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He didn’t think. He simply acted. He leaned forward and cupped her chin in his hand, then covered her lips with his. He tasted a whisper of salt and a hint of herbs and spice—one of her tisanes, he imagined—and then her mouth yielded under his kiss, her lips parting.
As the tip of her tongue darted forward, his brain came back online, and he pressed his head against the headrest, away from her. She pulled back and studied his face for a long, silent moment.
“I’m sorry,” he croaked.
Her eyes remained locked on his, her expression unreadable. Then she arched one perfectly groomed eyebrow and flicked her fingers against the clasp of his harness to release it.
Heat flooded his face as he realized he’d not only made a move on Omar’s sister, but he’d also completely misread her intention. She didn’t lean in close to him so he could kiss her. She was simply trying to help her client out of the restraint.
He shifted his gaze to the side to break their eye contact, worked up some saliva in his dry mouth, and tried again. “That was a mistake.”
“A mistake,” she echoed in a flat voice.
“Yes. My mistake. I shouldn’t have done that. My emotions are running high.”
She drew her eyebrows together and gave him a pained look. For an instant, he had the wild notion that she might argue the point. But the moment passed, and she gave her head a disappointed shake, then exited the car without another word.
He sat, frozen, and watched her stride across the pavement and disappear into her garage. Then he dropped his head into his hands and let his self-disgust and shame wash over him. Omar was his closest friend—had been his closest friend since he was seven years old. What thehellwas he thinking, coming on to his best friend’s sister?
4
Leilah kepther head raised and her back straight as she walked away from her Ferrari and the man sitting inside. She imagined an icy veil covering her from crown to toe as she crossed the interminable space between the parking spot and her garage door.
“You willnotcry,” she hissed aloud.
Of course she wouldn’t cry. Leilah Miriam Khan didn’t cry. And certainly not over a man.
She kept her jaw clenched and her hands fisted while she hurried up the stairs to her private space. Once inside, she exhaled and tried to loosen the tightness in her chest. Then she carefully removed her sweaty sports hijab and headed to the bathroom to splash cool water over her face and neck until the ghost of Ryan’s kiss had been washed away.
As she patted her skin dry, she eyed herself in the mirror. On autopilot, she repaired her makeup and brushed her hair before trading her fire suit for a pair of fitted trousers and a flowing silk blouse. She opened her closet and pulled out a headscarf in a shade of silvery gray that perfectly matched the thin stripe running through the pattern of her pants.
She had just knelt to buckle the straps on her kitten-heeled shoes when her mobile phone dinged on the counter. She reached up to grab it. The ringtone told her it was her group chat with Olivia, Chelsea, and Marielle.
Liv: Well???? How was it?
Elle: Did Ryan puke?
Despite herself, Leilah smiled. Her fingers flew over the screen.
Leilah: Actually, he acquitted himself nicely.
Chelsea: Acquitted himself nicely? Are you a lawyer too, now?
Leilah: Lol.
Elle: Yes or no. Did he vomit?
Leilah: Eww. No.
Liv: Told you he wouldn’t. You owe me twenty bucks, Elle.
Leilah gasped.
Leilah: Tell me you monsters didn’t bet on whether he would barf.
Chelsea: Uh, we plead the Fifth.
Liv: I don’t suppose he peed himself?
