Sold Short (Sidelined Book 3) Page 18

  She flushed and washed her hands and fiddled with her hair some more while she waited for the stick’s readout screen to tell her if her life was changing even faster than the progress bar indicated.

  It said: not pregnant.

  Another percentage. Ninety-five percent accurate.

  Dev would be one hundred percent happy with that outcome. She’d keep the clinic appointment. She’d go have another slice of cheesecake and this time enjoy it.

  She wasn’t pregnant.

  When she got home there was a fifty percent chance she might cry. It was only natural.

  TWENTY

  Sarina’s face told the story. They all read it. It made Dev’s stomach roll. She wasn’t pregnant and she was upset but not giving in to it.

  She took another slice of cheesecake and Isabel piled extra blueberries on top, simply saying, “Next time,” and Ro gabbled on about something so Sarina didn’t have to talk.

  The women in Dev’s life were brave and strong and resourceful. He felt refreshed anger at Mom’s decision to abandon Ana, and the rest of what was spinning in his head was a potent mixture of relief and shame. Sarina wasn’t pregnant with another man’s child and he was pleased about that. That was monstrous. What kind of friend did that make him? What kind of man?

  He needed to be alone to think this whole thing through, from the almost sex they’d had three times now to the way she’d cut off the circulation in his hand under the table while she pretended to eat.

  The scene in the storeroom had left him reeling. He’d had to make sure to avoid Reid and hide out in the lab, though that’s not where he should’ve been, but he’d had to sit quietly to process being denied what his body and his heart craved.

  Every time they’d gone at each other, they’d revealed more. More heat, more skin—her skin, how could touching her be such an instant turn-on now? Why was her skin more special than Shush’s or anyone else’s he’d been with? It made no logical sense, but there it was; he was an addict for the feel of Sarina’s skin on his. It made him reckless. Could barely keep his hands or his lips off her. Knew the way he looked at her was inappropriate, that it telegraphed how he felt. If he didn’t get a handle on it they were going to get caught, but the real problem was he didn’t care.

  He wanted everything they’d held back, camouflaging passion in professionalism and lust in comfort. He wanted to strip it all away, reveal the raw need and that shimmer of possibilities unexplored between them, and until that happened it was as if he walked around with someone else’s bones, fitting so differently they made him re-examine everything about himself. He wasn’t such a great guy, he’d tricked himself and those around him into thinking he was smarter, kinder, more trustworthy, when at heart he was deceitful, sly and greedy.

  Seeing Sarina try to brush off her disappointment as though it was nothing was painful, tension in his chest and arms and neck. He put his hand between their chairs where she could reach it, but she didn’t try to take it and when he bumped his knee against hers, she moved her leg.

  Shit. She thought he was pleased.

  He stood abruptly, made his chair bark on the patio tiles, made an excuse to leave the table and check his phone, because he was pleased and that was royally screwed up. Not pleased she was gutted. Not pleased she hurt, but in some deep fucked-up recess of his heart, excited they had another chance together; that there was a clear path forward for them.

  Isabel found him in the living room. “Take my darling home, Dev. She’s being brave and she’s had enough of us.”

  It was all the invitation he needed. He could make this right.

  Sarina was already saying her goodbyes when he made the yard. He did the same and they left the house together. “Let me drive you home,” he said, standing on the street by her Ford.

  She gestured to the car. “Thanks, but I’m tired and I don’t want to talk.”

  “We don’t have to talk.”

  She played with her key fob. “Being alone with you isn’t what I want right now.”

  “Being alone isn’t what you need.” She needed to be home, showered, tucked up and held. If she needed to cry, he’d be the shoulder. That was a form of greed too, being the person she needed.

  “And you think I need to be with someone who’s happy I’m not pregnant.”

  “That’s not—” Goddamn.

  “Are you going to deny it? You’ve said it more than once.”

  “Not denying it, Sarina. Not talking about it on the street. You look ready to drop.” She turned her back on him to open the Ford and he reached around and took her keys.

