When Faults Collide (Faultlines Book 1) Page 5

  I lifted up my arms and rolled my body in a wave motion from my hips to my chest before spinning again.

  I shrieked.

  Standing in my bedroom doorway was Blake, with two coffee cups and a mouth that had dropped to the floor.

  “Oh my God! Blake! What are you doing here?!” I demanded, half mortified, half pissed.

  I stormed over to my computer and turned off my music.

  I spun around to face him, blowing some stray hairs out of my face and putting my hands on my hips.

  “Well?” I demanded.

  His mouth was closed but he appeared to be trying not to smile and was looking towards my window away from me.

  “I, um...yeah. I saw that it was raining so figured I would bring the coffee to you.” He held out a coffee cup, still not looking at me directly.

  “Oh, well...keep looking that way.” I jerked the coffee from his hands with one hand, grabbing a cami from my drawer with another hand. I set the coffee on my nightstand and slipped on the cami.

  I took a sip and realized it was a Church Hill Blend, with the perfect amount of cream and sugar.

  I cleared my throat “Um...thank you. How did you know how I take my coffee?”

  He was still looking towards the window, “Oh, I ask—”

  “You can look now” I interrupted.

  He turned, looking amused, before continuing “I asked the barista how you took it. She said you got this in the morning but in the afternoons if you came in you got a chai latte.”

  “Oh. Well, that was very...thoughtful of you. Thanks,” I said genuinely.

  “No problem. Oh, and um...Lily let me in. She said it was okay to come up.”

  “Of course she did...traitor,” I muttered.

  “And...um...Asha? That was totally awesome. I won’t bring it up again, because you are obviously embarrassed...but just to throw it out there. Amazing,” he said, that dimple reappearing with his smile.

  “Ha, well...thanks?” I said, amused with his candidness. I sat on the edge of my bed, “So, now that you’ve seen me half naked in my bedroom mortifying myself, what did you have planned for this change in coffee venue?” I motioned to the chair in front of the window for him to sit.

  He chuckled and sat down, sipping his coffee. “Well at least I gave you something Tweet-worthy.” His eyes met mine mischievously.

  I tossed a scatter pillow at him. “Don’t make fun of my Tweeting habits! Those are fighting words, sir.”

  He held up his hands in defeat. “Never would I dare, madam.”

  I giggled and sipped my coffee before standing. “Come on, let’s sit in my office. The seating’s more comfortable.” I tilted my head towards my French doors and walked in, Blake following behind.

  I had a futon on the opposite wall of my desk so I plopped myself on that, but Blake walked over to the row of bookshelves lining the other wall.

  “This is great,” he said as he ran his finger along the spines, inspecting my collection.

  “I think so. You read?” I asked casually.

  He nodded. “Yeah. Classics and biographies...which, it seems like we have that in common.”

  “I mean, occasionally I’ll pick up a historical fiction too, but in general, yeah, I stick to the classics. You strike me as a sci-fi guy... no?”

  He chuckled, “Hahaha. No. So where did your love for classics come from?”

  “My mother,” I answered simply and quickly. “What about you?”

  He joined me on the futon, “The house I grew up in didn’t have any books, but there was a lady who lived next door who would let me come over and read with her. She was a retired English teacher and we always read classics.”

  I bit my bottom lip, debating whether or not to inquire about where he grew up, knowing that it would lead to more questions about how I grew up.

  He seemed to sense my hesitation and diverted his eyes towards my computer. “Any good music on that thing?”

  “That depends on your definition of good. But there’s some of just about everything, so yes,” I said, grinning.

  “May I?” He asked, motioning towards my desk.

  I nodded. “Knock yourself out.”

  He went over and started scrolling through my Spotify playlist.

  “Wow, you weren’t kidding about everything. The Charlie Daniels Band, Phish, Drake, Mae, Marilyn Manson, and Ryan Morgan, all on one playlist?”

  I shrugged. “Like I said, a little bit of everything.”

