Page 9 of The Ring
I lift my gaze to him, pretending I’ve just noticed him. “Hi.”
“May I sit?” He gestures to the empty chair across from me.
“Last time I checked, it’s a free country,” I counter coolly.
“It is,” he replies, resting his hands on the back of the white wooden chair, “but this is your table.”
Part of me wants him to go away, but another part really craves his company and wants him to sit. And the last part seems to be winning the battle of wills. I’m beginning to think I’m a masochist, at least when it comes to him.
“You can sit if you want,” I say, as though it is of no consequence to me.
TJ hesitates for a second, then sets the book on the table. Peeling off his black leather jacket—he’s dressed head to toe in black—he drapes it over the back of the chair. He lowers himself into the seat and, without warning, reaches across to touch my necklace.
“I like it,” he murmurs, cradling it between his fingers.
Unconsciously, my hand rises to touch it too, colliding with his for the very first time in four months. The contact is electric. It feels natural, like we were always meant to be doing this, even if we shouldn’t.
Our eyes locked. For a breathless second, time stops. The world where we broke up dissolves, replaced by one where we still belong to each other.
But it all comes crashing back when the waiter arrives with the water, setting it down on the table with a soft clink. We both drop our hands, the electricity vanishing as suddenly as it appeared.
“Cushion cut?” TJ asks, still eyeing the pendant. “Six carats?”
Most men wouldn’t know much about diamonds. They’d probably confuse a cushion cut with an emerald cut or just call it a square one, if they even know anything at all. But if you hang out with me long enough, you’re bound to pick up some knowledge. TJ, having been my boyfriend for five years, might as well have a master’s degree in them by now.
“Five, but the setting makes it look bigger.”
“Natural?” TJ presses, already knowing the answer.
“Yes.”
What? I like natural diamonds, sue me. I know their practices are a little questionable, but what family has made as much money as ours without using some questionable practices? For God’s sake, my family is in the pharmaceuticalindustry—it’s not like we are saints. In my defence, I do have some lab-grown diamonds, but I prefer natural ones.
We stay silent for a few seconds, neither of us really knowing what to say, before I ask, “So, what brings you to this side of town?” knowing he spends most of his time in Mayfair and Marylebone.
He rarely came anywhere near Imperial College unless to spend time with me, and even then, it was a struggle. If I didn’t know better, I’d say he is allergic to higher education. Nonetheless, I know the real reason is to avoid photos of him at Imperial reaching his father, who might see them and get inspired to pressure him into enrolling.
“Laurie left this,” he taps the book with his fingers, “at my flat. I’m bringing it over to him, but I decided to make a coffee run first.”
That explains the book.
“Well, are you planning to order your coffee, or do you want to keep talking about diamonds? I can give you a long lecture about the pieces on my current wishlist,” I say teasingly.
He laughs, and it sounds like my favourite song—one I no longer get to enjoy because he tainted it. But it’s a nice change from how things have been between us lately. “Maybe both.” He grins.
TJ calls the waiter and orders his usual drink, a macchiato. Too much caffeine for my taste. I much prefer sweeter drinks.
“What were you working on?” He glances at my laptop lying open in the corner of the table.
“Nothing,” I respond, reaching to close it. But he’s faster. He pulls the laptop towards him, sets it in front of himself, and scans the homework I was working on earlier.
I don’t like talking to him about my school or work. I know his opinion on both very well, and it was always best to steer clear of those topics as much as possible to avoid fighting.
“The Balancing Strengths and Weaknesses: A SWOT Analysis of IBM,”he reads aloud from the title of my essay. “Sounds like afascinatingto—,” he adds, sarcasm dripping from every word.
“TJ, drop it,” I cut him off.
“What? I was just going to say you should lend me your paper—it’ll come in handy when I can’t sleep.”