  She spun to him. “Are you serious right now?” Hand thrust out, she said, “Give them back.”

  He body blocked her away from the door. “Go around, get in. I’ll drive.” He’d come back for Gita.

  “I don’t want you to drive. I want my keys back.”

  She stood too close for him to open the door without knocking her. He took her chin in his hands and did what he’d wanted to do all evening, he kissed her. There was a second of resistance where she stiffened, and then she opened into the kiss, leaning into him, before using his chest as leverage and pushing away, wiping her hand savagely over her mouth. “Give my keys back.”

  “No. Get in the car. You are so close to falling apart right now there’s no way I’m letting you drive.”

  “I’m fine.”

  He reached for her. “You’re wrecked.”

  Warning and weariness in her eyes. “As if you care.”

  “You know that’s not true.” But if she needed to lash out, it wasn’t like he didn’t deserve to be stung.

  “All I know is everything has changed between us.”

  Another invitation not to be missed. “Let’s change it more.”

  She shoved him. “Give me the keys.”

  He caught her hand. “Have my baby.”

  She swayed, her expression shifting from anger to wonder. Her fingers closed around his. “You’d do that, be my donor.”

  “It’s what we both want and I’m not going to hesitate again and lose you.”

  “Lose me?”

  “We can make a family, you and me together.” He hit the tarmac, going to one knee. He still had her hand. “I love you. Marry me, Sarina. Have my baby.”

  “No.”

  “W-what?” He stood, seeing what he’d thought was wonder was actually reference checking; seeing he’d misread the job description and applied the wrong skills.

  “You don’t get it. It’s all knee-jerk with you. Reaction to my action. You want to tell me what I want and that’s supposed to be marrying you, having your child.”

  This couldn’t be happening. “Explain to me what I’ve got wrong here. We love each other. I’m your preferred donor. This is what you wanted.”

  “That’s just it. Donor. I didn’t ask you to marry me out of pity. I never said I wanted to be your obligation. You love me, but you’re not in love with me. Ten years, Dev, longer, I waited hoping you might show me you wanted more and you never did. So I made the decision to do this alone. I didn’t do that lightly. You keep trying to force a different decision on me. You’ll be my donor under your conditions. You’ll let me have your baby your way.”

  “Semantics. We’re best friends, we know we can be more. We both want it, the last few weeks have proven it.”

  “That’s sex, not love. It’s not enough. This is a duty to you. Doing the right thing. Saving me from doing the wrong thing. We just had dinner with my dad, my mom, her lover, and my lesbian sister. My family who support me, but that’s not good enough for you. You want to tie me up into a neat, respectable bundle your family will approve of, call me wife, and then you’ll allow me to have your child.”

  “Sarina, that’s not what I, that’s not—”

  “No?” She lifted the keys from his beseeching hands. “That’s what I heard. I’m saving us from a bad marriage, Dev. I’m saving us from learning to hate each other. I’m having another inseminat
ion as soon as possible. And we’re not having this conversation ever again. This, whatever this has been these last weeks, stops now. No more touching, no more kisses, no more looking at me with fire in your eyes.”

  “I just. Fuck, Sarina. You want my genes, but you want to have sex with other men?” How could she do this to them?

  She turned her face away. “We can’t do this and work together.”

  “You’re wrong, we can be so much more.”

  She walked around him, their shoulders brushing, and got in the Ford. “It’s over or so is our friendship.”

  He should’ve grabbed her. Should’ve shaken her, held her, found the words to make her see things his way. She kicked the Ford over and he watched her pull away.

  He’d applied for the job as her lover and husband, as the father of her child, and she’d not only rejected him, she’d withdrawn the role from the market. Maybe his heart had stopped, his veins had turned to ice. He felt numb.

  He got in Gita and pulled out after Sarina. He shadowed her almost all the way home, because that, caring for her welfare, even if that wasn’t enough for her, was a condition she’d have to live with.