  “I like it though. You’re open minded.”

  “That’s a good way to look at it. It’s all about the passion to me. I either want to feel the emotion in the music or I want it to pull an emotion from me. Some things are just for fun, but even fun, feel-good music serves a purpose,” I shared.

  “The only thing split is a Bollywood playlist. You don’t like mixing Hindi music with American?” he asked with a raised eyebrow.

  Damnit, I thought to myself.

  “No. I keep it separate,” I said, hoping he wouldn’t ask me to go further on the subject.

  “Can you understand it? Hindi, I mean?”

  I nodded, rubbing my hand along my knee. “Yeah, I can understand, speak, and write Hindi. I grew up in India until I was thirteen.”

  Both of his eyebrows raised. “Wow, really? That’s awesome. You don’t have an accent at all!”

  I shook my head “Nope. My mother and I spoke to each other only in English so it’s my primary language.”

  “Is that common though? For English to be your primary language growing up in India?”

  I shook my head again, keeping my eyes downcast. “Nope. Not common.”

  “So what brought you to America?” he asked, spinning the chair from side to side but keeping his eyes locked on me.

  Well, I guess you are going to have to say something and if he can’t deal with this truth, he can’t deal with any, I thought defiantly.

  I looked him straight in his eyes. “My mother died of tuberculosis when I was thirteen, so I came to America to live with my dad.”

  Usually the whole “my mom died” thing caused what I called “pity eyes” but it didn’t appear to phase him at all.

  “Oh, I’m sorry. My mom died when I was twelve, so I get it. It sucks,” he said with a small knowing smile.

  “Oh. Well, I’m sorry too. How did she die?”

  His eyes broke contact and shifted down before meeting mine again. “My mom was a prostitute, and one of her Johns killed her.”

  My eyes widened and my mouth dropped.

  “It’s fine, it’s just my history. I don’t like to make a big dea—” he started.

  “No, no. You don’t understand,” I interrupted. “I’m not shocked because I pity you or something. I’m shocked because my mother was a prostitute. I grew up in a brothel in India. She died because the conditions there were so horrible.”

  This time his eyes went wide. “Well, then,” was all he said.

  I nodded slowly. “Well, indeed.”

  Sharing this piece with him wasn’t technically against my rules, because I blogged about my mom, but it was still big. It took me months to tell Lily.

  “So, your dad...was he one of her Johns?” he inquired.

  I shook my head. “No. He came over on a business trip and met my mom at a museum. They had a short but really intense love affair. He came back to America and then she found out she was pregnant with me. My grandfather kicked her out, and in Kolkata there’s not a lot of options for unwed single mothers. That’s why she started working in the brothel. What about your dad?”

  “I don’t actually know. Not sure that she knew either. I assume it was one of her Johns, but it could have been her pimp. Your guess is as good as mine, honestly.” He shrugged.

  We stared at each other for a minute, both lost in the irony of our situations. How small is the world for two children of prostitutes to have met? We were from two different worlds and yet here we were.

  Our thoughts were interr
upted by his phone buzzing.

  “Oh, damn. I have to get down to Shine,” he explained, looking regretful as he read a text.

  “Oh...okay,” I smiled.

  He scooted forward and reached for my hand which was still resting on my knee. What I had previously described as sparks now felt like fireworks.

  “I had a really good time with you this morning, Asha. Thank you for sharing a piece of your story with me,” he said before kissing the back of my hand.

  He stood up and walked out the door. I heard him go down the stairs and then heard the door open and close, but all the while I was frozen in my spot.

  Lily peeked her head around the door and came in to sit next to me.

  “So...? You going to give me the dish or are you just going to sit there all shell shocked!?” she asked excitedly.

  I turned to look at her. “I think I am definitely going to have to reevaluate rule number one.”

  Chapter Seven

  “No, Katherine, you aren’t hearing me. He kissed my hand. His lips. My hand. Contact,” I explained while balancing my phone on my shoulder so I could chop up lettuce for a salad.

