The Singles Table, page 19
“Don’t stop,” David shouted.
Zara joined the rest of the chorus as they played ball with a red balloon. She felt hyperaware of Jay watching, and curiously self-conscious. The balloon drifted toward her and she batted it away so hard, it hit Julia—a lackluster Kate—in the face, throwing her off the beat.
“Stop the music.” David jumped up from his seat. “Julia, you’ll have to start over.”
“It’s not my fault,” Julia snapped. “Zara attacked the balloon like she was trying to score an Olympic gold in beach volleyball.”
“I think that’s a bit of an exaggeration.” Zara’s cheeks heated. “It was just overinflated.”
“You’re going to have to deal with the unexpected every time we perform,” David said. “The show must go on. You can’t get distracted.” He checked his watch. “I think we’re done for the day. Let’s all get out and enjoy the sunshine.”
Zara left with the rest of the cast to change her clothes and have a quick word with the prop master about balloon alternatives for the picnic scene. By the time she was done, the playhouse had cleared out. She found Jay waiting for her beside the stage.
“I can’t believe you came.” She threw her arms around him and gave him a hug.
His arms tightened around her. “You said you would have invited me if I’d been free. I didn’t want to miss the chance to see you, so I asked Elias to handle the meeting with Lucia.”
“I never imagined you’d be interested after I threw you out of my apartment.” She released him when he gave an indignant huff.
“You didn’t throw me out. I left of my own volition.”
“It was a metaphorical throw.” She sat on the edge of the stage, and he eased himself up beside her.
“That’s the problem with lawyers,” he said. “You’re too good with words. Simple guys like me don’t have a chance.”
“You’re hardly simple. A little uptight, perhaps. Definitely a workaholic. Inflexible. Controlling. Maybe a bit broody—”
“I’ll stop you right there before my ego gets too big to contain.” His lips twitched at the corners. With his shirt open and his suit jacket folded neatly in his lap, he looked more relaxed than she’d ever seen him during the day.
“What did you think of the rehearsal?”
“It was very entertaining,” he said. “I wish I could dance like that. I have two left feet and no sense of rhythm. Avi doesn’t know what he’s in for when I show up for his groom squad dance rehearsals. I’m probably unteachable.”
Zara jumped up on the stage and held out her hand. “I’ll show you a few moves.”
Jay hesitated, searching the empty theater. He was always so concerned about his image and reputation, and yet when they were alone together, he was a different man.
“Everyone is gone,” she assured him, pulling up the “Dhinka Chika” remix on her phone. “It’s just us. You can screw up as badly as you want and no one will see you.”
Jay jumped up on the stage and carefully placed his folded jacket over a Styrofoam rock.
“Hands in your pockets and move them from side to side.” She demonstrated the move, swaying in time to the music.
Jay gave her a horrified look. “I might be morally corrupted if I spend too much time with you.”
“After last night, I’m pretty sure it would be the other way around.” She rocked her hips back and forth. “Keep your hands in your pockets and do this, or are you not familiar with the pelvic thrust?”
“I think you know the answer to that question,” he said, his voice smug.
Watching him now, it was hard to believe this was the same man she’d met on the paintball field. Beneath the walls and the shadows, he had an almost playful sense of humor.
“I am at once delighted and horrified to know that you excel at that move.” She danced beside him, keeping him to the beat.
“ ‘Horrified’ is not a word commonly associated with my bedroom skills,” he said dryly.
“Jay Dayal.” Her hands found her rolling hips. “Are you cracking jokes?”
“Not about things that matter.”
He was suddenly serious and Zara’s skin prickled in warning. She liked what they had. A little sex. A little fun. Maybe even a little friendship. Why mess it up with “things that matter”?
“At least now I know how to motivate you to stay on the beat.” She held her hands in front of her, palms forward, fingers slightly curved, wrists rotating back and forth. “Keep thrusting and add this movement.”
“I am shocked by your filthy mind.”
She slapped a hand to her chest. “In my innocence I cannot imagine what you find offensive about turning two doorknobs at once, but I suspect you’ll prove a master of this move, too.”
Jay proved adept at turning doorknobs while doing a pelvic thrust so she motioned for him to stop. “I have one more for you. It’s very easy. You don’t need to move your feet. Just your hands.”
“Am I turning on or off light switches?” He lifted an inquisitive brow. “Jackhammering concrete? Painting a fence or waxing a car?”
“I’m opening your belt.”
