The Vibrant Years(60)

She had no idea where that had come from, but she blessed the brief period she’d fancied herself an actress. “Yes, I know. I’m a horrible person. Sorry. But he’s violent. The last guy I went out with didn’t end up well.”

“What?”

Letting that horrified note in his voice hang in the air, she fled.

As she left the restaurant, the heat and light of the Florida afternoon hit her like a body blow. She embraced it. Her legs moved, and she let them take her away as quickly as they could. Away from those tunneled earth walls, that smell, those crawly tails sticking out from between fat orange fragments.

An ugly belch escaped her. The sun burned her skin. Yanking her sandals off her feet, she ran full tilt at the ocean.

When she finally stopped, winded, and dropped down onto the sand, she realized that she had remembered to grab her bag, but she had left her hat behind. Her favorite hat. Just as she was contemplating ways to get it back without coming in contact with Ray or the restaurant—even just thinking about either made the crawling sensation in her throat worse—she heard someone call her name.

Ganesha, please, no!

She was proud of how limber she was, but it still took her a moment to stand up on the soft sand. Making a run for it wouldn’t be easy. Nonetheless, she stumbled away from the sound of his voice, pretending to not have heard it. In the absence of runner’s legs, she would use compromised hearing.

“Bindu, you forgot your hat!”

Ugh, that made her stop. But forget it, she couldn’t turn. She’d have to sacrifice the hat. She broke into a jog.

He ran around her and stopped in front of her and held out her hat.

“You really shouldn’t be here,” she said. “My husband can be dangerous.”

He was in the middle of executing an impressive eye roll when she looked over his shoulder as though she really had a husband with anger issues and he really was chasing them. Now that she’d committed to it, she found herself unable to back away from the farce she was barreling down.

“Listen, I know what you’re doing,” Ray said just as someone else called her name.

They both spun around, equally surprised as Leslie ran at them, face florid with rage.

Dear Ganesha.

She ran at him before he did something stupid. What the hell was he doing here, anyway?

“Oh gosh, honey,” she shouted. “I told you I was okay.” Then, pressing a hand against his chest as though she were holding him back, she turned to Ray, the word run in her eyes. “We’re just friends. We were just having a friendly lunch. Don’t hurt him, please.”

Both men looked shocked as tears started to stream down her face, surprising her more than either one of them.

“Go, please, go. Before something bad happens.” She turned pleading eyes—with award-worthy tears—at Ray. Why wouldn’t the idiot take his cue and run?

Before Ray could react, Leslie lunged at him, again seeming to surprise himself even more than the rest of them. Finally, Ray broke into a run. Instead of stopping, Leslie continued to chase him, terrifying Ray so much that he dropped the hat with a squeal and flew.

Leslie stopped, bending over to catch his breath. Then, picking up the hat, he walked back to her.

She was on her knees in the sand, laughing so uncontrollably her stomach hurt. He sank down next to her. Like her, he was wearing white linen pants, which were now as stained with sand as hers.

He opened his mouth a few times but couldn’t seem to make words. When finally she stopped laughing, she realized that he was laughing too and looking a little dazed. He had on one of his pastel golf shirts, lavender today. Being on his knees had dislodged his always-tidy shirt collar, exposing a freckled and tanned chest. That electric sensation in the pit of her stomach from the first time she’d met him arced low in her belly.

His gaze rested on hers. He was a man thrown off his game. “What was that?” he said just as she said, “What are you doing here?”

Another spark slashed through her.

Instead of answering, she stood and started walking toward the road. She’d have to call a rideshare. Alisha was at work, and Ashish had driven out with Bindu’s car to Fort Lauderdale to see some friends.

Leslie fell into step next to her. “You sounded like you were in danger,” he said, answering her question.

So what? she wanted to ask. But something about it felt like fishing or going places she had no interest in going with someone who’d made it clear how much he disliked her.

“I was,” she said instead. “But I am fully capable of getting myself out of it.”

“Ah,” he said, spinning a finger at the spot they’d just left. “So that unhinged-husband thing was you getting out of it yourself?”

“If you hadn’t shown up, you wouldn’t have had to participate. I didn’t ask you to come.”

“You sounded terrified on the phone.”

So her acting chops were alive and well, then.

The thought shouldn’t have made so much joy burst inside her.

“I . . . I wasn’t terrified. Just terrorized. By insects.”

He raised both brows.

Ah, forget it. If she looked stupid, she looked stupid. What did she care what this uppity, judgmental man thought of her? She’d faced enough of that to handle it in her sleep. “The man took me to a place where they serve . . .” She cleared her throat. “Insects.”