My mouth grows dry.
“And maybe…maybe it would be helpful for you to see it. After the storm, we could stop by there. It still needs a lot of work and it’s nowhere close to being done, but it could give you a better sense of the place,” he says. “Not that we have to. I don’t know what your plans are or when you’ll go—”
“I’d love to see it.”
“Yeah?” he asks, a hint of vulnerability in that word.
“Yeah. I can’t wait.”
He smiles then, his teeth flashing. It’s beautiful and wonderful and disarming, and I can’t pretend anymore. I can’t pretend that I’m helping him just to have leverage, to have the upper hand in negotiations. I can’t pretend that I’m doing this for any reason other than Iwantto. I want Nikhil to be happy. And this project, it’s making him come alive in a way I’ve never seen before.
Even more, he’s telling me heneedsme. I’ve wanted to hear those words from him for so long. I’ve wanted to know that he felteven a fraction of the wild, desperate need I’d always felt for him.
A breeze travels in through the broken window and a nearby branch rattles, drawing my gaze outside.
Nikhil leaves, grabbing a blue-green tarp from the hallway, the fabric waving behind him like a banner. He moves toward the window and tries to stretch the material over the open space but isn’table to do it fully. His arms, as long and impressive as they are, can’t cover the distance.
I rush over, grabbing a corner of the tarp, and he steps back to let me in.
I pull it to the part of the window frame he’d been aiming for and feel him staring at the side of my face when he asks, “So, you’re thinking about running for office?”
“Uhhh.” I secure the blue-green material in the upper right-hand corner, unsure how to go about answering. Everything about this is tied up in Shake. The two of us have been talking about wanting to run for office for years, but we only recently started exploring it seriously. Shake’s probably had that meeting with the political advisory team during the time I was here. I wonder what they talked about. I wonder if I’ll ever meet with them. I wonder what Shake’s thinking after the breakup, or if the news about the Texas seat would change anything for us. For me.
“It’s a little complicated,” I tell him.
I move to the lower corner, but the tarp snaps back, the area I’d just secured unraveling.
“Whoa,” Nikhil says, his arm sliding behind me, grabbing hold of the tarp before it unfurls all the way.
His chest presses against my back, and his thighs bracket mine as he leans forward, taping the material down.
“There,” he says, turning toward me, his face only an inch away. “Close call.” He smiles, soft and easy, but that smile fades as he registers that his body is flush against mine.
He could move. I couldaskhim to move. But I don’t.
He exhales, and I can feel the hot breath traveling over my ear.
“Why is it complicated?” he asks, his voice slightly hoarse, and I close my eyes.
“I don’t know which race I’m running for.” The words slip outof my mouth, plain and honest. “I thought I did. There’s a state race in Maryland, and it’s what I’ve been planning and thinking about for a while, but—” I stop. Is it even worth getting into all of this with Nikhil? This idea of mine is barely half-baked. Basically still raw dough.
“But?” Nikhil prompts, his hand coming to my shoulder, clasping my upper arm. He presses lightly, until I’ve turned around. Until I’m facing him.
We’re so close. His face hovers right above mine, and our breaths are shallow, our chests rising and falling against each other. I lean back the tiniest amount, needing some air, some distance, some space tothink,but Nikhil’s hand slides to my lower back, bringing me toward him.
“Careful,” he says roughly. “The tarp.”
I swallow, my heart pounding.
I’m scared. I’m scared to move an inch, and not just because of the open window behind me. I’m scared by how much I want this. How much I want to be close to him. And I’m terrified by his earlier question, terrified to put words to this idea. But when he asks again, his voice soft and gentle as he says, “But what, Meena?” I realize Iwantto tell Nikhil what I’m thinking. After spending so much time hoping and waiting, he finally let me in, sharing about his project and his dreams. I want to do the same.
“But I can’t stop thinking about what Alan mentioned,” I tell him. “That Elizabeth might run for that open congressional seat. That there’s going tobean open congressional seat.”
“You’re talking about the seathere? Congresswoman Garcia’s seat?”
I chew on my bottom lip. “Yeah,” I reply.
Nikhil’s eyes zero in on my mouth, and I involuntarily mirror the movement, my gaze drawn to his in return. His lips, the shape ofthem is so familiar, though that stubble lining his jaw is new. I wonder again how it would all feel. The soft pull of his mouth coupled with the rough slide of his skin.
