Dating Makes Perfect - Pintip Dunn Page 0,44

we exchange is so intense that it makes me stumble.

Our eyes hold for half a beat, and then I’m turning once more.

And yet…and yet…I don’t think I’ll ever forget that look for as long as I live.

…

After that one glance, however, I lose track of Mat. The ramwong turns a corner, and the next time I glance over my left shoulder, he’s not where he’s supposed to be. A few beats later, Taran and I enter the wat and proceed to a hall where a raised platform has been erected.

“Now, let’s see how the real professionals do it.” Taran smiles sweetly as girls with tall chadas and long fingernails take the stage.

Each girl wears a lavender blouse and sinh, a printed tube skirt. Ornate gold jewelry circle their biceps, and necklaces cross their torsos like armor.

I try to curve my lips. I should smile. Taran’s being cute and funny—but his remark reveals that he doesn’t know me at all. He doesn’t understand that I should be up there, too. That I would be up there, if it weren’t for my unquestioning obedience to Mama’s opinion.

Of course, it’s not Taran’s fault that he just moved to town. I haven’t given him the chance to get to know me. So I just nod, and we both turn to watch the performance.

The beautiful fabrics rustle and the gold fingernails flash as the dancers execute their intricate movements. My mind is so cluttered, however, that it’s hard to pay attention.

Taran touches my arm. Maybe he’s taking advantage of the dark, but I’m surprised at his boldness. Our parents are not only present, but there are spies everywhere, in the form of their friends.

I turn and look into his dark eyes. His smile holds a secret that only the two of us share. “Are you coming to my party tonight?”

“I bought a dress,” I confess. “The first new outfit I’ve had in ages.”

He lifts his brows. “Deets?”

“Green. Silky. Swishy.”

“Stunning,” he says gravely.

“What, the color?”

“All of it.” Heat passes through his eyes. “Especially the person wearing the dress.”

My lips wobble. There’s got to be an appropriate response to his blatant flirtation. I just don’t know what it is. Maybe Mama is on to something with this practice dating. These skills sure as hell don’t come naturally. At least not to me.

We continue to watch the dancers. He doesn’t touch me again, but I can feel the warmth of his presence against my bare skin. When the performance ends, he turns me to face him and lifts a hand to graze my ever-present ponytail. “Wear your hair down tonight.”

He beams—always handsome, ever angelic—and then strides away. Good thing, too. My parents might tell me what to do, but I don’t appreciate being ordered around by anybody else—not even cute and flirty boys.

Tamping down on my annoyance, I wander back outside the wat. But my irritation flares once more when I notice that some of the food stands have already packed up—including the khanom krok station.

Chib-peng. I can’t believe I missed my favorite dessert. Who knows when I’ll have the chance to eat it again? That winding line was long for a reason: because that crisp and melty goodness was worth the wait.

“Hey.” Kavya materializes beside me and throws her arms around me. “You’re my best friend on the planet, you know that?”

I hug her back. “I take it you enjoyed your first Songkran festival?”

“Love. Pretty sure I’m coming back every year.” She shoves a paper-wrapped package at me. “A present for you. Well, it’s from Mat, not me. He was afraid that you didn’t have the chance to pick it up.”

My hands shaking, I unwrap the package to reveal four perfect half-spheres of fried rice flour placed against one another, coconut pudding spilling from the sides.

Khanom krok.

Chapter Twenty-One

Hurry, hurry. I urge the Prius forward. I was able to wheedle the car from Papa, after much begging, but it’s not doing me a whole lot of good in this Saturday afternoon traffic. Where did all of these cars come from anyway? What could these people possibly have to do? I need to get to the mall now, before someone else snatches up my prize.

Unlikely. But you never know.

I pull up to the final traffic light before the shopping mall. What Mat did—procuring my favorite dessert—just isn’t fair. We placed bets that we could get each other to fall and agreed that physical affection was off-limits. Emotional manipulation should be as well.

Argh. I jerk the steering wheel, and