  I heard Katherine chuckling through the phone.

  “My dear girl, do you know how many women would kill to have a young man showing such a kind manner of affection?”

  I let out a frustrated breath. “I am not most women. It made me feel things.”

  “Yes, Asha, it’s called chemistry. I think that you are deflecting from what is really getting to you,” Katherine said with that know-it-all therapy smugness.

  “Oh, am I? Well, good doctor, enlighten me! What am I deflecting from?” I stuck one hand on my hip.

  “For the first time you are not only attracted to someone that you have this intense physical connection with, but then you find out that he has a similar history. Which means there’s a chance that you are exactly what each other needs. And that scares you because it means you may have to really open up to him, leaving yourself vulnerable. That’s what you are deflecting from.”

  Damn her!

  “Well, I don’t know if that’s exactly it...you don’t know everything, you know!” I waved the knife around as I spoke, frustrated with her ability to —again— read me like a book.

  “I do not claim to know everything but I do know you, dear, and I know that I am right. And you know it too.” She proclaimed.

  My phone dinged with an incoming text.

  “Hold on, Katherine, I’m getting a text,” I said, switching her to speaker so I could check.

  A small smile appeared on my face.

  So, what are your thoughts on The Pretty Reckless?

  I texted back quickly.

  Um, Gossip Girl was my shiz. Love them. <3

  “Katherine, it’s Blake.”

  “Oh?” She asked dryly, “What is lover boy up to? Asking for more hand and mouth action?”

  “Katherine!” I exclaimed, “You make it sound so dirty!”

  My phone dinged again.

  I’ll forgive you about Gossip Girl if you go see them with me tonight;)

  I giggled.

  “Oh, good Lord. Do you need me for anything else, dear, or can I get back to being old and miserable?” Katherine asked.

  “Oh, go be miserable you old bat,” I teased.

  We disconnected and I texted Blake back.

  At The National?

  The National was Richmond’s main music venue downtown.

  Yep. Show starts at 8. We could see the show, then go for some late night pancakes.

  I smiled.

  Well, I could never say no to pancakes.

  I set my phone down to finish up my salad, chopping up cucumbers, tomatoes, peppers, and mushrooms and swirling some dressing into the bowl.

  I grabbed my big bowl, plucked a bottle of water from the fridge and tucked it under my arm, then grabbed my phone before moving into the dining room.

  I was three bites in before my phone dinged again.

  Good to know. I’ll be sure to have offerings of pancakes every day. Let’s ride together. Meet me on the porch at 7?

  I shoveled another big bite into my mouth before responding.

  Sounds like a plan. See you then. :)

  I didn’t even get a chance to set the phone down before it dinged again.

  I’ll be counting down the minutes.

  My heart beat a little faster.

  What was he doing to me?

  I finished my salad, put my bowl in the sink, rinsed out and refilled my water bottle, and decided to Tweet my evening plans.

  Asha Harris

  @AshaGirlRVA

  The Pretty Reckless and pancakes are in this girl’s future. What more could a girl need?

  #CarbsAreMyFriend

  Lily was more ecstatic than me and we spent the afternoon browsing outfits and debating the merits of makeup. I conceded enough to let her do a smoky eye thing, but refused to allow foundation or any other crap on my face. She fluttered about with more joy than a nun at mass.

  By 6:30 I was dolled up with my new eye makeup, my hair down and straight in its natural form, and my outfit of black skinny jeans, a pink lace shirt, and a cropped black denim vest. I put in a pair of bronze stud earrings and put on a long bronze necklace with an owl on it.

  I quickly posted a pic to Instagram.

  All prettied up for The Pretty Reckless! #ThanksLily #RoommatesRock

  My phone rang and I checked it to see it was my dad.

  “Hey Dad,” I said, adjusting my necklace in the mirror.

  “Hey baby. What are you up to?” he asked cheerily.

  I hesitated, “Oh, um...I kind of have a date.”

