Page 23 of The Spare
“Don’t tell Henry.” She poured the wine, giving me a look of warning, and awaited my compliance.
“Under the condition that you will tell me what happened at some point.”
“Fine.” She handed me a glass and took a sip out of hers. “That should help with the pain, at least till Xander and Pen get back.”
Silence blanketed the room. I felt nauseated. It was getting harder to deny the feelings that bubbled up whenever I saw her, thought about her, or heard her name.
The anguish must have been apparent on my face.
"You know, therapy would be less painful," she said as she pushed an ice pack across the table in my direction. Her mood was lighter. It pacified the gnawing in my chest.
"Yeah, but this is faster."
“Everything's sorted then?” she asked, with a soft sigh, and swirled her glass at the base. She watched the wine as it lazily lapped around the goblet.
I smiled. She was worried. "Yeah. Don't worry. He won't be throwing any more punches. Unless we beat him at touch football again."
She beamed. "So, you'll be around? Strictly for punching purposes, of course." The heaviness of our earlier conversation dissipated, and her laughter filled the kitchen.
“Punching purposes? I’m the reason we won.” It was an easy hack, playing into her competitiveness. I wasn’t ready to have her attention move away from me.
“The hell you are,” she snapped playfully.
“You had one lucky catc—”
“Lucky?”
“Xander can’t throw for shit.” He played soccer his whole life. The entire premise was not using your hands.
“Based on your face, I’d say his aim is pretty good.” She laughed loudly at her own insult. “I was the one to score. Did the blow to your head make you forget?”
“And all the other goals?” I reminded. She was silent. “You need me, Counselor.”
“Fine.” Her smile became a smirk. “Let’s run that back next year with different teams.”
“You’ll be begging to change teammates,” I warned.
A spark lit in her eyes. “Top of my class. Best at the firm. Impeccable instincts,” she listed off, as if I needed a reminder of all the reasons she set my blood on fire. She leaned in and crossed her arm. “Sloan Saanvi Amari begs no man.”
Our eyes locked and the entire world stilled for a moment. The air between us crackled; my throat went dry. “A thousand apologizes,” I drawled, ignoring the sudden heat that ran through every fiber in my body.
She laughed again, cutting through the thick haze. “Where’s this guy been? I’ve missed him.” She took another sip of her wine.
The idea that she missed me sucked the air out of my lungs. The door opened and closed.
“We’re back.” Penelope and Xander’s voices filled the quiet house.
I didn’t have her to myself anymore.
“In here,” Sloan called. She didn’t look away until they neared.
* * *
At the end of the long day, I found myself in Rishi Amari’s office, sitting on the upholstered leather chair in front of his desk. A bookshelf that spanned the entire wall was behind it, filled with books in different languages.
Sitting there always felt like being sent to the principal's office. In our more rambunctious years, Henry and I would often get called in to get a talking to for whatever nonsense we got ourselves into. The patriarch of the Amari family, he was the reason for their massive success and wealth. He was also the reason for mine. Rishi was the one to recognize my talents and help find me opportunities to excel.
I owed my success to him.
