Her eyes gleamed. ‘Did he go down on you?’
I hesitated. ‘Yes.’
She nearly dropped her basket again. ‘How many times?’
‘Niks—’
‘How. Many.’ She waited, eyebrows raised.
I exhaled. ‘Three.’
She choked. ‘How many times did you guysdo it?’
‘Um … three?’
‘He went down on you all three times?’ She gasped, one hand flying to her chest.
I nodded slowly, confused by her line of questioning.
‘Kavya, that’s like … unheard of.’ She was practically vibrating. ‘Everyone knows that the oral sex ratio is 5:1.’
‘Uh … what are you going on about?’
‘If a man goes down on a woman, he assumes he’s off the hook for the next five times. While the woman has to do it every single time to keep him interested,’ she explained like she was talking to a toddler.
‘Really? That doesn’t sound fair …’ I muttered, thinking back to how things had been with Arjun, and realizing there might be some truth to her little theory. ‘Anyway, that’s not what happened with us.’
‘The math isn’t mathing, babe.’ She hummed, rubbing her chin. ‘He’s either a unicorn, or …’
‘What?’ I asked, against my better judgement.
‘He likes you. Likereallylikes you.’
‘Shut up.’ I scolded her and walked away, but the damage had already been done. My heart was already doing backflips inside my chest.
He likes me. He likes me. Hereallylikes me.
seventeen
Homebound
Nikita’sgrand theory couldn’t have been further from the truth. Neil Desai didnotlike me. Not in the way I’d secretly begun to hope anyway. And all I could do as I boarded my flight back home was replay the past week in my head and analyse how I’d managed to delude myself so spectacularly.
At first, I hadn’t thought much of it when Neil hadn’t immediately launched into lover-boy mode at work on Monday. If anything, I’d been relieved. Can you imagine the office rumours if someone had caught him kissing me senseless by the coffee machine, holding my hand under the conference table or feeling me up in the pantry?
But then three days went by. Three whole days of him being completely normal.Pre-sexnormal. I mean, sure, he was warmer towards me. He got me coffee everyday in the morning and offered to drop me off at the train station after work—I’d made the mistake of accepting once and had to endure him treating me like a polite coworker, as if we hadn’t crossed (read: obliterated) that line a few nights ago. And yes, he laughed at my jokes and sat next to me in long shoot meetings with the production agency. But there was no echo of what had happened between us. No invitation back to his place. No secret smile thatsaid, ‘Hey, remember when I lifted you like a feather and made sweet, sweet love to you?’
So, like an idiot, I finally cracked last night and asked him if he wanted to hang out after work. He paused for a second, then gave me this gentle, maddening look like he was choosing every word carefully. He said this week was too hectic, that I had enough on my plate with the shoot, that he didn’t want me tired or distracted. ‘This campaign is huge for you,’ he’d reasoned. ‘Let’s get through the Mussoorie shoot first. Once we’re back, we can pick up where we left off.’
Which, obviously, was fuckboi code forlet’s wait until my internship is over so I never have to see you again. I knew now that it had been a one-time thing. A spectacular, three-times-in-one-night one-time thing. But what I couldn’t figure out was why he’d implied that night that I’d be around at his place a lot. Had that just been heat of the moment nonsense? Or was it a textbook false promise?Or maybe, just maybe, you’re reading too much into it. Maybe he just wants to take things slow.
A dry, bitter laugh sputtered out of me at the absurdity of the thought. The passenger next to me, a college boy in an oversized hoodie, stole a curious glance at me. I pointed at my wired earphones by way of explanation.
It was Friday night and I was flying out on my own, two days before everyone else—partly to spend some time with my family, partly to lock down the shoot location in person. The ad shoot was scheduled for Monday, and Neil, Tanya and the production agency we had hired for the project were booked on a flight for Sunday night. Meanwhile, the Mumbai part of the shoot was set to take place in the office tomorrow afternoon, and I’d left Neil in charge.
‘You sure he’s got this?’ Varun had asked me when I’d informed him of the plan.
‘Positive.’