  Next morning, there was no avoiding wearing his Silicon Sixes uniform. He could pull out, but he’d disappoint people: the team with Dad as captain, kids who’d already been promised a ride in Gita. If his parents so much as looked at him sideways there was every chance they’d hear what he really thought about their treatment of Ana.

  Ana, who met him in the kitchen wearing the canary yellow pants and shirt with the green sleeves of the women’s team, the Silicon Slips.

  “I though you said no way.”

  “I thought you said I’d have to face them sometime.” She shrugged. “This is sometime.”

  She looked a little too cheerful for someone about to face her parents for the first time since ruining their lives. “What’s going on?” He glanced at the refrigerator. BB-8, R2-D2 and C-3PO and were lined up in height order. No envelopes. “Ana?”

  “They’re in my purse. The guys are coming to the game and after we’ll go somewhere and open the tests.”

  “You don’t want to find out first?” Had to stop himself steaming them open or hacking a database.

  “Yes. No.” She’d made fruit smoothies and poured them. “Maybe.” She put her hand over her still flat belly. “We did this together. It makes sense to learn about the result together.”

  She didn’t mean together, together. Stop thinking about it . . . “Okay then.”

  When Rani arrived, they got Gita a carwash, polish and wax, stood about looking like fast-food workers playing hooky in their team uniforms and then drove out to the Santa Clara grounds for the annual Silicon Valley Bombay Cricket Club Charity Carnival.

  They were late because Ana had an attack of the what the hells in Gita and they sat until she spotted Alex arriving.

  “You had sex with that hunk of man. I am in awe,” said Rani.

  “Oh please,” Ana put her head down on her knees. “Can you just be normal about it?”

  Rani laughed. “Like right.” Like no way.

  Dev got them out of the car, collected Alex and made it to the drinks tent where they found Gavin and Connor, and Shush who was mustering the women’s team.

  Dad was out there doing his best jovial event organizer. No sign of Mom, but she’d be set up on the sidelines ready to watch.

  “That other team are going down in ten innings,” Shush jibed, flinging her arms around Ana. “I’m bowling most of them out for a golden duck.”

  “What’s a golden duck?” said Gavin.

  “No score,” Dev said. “Like a strikeout in baseball, but off the first ball.” He did the introductions to save Ana the embarrassment and to avoid his father, who he could see lining up the twelve members of the men’s team, which was made up of other South Asian Americans: Indians, Pakistanis, Tamils, but also a Brit, a South African, a Kiwi and an Aussie who’d found the club. He could see colleagues from Google and Facebook, Cisco, Apple and other upstarts like Plus. The women’s team had much the same composition and one enormous asset. Shush was a spin bowler and getting players out for no score was her joy.

  If Vikram won the toss they’d bat first, and since Dev wasn’t an opening batsman he had time to explain the game to Alex, Gavin and Connor. If Vikram lost the toss, the Sixers would field. Dev didn’t have great hands so he’d hang out in the midfield waiting for dolly balls he could catch. But in his current mood he’d prefer to be in one of the close-up slip positions, silly mid-on or silly point, adjacent the wicketkeeper. They didn’t have the word silly in front of them for no good reason, you could catch a ball in the face, break a finger easily. The hint of violence suited his mood.

  While the four team captains examined the pitch before the toss, Dev tried and failed to avoid Tavish. As opening batsman, Tavish should’ve had other things on his mind; instead, he wanted to talk family matters. He let Tavish drag him aside.

  “Dev, you must tell me what is the matter for your family, yaar. I fear for Vik and Leela. Never have they been so out of contact. Your dad is avoiding me.”

  Shush hadn’t filled her folks in. He could simply get it all over with and tell Tavish Ana was pregnant to one of the three guys standing awkwardly in the drinks tent. That would be an opening ball he wasn’t expecting, enough to stump him.

  “It’s nothing you need to be concerned about. A family matter.”

  Tavish was unconvinced. They watched Shush accept the umpire’s toss and elect to bowl first. Unless the other team had a bowler of her caliber, the woman’s game would be over in a couple of hours.

