Read Online The First Time (Love in No Time #1) by Bitsi Shar - Free Book Online
Authors: Bitsi Shar
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And what of all that kissing, and fondling, and biting, and seducing—of a cousin ???! Where does this guy get off? What is he playing at, seriously? I am mad.
Samir says “hi” and I “hi” him back and maybe my being mad is splayed across my skin like blood rising up the skin under the bite of a flogger.
I stare ahead at nothing, waiting for this Samir or whatever to leave. He does.
I need to get out of here. Fuck him . . . and him .
I refuse to look at him as I slide out of my booth seat to literally run away from him and everything this evening was about or not. He blocks my slide out by standing in between me and freedom. I still refuse to look at him. He bends towards my ear and whispers “Sorry.”
I will not cry right now. I will not. I keep repeating in my head. This is so stupid and so fucked up. I push him away almost sprinting for the door. Outside I breathe in a little forcefully as I hail an auto. I run to the first one that stops and get in. I give him my address before looking over my shoulder.
I see him exit Berccos, looking around for me. His hand is sifting through his incredible mop with considerable force. He doesn’t spot me and I turn around in my seat, looking straight ahead at nothing in particular.
I have an insane urge to howl like beating the moon kind of howling. But my anger is considerably bigger than my urge to howl. It trumps it. Fine! I’ll go home and cry there. The night has settled onto Delhi. The dust haze is making it look ghost-like. It cooler now and the breeze has picked up a little. The dusty breeze whiplash feels welcome. The dust grinds at my face and the wind attempts to clean it away unsuccessfully. By the time I reach home, I have dust grains settled into every pore of my being. I feel grimy.
Chapter Ten
Something wakes me up. Its morning. I know. There is light in my room. But its not the light but voices outside my door that claim my subconscious to jerk her awake.
I think I hear Dipta talking on the phone. I hear her pause, listen in, talk, and pause again—a standard phone conversation. I want to ignore it but I can’t since the phone sits on a console table right outside my door. And Dipta has a voice that on its lowest register cannot be absorbed even by a five-inch solid oak door.
So here I am in bed listening in to someone’s conversation and hoping the end is near for I need another shut-eye on this Saturday morning. I need a goodbye, a click, and a walk away.
And then I hear my name—What? Why is she saying my name and to whom in her conversation? Who is she talking to? Now I am all attention and immediately sit up to deliberately listen in.
“Yes, I’ll tell her. Yes. You have a good day too. I look forward to meeting you sooner than later. Bye.”
And that is it. She is off the phone. I hear shuffling outside my door as shadows pass the door from left to right and then right to left. And then comes the predictable knock.
“Yes?” Even though I know who it is.
“Ms. Sharma, are you awake? We are going to be late for Jaya’s house. Remember the lunch today?”
“Oh, yes. Okay. Give me fifteen minutes to sort myself out.”
“And yes, lover-boy called.” And having delivered the piece-de-resistance I hear her shuffle away.
“Lover boy? Who? Him? HIM?”
I am up in less than a second and out the door in less than two. Damn, why is it so bright outside? I am blind now. And Dipta has disappeared into our small home. I finally find her in the kitchen.
“Lover boy?” I ask as I watch her pour our morning cups of tea.
“Yep. He called. He has a nice voice, by the way. And such good manners even on the phone. Why haven’t I met him yet? Forget that. Why don’t I know about him even?”
She has stopped pouring the tea and is standing facing me with a hand on her hip looking very much like my inquisitive third aunt.
“There is nothing to tell” so say I. I pick my mug of tea and cock an eyebrow at her inquisition of my
And what of all that kissing, and fondling, and biting, and seducing—of a cousin ???! Where does this guy get off? What is he playing at, seriously? I am mad.
Samir says “hi” and I “hi” him back and maybe my being mad is splayed across my skin like blood rising up the skin under the bite of a flogger.
I stare ahead at nothing, waiting for this Samir or whatever to leave. He does.
I need to get out of here. Fuck him . . . and him .
I refuse to look at him as I slide out of my booth seat to literally run away from him and everything this evening was about or not. He blocks my slide out by standing in between me and freedom. I still refuse to look at him. He bends towards my ear and whispers “Sorry.”
I will not cry right now. I will not. I keep repeating in my head. This is so stupid and so fucked up. I push him away almost sprinting for the door. Outside I breathe in a little forcefully as I hail an auto. I run to the first one that stops and get in. I give him my address before looking over my shoulder.
I see him exit Berccos, looking around for me. His hand is sifting through his incredible mop with considerable force. He doesn’t spot me and I turn around in my seat, looking straight ahead at nothing in particular.
I have an insane urge to howl like beating the moon kind of howling. But my anger is considerably bigger than my urge to howl. It trumps it. Fine! I’ll go home and cry there. The night has settled onto Delhi. The dust haze is making it look ghost-like. It cooler now and the breeze has picked up a little. The dusty breeze whiplash feels welcome. The dust grinds at my face and the wind attempts to clean it away unsuccessfully. By the time I reach home, I have dust grains settled into every pore of my being. I feel grimy.
Chapter Ten
Something wakes me up. Its morning. I know. There is light in my room. But its not the light but voices outside my door that claim my subconscious to jerk her awake.
I think I hear Dipta talking on the phone. I hear her pause, listen in, talk, and pause again—a standard phone conversation. I want to ignore it but I can’t since the phone sits on a console table right outside my door. And Dipta has a voice that on its lowest register cannot be absorbed even by a five-inch solid oak door.
So here I am in bed listening in to someone’s conversation and hoping the end is near for I need another shut-eye on this Saturday morning. I need a goodbye, a click, and a walk away.
And then I hear my name—What? Why is she saying my name and to whom in her conversation? Who is she talking to? Now I am all attention and immediately sit up to deliberately listen in.
“Yes, I’ll tell her. Yes. You have a good day too. I look forward to meeting you sooner than later. Bye.”
And that is it. She is off the phone. I hear shuffling outside my door as shadows pass the door from left to right and then right to left. And then comes the predictable knock.
“Yes?” Even though I know who it is.
“Ms. Sharma, are you awake? We are going to be late for Jaya’s house. Remember the lunch today?”
“Oh, yes. Okay. Give me fifteen minutes to sort myself out.”
“And yes, lover-boy called.” And having delivered the piece-de-resistance I hear her shuffle away.
“Lover boy? Who? Him? HIM?”
I am up in less than a second and out the door in less than two. Damn, why is it so bright outside? I am blind now. And Dipta has disappeared into our small home. I finally find her in the kitchen.
“Lover boy?” I ask as I watch her pour our morning cups of tea.
“Yep. He called. He has a nice voice, by the way. And such good manners even on the phone. Why haven’t I met him yet? Forget that. Why don’t I know about him even?”
She has stopped pouring the tea and is standing facing me with a hand on her hip looking very much like my inquisitive third aunt.
“There is nothing to tell” so say I. I pick my mug of tea and cock an eyebrow at her inquisition of my
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