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Josh stood before me looking probably more handsome than I’d ever seen him. Honestly, if my life were a romance novel, this would be the moment when I’d look at my brother’s best friend as anything other than, well, that.
But my life wasn’t a romance novel, so here we were.
Or rather, here I was, standing in front of my brother’s six-foot-two best friend, with his dark hair brushed to one side, his green-gray eyes staring down at me, and his full pink lips curled up in a smile.
And that was before you considered the white shirt that hugged his builder’s body with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows.
Did anything below that matter?
I think not.
I shook off all those unwelcome thoughts and cleared my throat. “Well? Do I pass the test?”
His gaze danced over me, flitting from the top of my head to the tips of my toes and everything in between. It lingered for a moment on my chest where my cleavage was enhanced by one of Victoria’s push up bra secrets, but he jerked his head as if he were shaking those thoughts off.
He met my eyes, and his lips curved into a small smile. “You look great. Good choice of outfit. Very diplomatic.”
I mock-curtsied to him. “Shall we go?”
Josh nodded and took a step back. I joined him outside, pausing only to lock the door and double check it was secure, then I followed him to his truck.
He opened the passenger side door for me and gave me a helping hand into the cab. I wasn’t sure if he’d jacked it up or not, but it had definitely been touch and go there for a moment with my heels, so I was grateful for the hand.
“How was your afternoon?” he asked as he pulled away from the curb. “Did you speak to Jamie?”
I nodded. “We spoke some this afternoon. He’s looking at places for dinner, or he was last time we chatted.”
“Where did you talk about?”
“Bella and Moti.”
“Good choices. You’re avoiding Bronco’s, then.”
“The gossip train stops less frequently at the Bella and Moti stations, so yes.”
He chuckled under his breath and turned on his blinker as we pulled up at a crossroads. “True story. Why do you think we’re going to Moti’s tonight?”
“We are?” I was sure my face lit up because my cheeks strained with my smile. “I haven’t been in ages!”
He peered sideways at me, lips twitching. “Neither have I. And a little birdie told me Taarush has a new meatball kufta special debuting tonight.”
My mouth watered at the thought. Taarush Laghari was the patriarch of the family and a third-generation American, but the family still held true to their Indian roots and culture while seamlessly living with ours. No other Indian food compared to his, and his specials were just that—special.
I could not wait to try it.
“Put your drool away, Kinsley. It’s unbecoming.”
Unbecoming. Was I in Jane Austen’s England?
“Oh, shut up.” I nudged him with my elbow as he made the final turn in the direction of the restaurant.
“I won’t. This is a trial date, and you can’t go drooling over someone’s car.”
“Well, if you want to talk manners, it’s rude not to tell a lady where you’re taking her for dinner. Do you know how much anxiety I had to deal with over what to wear? My bedroom floor looks like a mosh pit of clothing.”
“Not to be pedantic, but I’ve seen your bedroom. I don’t understand how that’s different to normal.”
I sniffed. “I cleaned yesterday.”
“Ah, so this time, the clothes are clean.”
“I see why you’re single. You’re a terrible date.”
“Yet here you are, getting advice from me on your terrible dates.”
“Oh, shut up, Joshua.”
He laughed and pulled into an empty parking slot outside the restaurant. “Wait there.”
I did as he said and waited as he rounded the front of the truck and opened the door for me. “Thank you,” I said as I put my hand in his and gingerly stepped down from the truck.
“Don’t mention it. I don’t want you breaking your ankle before your date tomorrow. A moonboot won’t go with those shoes.”
I shot him a withering look before I turned my attention to the restaurant. It was painted in white, and the arches that formed the doorway and the windows were lined with gold and shaped like the onion domes that were reminiscent of the roof of its namesake, the Taj Mahal. A sign that proclaimed the restaurant as Moti Mahal was large, gold, and backlit by bright white lighting.
It wasn’t so clear to see right now, but when it was dark, it looked amazing.
“Are you ready to go inside?”
I nodded and followed Josh to the front door. The doors were shaped in the same arch as the porch outside, and he pulled them open for me to step inside. The décor inside matched the colors outside, but there were decadent additions of red in the form of the tablecloths and rich tapestries on the walls.
