When Dimple Met Rishi(44)
Rishi leaned in to Dimple as Kevin and his friends began to disperse into the crowd. “How can you just eat and drink things in a place like this?” He looked around at all the people hooking up and shouting and laughing in near darkness.
Dimple took another bite, chewed, and swallowed. “Are you serious right now?”
He looked at her blankly.
“You need to relax and let go a little.” Rishi opened his mouth, and she said, “And please don’t say I need to watch out for the date-rape drug.” Because I already saw these were completely safe, she thought but did not say. She was enjoying watching Rishi worrying about her, though she didn’t want to admit it.
He snapped his mouth shut. “Okay, I won’t. But seriously, aren’t you worried? Didn’t you ever pay attention in any of those D.A.R.E. presentations?”
Dimple snorted and took another bite. “No. Did you?”
Rishi rubbed his jaw. “Th-that’s not the point. Look, you can’t just wander around a strange party drinking and eating from unattended containers. It’s not safe. People will take advantage—”
He stopped talking when Dimple leaned closer to him and brushed his lips with the rest of her brownie. “You know you want to. It’s delicious.”
Looking down at her, he shook his head and made an “uh-uh” noise in the back of his throat without opening his mouth. Oh my God, he was so cute. Dimple batted her eyelashes at him and said, in a sultry voice she had no idea she was capable of, “Please, Rishi Patel?”
Something glittered in his eyes at her words, and Dimple felt herself flushing at whatever was going on, practically rippling in the air between them.
After a pause, Rishi obediently did as she asked. Dimple felt a thrill that he’d actually listened to her. That somehow, some way, she seemed to have power over this boy.
It was important not to panic. So, okay, he’d just downed a brownie that might potentially contain something illegal. That he’d done it because of Dimple’s petite, chocolate brownie–scented hand near his mouth (and because she was standing so close to him he could feel her body heat) just made it worse.
But Rishi wouldn’t think about that. He wasn’t going to worry about the possibility of a SWAT team bursting through the door, throwing him to the ground, and handcuffing him either. He wouldn’t think about writing letters home from his prison cell while his somewhat flirty, six-foot-three-inch roommate, Bozo, watched.
Dimple giggled—giggled! A sound he’d never imagined leaving her mouth—and let her hand drop. Rishi was immediately bereft. “You should see your face.”
“I bet it’s nothing compared to my brain waves. They’re probably crying out, spiraling into years of addiction.”
Dimple shook her head and sighed. “There’s nothing in that brownie except sugar and fat.” She gave him a sidelong glance. “I saw them make it, okay? I peeked into the kitchen when you weren’t looking.”
Without talking about it, she and Rishi began to make their way to the sliding back door. The dark backyard beyond looked mostly empty. Rishi opened his mouth and feigned being aghast at her, his heart lifting when she trilled a laugh.
“Sorry, sorry,” she said, lifting her hands in front of her. “You’re just too easy with your paranoia.”
“It’s not paranoia, Dimple. I think it’s idealistic to trust people so completely. That’s why I don’t like going to parties.” He could feel her watching him in that sardonic, Dimple way she had—eyes calculating, eyebrows slightly furrowed. “Yeees?”
She stepped through the sliding door, and he followed, pulling it shut behind them, hoping to deter any wasted college students from following. They made their way to a grove of bushes off to the right, the breeze just cool enough to provide some respite from the thick, soupy heat of bodies inside. “Well, see, I don’t think it’s idealistic. People go to parties all the time to just kick back and chill. For me it’s about getting away from the constant pressure I felt at home to be someone I wasn’t. Didn’t you ever feel the need to let go of stress?”
Rishi laced his hands behind his head. There was a small bench beyond the grove of bushes, sheltered from the rest of the yard and the house. He went to it, and Dimple followed.
There was a soft quietness in his head now, as if the world was at a remove. His voice sounded muffled in the fog. “Sure I did. That’s why I drew.” He sat on the cold stone bench, and put his messenger bag down by his feet. “I never felt the need for anything else.”
Dimple sat beside him, her arms and legs stiff, as if she were afraid of encroaching on his personal space, of touching him. He knew how she felt. Before, scraping elbows together or grabbing her hand had seemed benign, just exciting enough without being serious or scary. But here in this private little alcove in the dark, things felt more. Bigger. And Rishi wasn’t entirely certain he wanted to go down that path. Mainly because he wasn’t certain she did.
“Hmm.”
When Dimple didn’t say anything else, he tipped his head back, drank in the air. The fog coated the sky and filtered through the trees around them so it felt like they were encased in a tiny gray bubble. Just him and Dimple. His heart beat faster at the thought of that, but he felt fine about the unknown of it all. He felt fine about everything, he thought, with a small smile. She had that effect on him.