Girl Gone Viral (Modern Love #2) - Alisha Rai Page 0,70
you are wrapped around her finger, I think that’s okay.”
Bikram was a sucker for animal lovers. “Where are you going with this?”
“I’m saying . . . I don’t know if she likes you, or liked that kiss, but I know you like her and you liked that kiss. You could try telling her that and see what happens.”
Like was too weak a word. He liked his mom’s rotis and he liked the smell of rain.
He . . . well, he more than liked Katrina.
When he didn’t reply to Bikram’s suggestion, his brother gave a half laugh. “Okay, fine. Bury down your feelings on this if you want, or you could have a conversation like damned adults. You might be surprised what comes of it.”
“And if nothing comes of it?” Jas asked roughly. He would have disturbed their relationship more and could be left with nothing.
“And if something comes of it?” Bikram countered.
The words shut Jas up. Such a simple way to turn his own fear around. Both realities were possible. Right?
Bikram straightened away from the car as Katrina came out the front door of the big house. She held multiple foil packages in her hands, which told him Daisy had packed up the whole table for her to reheat later.
Bikram slapped him on the back. “Quit dancing around each other. It must be exhausting. Wouldn’t it be so nice to stop fighting all this?”
Jas watched his brother walk away, the words hitting close to home. He was exhausted. Exhausted from shoving everything down. The other things he locked up tight in his soul, he did it because they made him feel bad.
His feelings for Katrina made him feel good.
Her hips swayed as she walked toward him, and the moonlight lit her hair a silvery brown. Jas opened the back door. She was so beautiful, and Bikram was right. He wasn’t sorry he’d kissed her. He wanted to kiss her again.
He took the packages from her once she was close enough. She murmured her thanks and ignored the open back door to get into the front passenger seat.
“What are you doing?”
She buckled her seat belt. “I’ve always hated sitting back there. I’ll sit here from now on.”
Okay. What was that about?
She closed her door before he could ask. Jas put the food into the trunk and wiped his sweaty hands on his pants.
He felt like a teenager, or about as emotionally fluent as one. He started the car and searched for something to say, but she spoke first.
“You never talk about your grandpa.”
There was no accusation in her voice, but his hands tightened on the steering wheel. “I don’t.” He coughed once. “You can see why. We have a complicated relationship.”
“I can see that he loves you, but he’s also deeply, terribly angry with you.”
She deserved some kind of explanation for having to sit through that dinner. “My grandpa was mad when I joined the Army.” That was an understatement. “When he was young, he protested wars, railed against the military complex. I think it’s because his dad was in the British Army, and he saw what that short stint did to him. Grandpa didn’t talk to me for a year after I was deployed. And then, after I was injured and discharged, I think he got madder that I didn’t come home to the farm.” Instead, Jas had gone to work for Hardeep. It had been a heaven-sent job, where he could contribute something and heal and learn new skills.
She angled her body toward him. “Did he want you to take over the farm?”
“Oh, without a doubt.” Jas turned down the dirt road to the little house. “He puts a lot of stock in bloodline, as you see. I was supposed to be the heir. But I knew from the time I was . . . twelve, maybe, that it wasn’t what I wanted. I like gardening, but not farming. I have no connection to the land, not the way he does. Definitely not the way Bikram does. But Bikram’s not blood.”
“Ah.”
He parked in front of their house. Funny, how it was their house, when they’d only stayed here together for a few days. “I can take out Doodle,” he said, when the dog came racing up to the front door.
She took the leftovers from him. “Thanks.”
The dog quickly did her business, and they returned inside. Doodle went straight to her food bowl, which Katrina had freshened.
“Does it hurt Bikram? To not be in line to inherit the farm?” she