my phone, bringing my wrist up to inspect it closer. “I wanted to get you something special for your birthday.”

I plaster on my best smile, trying to get my mind off the text I still haven’t received from my best friend while trying to avoid the diamonds flashing like little cameras on my wrist. “I do. I love it.”

“I’m glad. I saw it and knew you’d love it. It was just so . . . you.” He pulls me closer, placing a kiss on my temple before eyeing my sweatshirt with a playful smile. “Now, if I can just get you to change up your wardrobe.”

As if on cue, I pull the collar of my sweatshirt up, wishing I could have the leather strap Warren replaced with the several-carat diamond bracelet back. It’s not that I don’t love what he bought me, because I do . . . But it’s so not me.

And even after I begged him to return it, saying it was too expensive for me to wear on a daily basis–something he requested I do–he begged me to keep it, saying it was a small gesture of his love for me and he’d be hurt if I didn’t.

Warren and I have been together for a little less than two years. Sure, he can be a little pushy when it comes to his opinions, wanting me to wear the things he buys for me–like the dress he insisted I wear on our one-year-anniversary dinner, or the heels he’s still hoping I’ll try on soon–but he means well. From his perspective, he’s helping me fit in, expanding my horizons and making me more sophisticated.

From his perspective, I don’t look the part of an up-and-coming real estate mogul’s arm-candy. What with his designer suits and his three-hundred-dollar haircut, I’m sure I look like a vagrant next to him.

So perhaps I shouldn’t blame him for wanting those things. It must get monotonous seeing your girlfriend in her unique self-imposed uniform of shorts and a sweatshirt day in and day out.

I chuckle internally as my brother’s often-said words come back to me. “Sometimes you go so far with considering everyone else’s needs, you forget to consider yours.”

Maybe Rohan is right. Maybe I do consider everyone else’s needs and feelings. Maybe I don’t like to rock the boat. Maybe I don’t enjoy conflicts and awkward feelings. But is that so wrong? Is that such a crime?

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