  He gasped, “A date? That’s great honey!”

  I laughed awkwardly “Yeah, dad...it’s not a big deal. Please don’t make a big deal out of this.”

  “No, no. I won’t,” he cleared his throat. “So who’s the lucky guy?”

  I balanced my weight between my feet, shifting around uncomfortably. “My new neighbor, Blake.”

  “Hm. Well that’s great honey! What are you guys getting into?”

  “We’re going to a concert.”

  “That sounds like it’ll be fun. Well, you have a good time. Call me tomorrow.”

  I smiled. “Ok dad. Thanks. Love you. Bye.”

  “Love you too, baby. Bye.”

  He hadn’t hung up yet and I heard him yell for Marcy, “Marcy! Asha has a date! Yes, with a boy!” click

  I rolled my eyes and then checked the time. 6:59.

  I walked downstairs and grabbed a pair of black flats from the basket by the door. I opened the door and went out onto the porch where I saw Blake pacing back and forth. He stopped when he saw me and gave me one of those million dollar grins, dimple and all.

  “Hey.”

  “Hey,” I replied.

  “You look great,” he said, extending his hand for me to hold.

  I took it cautiously. “Thanks. You too.”

  He had on slim-fitting jeans, a gray v-neck sweater, and black Converse low tops.

  He wrapped his fingers through mine and smiled shyly. I stared at him, mesmerized by this act of intimacy. Holding hands may be the bare minimum, but this was new territory for me. I had never let a boy do so much as touch me before.

  We walked hand in hand down the stairs and he led me to his car, a Volkswagen Jetta. He opened the passenger door and I sat down, releasing our hands. I put my bag in my lap and fiddled with the stitching. He closed the door, walked around to the driver’s side and got in.

  When he turned it on, I heard Mike Mains playing softly through the speakers and I smiled.

  “You know them?” he asked.

  I nodded. “Yeah, I saw them at The Norva last spring. They’re great.” The Norva is the sister venue to The National, located in Norfolk.

  He slid his hand over to resume hand holding and said in barely a whisper, “You’re pretty great, you know.”

  I concentrated on remembering t
o breathe and let the corner of my mouth lift in a small smile.

  We found amazingly good parking considering that downtown’s parking is a hot mess.

  He climbed out and opened the door for me, holding out his hand to help me out. We walked hand in hand to the entrance, handed our tickets to the guy at the door, and walked in.

  The National is an old converted theater that still maintains all of its charm. We made our way to the balcony and took seats in the front row. These were fantastic seats. He leaned in and asked me if I wanted anything to drink.

  “Just water,” I answered in practically a shout; it was so noisy.

  He kissed the back of my hand before heading towards the bar.

  I scrolled through my newsfeed while I waited on him to return, liking and commenting like a fiend getting my fix.

  He rejoined me and slid me the bottle of water. I glanced up, putting my phone back in my bag, and smiled.

  “Thanks.”

  He winked. “No problem.”

  The concert was amazing. There were two opening bands, neither of which was stellar, but I still clapped and cheered in support.

  We stood during The Pretty Reckless and Blake appeared to enjoy my reactions to the show more than the actual show.

  At the end everyone cheered so loud the band came back to do an encore. I heard the guitar start strumming the tune of You and my breath caught as Blake pulled me into him. My head lay against his chest and I peeked up at him, raising my head.

  His fierce green eyes looked right into mine, and I swear there was a connection on a spiritual level, something I had never in my twenty three years of life experienced. It was as if he was looking at me beyond what anyone else had seen.

  He said nothing, but nothing really needed to be said that wasn’t being communicated through our eyes.

  When the song ended he kissed the top of my forehead, something only my dad had done, and reluctantly pulled himself away from me to take my hand while we made our way out of the theater.

  We walked to a diner a few blocks away and got a table towards the back. Blake ordered chocolate chip pancakes, I ordered blueberry, and we sat there enjoying carb bliss.