A Princess in Theory (Reluctant Royals #1)(32)

She’d have to do this smoothly. She looked down the hall—no other neighbors were around to see her acting like a weirdo.

She placed the box in front of Jamal’s door, turned and unlocked her door, then crept back to his and pressed the doorbell. A sound that Ledi imagined was similar to a gnome crying out in pain echoed in the hall, and she whirled and ran toward her door. It was cowardly, but her sense of self-preservation was strong—just not quite fast enough.

“Naledi?”

She stopped in her tracks and turned guiltily at the sound of Jamal’s voice. “Hey! I ran into the delivery guy again. You know how this city is . . . millions of people, but once you meet a person it’s as if you swap some kind of chemical attractant that draws you together. Like you. And me. Not that I’m saying you’re attracted to me.”

Oh come ON. Ledi remembered the research she’d read for class that’d concluded that fatigue had more serious side effects than alcohol consumption.

Jamal grinned and picked up the box.

“Have you already eaten dinner?” He didn’t acknowledge her gaffe, and she was grateful for it. “Perhaps you dined out with a friend. Or had a date?”

“I was out studying with a classmate, and I haven’t eaten.” She’d splurged on a fancy latte while out with Trishna, but had still been full from her huge lunch with Portia.

Jamal sighed and relaxed a little. In relief? No, that would be bizarre.

“Well, bon appetit,” she said, turning back to her front door. Her shower was calling her name; perhaps she would explore the high-intensity setting on the handheld showerhead instead of rambling to her hot neighbor.

“You’re not curious about what the meal is for tonight?” he asked. He held the box toward her enticingly, as if what was inside could possibly be more appetizing than the man holding it.

“I don’t feel like cooking,” she said reflexively, and Jamal frowned.

Smooth.

“Sorry. It’s just—I’m tired.”

For some reason her voice wobbled on the word tired, making her feel even sillier. Sure she had studied, but she hadn’t even worked either of her jobs! She should have been able to take on the world. Instead, she just wanted to curl up on the couch and veg out. This was what happened when you slowed down; it was one of the reasons she rarely did.

“You are tired. And you were last night. I shouldn’t have let you take over for me—it was thoughtless. I’ll prepare the meal on my own, as long as you’re willing to take a risk and eat it.”

She inhaled deeply. He didn’t understand just how much of a risk she’d already taken just by talking to him. Just by not running away as soon as she realized his effect on her. She had exams and a possibly fucked-up practicum to worry about. There was no time for a handsome, bearded foreign man who wanted to cook for her.

Wait, when you put it like that . . .

His back went straight and he suddenly didn’t meet her eye. “I don’t have much cooking experience, as you know, but I watched some instructional videos between appointments today. I think I have the basics down, but I need a test subject.”

“I know what happens to test subjects,” she said softly. Now she was the one avoiding eye contact. She told herself he hadn’t watched the videos because of her, then she remembered how expectantly he’d looked at her after setting the table. Right before she’d left him to sit at that table alone.

“There was only one thing that could have made it better.”

“I have wine, too,” Jamal added, sensing her indecision. “It was a gift from a meeting I had today. A door prize, if you will.”

“What kind?” The offer of dinner alone was already tempting, but she wasn’t going to give up precious sleep over some two-buck chuck.

“Malbec. 1997.”

Ledi wasn’t a wine snob, but she knew from years of waitressing that it was a good vintage.

“Fine,” she said. “You’ve convinced me. I have to check in with the Grams first, though.”

“Grams?” He startled and fumbled the box. “How—I thought you didn’t know your family?”

“Well, I guess you could say they’re my family, in a way. Want to meet them?”

She nodded her head toward her apartment, then stepped in and turned on the light. His eyes widened.

“That’s a very small space for more than one person,” he said diplomatically. Then he heard the squeaking and his eyes darted toward the window.

“Vermin. I’ll take care of this.”

He pushed past her, and she quickly replicated his motion, pushing him behind her as she moved toward the mouse cage.

“Not vermin. Well, not unknown vermin. These are my Grams, Gram Negative and Positive. One is evil, but they look exactly the same, so I’m never sure which one.” The two mice ran joyously around the cage as she approached and dropped some food pellets in.

When she turned, Jamal was regarding her with wide eyes.

“You . . . allow them to reside in your home? And provide them sustenance?”

She laughed at the horror lacing his tone.

“This is my penance. I’ve killed a lot of rodents in my day, you know.”

His face scrunched in horror.

“For science! It’s part of the lab work,” she explained. “The part no one likes to talk about. I didn’t want mice. But these guys escaped from their cages and no one could tell which experiment they’d been a part of. Sacrificing a rodent for an experiment is one thing, but I couldn’t just let them die, or worse, find a glue trap.”