  “You will do the right thing by her.” For a moment Dev thought Tavish did know about Ana. “It’s a wonderful thing, the two of you. Time for Shush to settle down. No more being a tomboy. Make an honest woman of her, eh.”

  That was such a dumb expression. No one ever said that about a man. Shush obviously wanted to pick her moment to disillusion her folks. Tavish needed to pad up. Dev made his tongue work past a clenched jaw. “Shush is one of the most honest people I know,” and left Tavish to it.

  Rani and Ana were fielding. He should’ve joined his teammates. Should’ve been a good son and gone in search of his mother’s picnic rug.

  “It’s vaguely like baseball,” he said to Team Potential Father. “Both games have a British origin. This is a limited over game. Twenty overs or until one team is all out. Cricket has two batters on the field at the same time, and the bat has a flat front and is held low in front of the stumps.”

  “Those sticks at the end of the runway,” said Gavin.

  “The bowler is trying to get his ball past the batsman and knock over the bails on top of the stumps. If he does that the batsman is out. When the batsman hits the ball he can elect to run to the other end, swapping with the other batsman. If the ball goes over the fence it’s an automatic six.” If they got that it would be enough for them to follow the game.

  Alex shielded his eyes from the sun. They were all watching the woman’s game. “And if one of the fielders catches the ball?”

  “On the full, then the batsman is out. Otherwise, it’s a race to knock the stumps over before either batsman is back at the crease.”

  “What is Ana doing?” said Connor.

  “She’s wicketkeeper. Like a catcher in the same way as the bowler is the pitcher. Only she has to catch the ball and knock the stumps over.”

  “That’s a dangerous position,” said Alex.

  “Ana knows what she’s doing,” Dev said.

  “But that ball is hard and coming at her fast,” said Connor and there was no disguising his discomfort about that.

  “The greatest fast bowlers can bowl at over hundred miles an hour. Same for baseball, the balls are even similar except for the stitching, but baseball is an overarm toss and a cricket ball generally travels to the batter on a bounce.”

  “So that’s why all the padding,” said Connor, “it’s less predicta
ble.” That was the idea, to confuse the batsman. He could be hit anywhere with the ball, mostly legs, head, hands.

  “What position do you play, Dev?” said Gavin.

  “I’ll be out there batting and trying not to get clean bowled.”

  “For a golden duck,” said Gavin.”

  It might have been amusing, but Sarina had already bowled him out for no score, broken bones and unmoored organs as she did it.

  When it was his turn to bat, he faced off against the other team’s fast bowler and tried not to get hit in the head. The first bowl was a leg-spin, it came at him on his left side and veered right on the bounce. He ducked without swinging at it, and it went over his shoulder. The second he fished to the right and the third was an inelegant leg side slog, a cow shot. He connected with the ball against all odds with his eyes closed and his head high, and if this kept up, he wouldn’t manage to score a single run.

  The next ball was a full toss. An easy shot designed to lure him into making a mistake. But he’d already made all the mistakes that mattered. He had as good as lost Sarina because they’d bowled past friendship, struck out on sex and stumped marriage. He put his weight onto his back leg and hooked the next shot at chest height, sending it overhead straight over the boundary for six runs and wild cheering.

  It felt good. Not the backslaps from teammates, or the clapping from spectators; the vengeance of the swing, the hard thwack of the ball on the willow, and the satisfaction of seeing it sail clear across the field.

  He wanted to have that again. To convert the numbness he’d felt since last night and into this morning when his parents cut them, into anger and put it to good use.

  The next ball was far less kind, a bouncer, pitched short so that it angled sharply up toward his head. The best he could do was block it and try not fall backward and knock the stumps over. The new bowler was a leg spinner. Dev played a sweep shot at the first ball and added two runs because of fumbled fielding. After that he managed to stay at the crease, longer than he ever had before, steadily adding runs, hitting two more sixes, taking a savage degree of pleasure from smashing that red ball all over the field in a way he knew would delight Vikram and have his mother on her feet.