The Singles Table (Marriage Game #3)(50)

“Wait. What?” Her heart leaped in her throat. “Jay went to see Indra?”

“Yes. She said they had a nice dinner and talked about art long into the evening.”

His words hit her like a blow to the chest. Jay and Indra. She hadn’t seen that one coming. But what did she expect? She’d made it clear when she left the hospital that their kiss was just a kiss. Was it really so surprising that he’d be interested in someone Zara had chosen? She was an excellent matchmaker and it looked like her 100 percent success rate was going to remain untarnished this year.

Her father’s brow creased in a frown. “Is something wrong?”

“No.” She tried to shake off the strange feeling in her stomach. She’d made her decision, so why did she feel a flare of panic at the thought of Jay and Indra together? “I’m happy for you.”

“You look sad, beta. Do you want to come and sit with your old dad and your uncles?”

“Uh-uh. Nope.” She held up a hand. “I’m good with the singles table.”

“Do you know who else will be at the singles table?” He made a waving gesture and a short, round man with a goatee stepped out of the shadows. With his dark hair, thick black beard, and chestnut sherwani he had been almost completely hidden.

“This is Rohit Sharma.” Her father patted Rohit on the back. “He’s the son of a friend from my university days. He is a nice boy. Two degrees in computers and math. He builds model cars and he likes cats. What do you think? Do you want this one? Should I ask when this venue is free?”

Zara groaned inwardly and shot an apologetic look at poor Rohit, who looked as horrified and embarrassed as she felt. “I thought you said it would be subtle,” she muttered under her breath to her father.

“It was. You didn’t see him hiding until I told him to come out.”

“It was lovely to meet you, Rohit.” She plastered a smile on her face. “I’m actually just on my way to meet my friend. She’s a bridesmaid and only has a few minutes to chat. I’m sure I’ll see you again at the table.” She turned to her dad, dropping her voice so only he could hear. “I’ll see you on the dance floor and we’re going to have words.”

Twenty minutes, two mojitos, and some not-very-interesting gossip from Parvati later, she told her about Indra and Jay.

“Big deal,” Parvati said. “I thought that was the point of matching them up.” She fiddled with the folds in her skirt. The bride, Rucha, had bought pale pink saris for the bridesmaids to wear and Parvati couldn’t get hers to fit properly. She’d never been a sari girl.

“It is. It was. It’s . . .” Words failed her.

“What’s the problem?”

“The kiss.” Zara dropped her head to her hands. “It messed everything up. All I can think about is that kiss and how I want more kisses.”

Parvati tipped her head back and groaned. “I am so done with hearing about that kiss, and not just from you. The entire department has been talking about it all week. If Jay ever winds up in the ER again, he’ll be treated like a king.”

“I’ve never been kissed like that.” Zara’s fingers went to her lips. Even now she could feel the softness of his mouth, the slow, gentle sweep of his tongue. She could hear the rasp of his breath, see the fire in his eyes, and feel his hot, hard body beneath her.

“If you want more of those kisses, you’d better do something before Indra runs away with your man or Rucha’s cousin Binita gets her claws into him. Rucha put her beside Jay at your table. She thought they would hit it off.”

“He’s not my man.” Zara sipped her drink. “He had a head injury when he kissed me. He wasn’t thinking straight. He probably regrets it and that’s why I haven’t heard from him all week. I sent him some dating profiles and he didn’t respond. He wasn’t even at the sangeet last night. And who doesn’t think a zombie party is fun? We have nothing in common.”

“Maybe you scared him away. I’ve seen some of those dating profiles. If I was a guy, I’d run away as fast as I could.”

“You’re not helping, Parv.” She swallowed the last of her mojito, warm and sickly sweet. “If he and Indra are together, then I’m happy for them. Really. I am.”

“That’s great.” Parvati said absently, staring at Vivek Kapoor, the wedding’s celebrity guest and a minor Bollywood star. A distant cousin of the bride, he had moved to the Bay Area with big dreams of switching from Bollywood to Hollywood. So far he’d played the funny desi sidekick in several action and rom-com films, but had been unable to land a leading role.

Zara’s eyes narrowed as Vivek posed for yet another selfie with a fan. “Seriously? He’s all flash, no substance.”

“All that flash is going to be at the singles table with you,” Parvati said. “Look how he moves his hips. It’s like they’re not even part of his body.” She groaned in frustration. “Of all the times to be stuck in the bridal party. I’ll be at the front of the room and he’ll be at the back.”

“I think that’s a good thing. He’s not worthy of you.”

“I don’t want worthy. I want hot. I want a man who knows how to move his body beneath the sheets.” She finished her drink in one gulp. “I need you to be my wingwoman tonight. If ever you needed to use your matchmaking chops for a good cause, tonight is the night.”