10 Things I Hate About Pinky - Sandhya Menon Page 0,78

to do.”

“That’s the lukewarm spirit I like to see!” Samir went to the sink and washed his hands, and Pinky followed, snorting. “Okay, so now we need tomatoes, cucumbers, bell peppers, onions, and garlic.”

They walked to the fridge and pantry and got out the vegetables. “How do you know how to cook so well anyway?” Pinky asked, carrying a few heirloom tomatoes to the cutting board on the counter.

Samir shrugged. “It’s kind of my hobby.” Pointing to the tomatoes, he added, “Can you begin slicing those?” He sniffed at a red bell pepper from the vegetable bin to make sure it was still fresh. “I mean, I used to spend a lot of time cooped up at home, so… you know. You have to find ways to make it interesting. Food’s just something my mom and I have always been able to bond over.”

“Hmm.”

“Maybe you can try it with your mom,” Samir said, though he honestly couldn’t picture the Shark in an apron. Speaking of… he grabbed two aprons from the hook on the door of the pantry and held one out to Pinky, who’d begun dicing the tomatoes.

She held up her hands. “Too messy. Could you just tie it around my waist for me?”

Samir paused. “Um, sure.” He set his own apron down on the counter and then walked closer to Pinky, holding the one meant for her.

She held still as he slipped his arms around her from behind, pulling the strings of the apron against her stomach and waist, knotting them in the back. His fingers grazed her back through her thin cotton shirt. She’d taken a shower—as he had—after they got home, and he could smell her shampoo, something sweet and herbal mixed with her own soft scent.

“There,” he said, his voice just a touch husky. “All done.”

She looked at him over her shoulder, her gaze briefly catching on his lips. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.” This was the moment when he should step back and away from her. When he should pick up a knife of his own and begin chopping something.

Instead, he stood where he was. And Pinky continued to gaze at him.

There was a moment of hesitance, of resistance, of “this is a bad idea” on his part, but it was crumbling too quickly for him to hold on to.

And then his mouth was on hers and he wasn’t sure who had started it or what was happening except that she’d set the knife down and turned to him, her messy hands tangling in his shirt, and they were kissing, falling, deeper and deeper. He studied her expression, looking for hesitation or confusion or regret, but he saw nothing. Just unbridled passion that mirrored his. Her eyes were closed and she was pushing into him, as if she couldn’t get close enough. Samir knew he should be questioning this in light of what had happened out on the deck, but he wasn’t. He was just accepting it, wanting it, needing it to happen.

Her phone beeped in her pocket between them, startling them both. She jumped back and they stared at each other, Samir’s heart pounding so furiously he could practically see it through his shirt.

“I should, um, see who this is.” Pinky turned away to wash her hands, though they were mostly clean now anyway.

“Yeah, and I’m gonna go change my shirt,” Samir said, holding the tomato juice–soaked shirt away from his skin to make his point. Really, he just needed to put some distance between them.

He ran up the stairs, shaking his head. What the hell was that? Calling it a practice kiss would be completely disingenuous. That had been the real thing. And he wasn’t 100 percent sure he’d initiated it… which meant what? Did it mean anything to Pinky beyond that she wanted to hook up with him? And was he capable of just hooking up with her, without letting it consume his feelings?

Samir groaned as he stepped into his room, peeling off his dirty shirt and grabbing a new one from the drawer. Pinky Kumar was, quite possibly, the most confusing person he’d ever met in his life.

* * *

They finished making the gazpacho. Samir made sure to keep at least four feet of distance between them at all times, and it worked out fine. By mutual, unspoken agreement, neither of them spoke of the impromptu kiss. Samir had already said what he wanted to say; the ball was in her court now. If she wanted to take it further, she could. From