He jerked back when she reached for his buckle. “I don’t think—”
Zara cut him off with a sigh. “I’m not intending to ravish you onstage, if that’s what you’re thinking. I’m planning to show you the belt step made famous by Salman Khan in the movie Dabangg.”
• 18 •
“Of course. That’s exactly what I thought.” Jay let out a long, slow breath. “The belt step.”
This was a bad idea. He was already aroused from the hands-in-the-pants, pelvic thrusting, and the turning of doorknobs. Things were going to get out of control if she put her hands on his . . .
Chiefs. Buccaneers. Patriots. Steelers. Packers. Cowboys. Eagles . . . He focused on mentally listing every football team in the NFL so the part of him warmed up by all the sexually suggestive moves didn’t get the wrong idea.
“Hold one end of the belt in each hand and pull your hips with alternating hands.”
Taking a step back to put a safe distance between them, Jay yanked one side and then the other, forcing his hips to jerk in either direction with little thought to the beat of the music playing in the background, and a lot of thoughts about football.
Texans. Bills. Raiders. Bears . . . “Is that it?”
“You’re getting it.” Her furrowed brow belied her encouraging tone.
“I’m just not made to dance.” He released the belt with a defeated sigh. “I should focus on what I’m good at. I can organize one hell of a bachelor party, order the booze, keep people in line . . .”
“Let me.” She took the ends of his belt in her hands and gently tugged his hips back and forth, seemingly oblivious to the torture of her casual closeness and the scent of her floral perfume. “You’re too hard on yourself, Jay. You don’t need to do everything perfectly the first time. You don’t need do it perfectly at all. No one is going to judge you if you’re up there having fun.”
He could feel the music now, flowing as she moved his hips.
“See?” She looked up and smiled, warm brown eyes drawing him in. “When you stop overthinking and just let everything go, you can belt dance with the best of them.”
Jaguars. Giants. ColtsSaintsCardinalsPanthersRavensRams . . . No. Not Rams.
One minute they were dancing. The next, their mouths were crashing together and she was in his arms. He lifted her to his hips and her legs wrapped around his waist. Shudders racked his body. He spotted a giant boulder with a flat surface and carried her across the stage, his mouth fused to hers, tongues tangling, her hands raking through his hair as if she couldn’t get enough. Catapulted by a desire so fierce it clouded his senses, he lay her gently on the surface and pushed up her clothing to bare her beautiful breasts. He sucked and licked, stroked and squeezed until she reached for him, tearing at his jeans with frantic fingers.
Driven by an insatiable hunger, he placed one hand beside her to take his weight so he could free his shaft and ease the tension that had been coiling in his belly since he’d walked out her door.
Except the rock wasn’t a rock. Two people were heavier than one. With a high-pitched groan the rock gave way, and they fell to the ground in a sea of Styrofoam, canvas, and wire.
“What the hell is going on here?” An angry voice echoed through the theater.
Jay’s protective instinct overrode his reserve. Yanking up his clothes with one hand, he hovered over Zara, keeping her covered until she’d straightened her clothing. When she gave him a nod, he pulled her up with him and spun to face the intruder.
“Can I help you?” He kept his voice calm and even despite the wreckage of the stage prop behind them.
“What are you doing to the set? I’m going to call the police.” Tall and slim, with a face made of chiseled marble, the dude had the looks but not the muscle. If it came down to it, Jay could take him with one hand tied behind his back.
“It’s okay. I’m in the show.” Zara stepped out from behind him. “David said we could stay behind and rehearse. I tripped when we were dancing and we fell onto the rock.”
It was a good story. Zara was always quick on her feet. Still, the dude didn’t look convinced.
“I don’t think I should let you go without talking to someone . . .” He pulled out his phone.
“You want me to throw him out?” Jay tipped his neck from side to side, making it crack. He didn’t tolerate threats, especially when they were directed at someone under his protection.
“Um. No.” She gave his forearm a warning squeeze. “But I do think we should go. He’s probably here to rehearse for a different production.”
Jay considered doing it anyway, just to wipe the supercilious sneer off the dude’s face. But Zara was already off the stage and walking to the door. He shoulder-bumped the guy on his way past, just to let him know he’d been in the wrong and because he’d ruined what would have been his first chance to have sex onstage.
“I’ve seen all these musicals.” Zara spun around when they reached the lobby, gesturing at the framed posters on the walls. “My dad always took me to the theater on our weekends together. I even saw a few of them on Broadway when I visited New York.”
“What about your mom? Is she a fan, too?”
Zara rarely talked about her mother and he was curious to know more about her. He wanted to know everything about Zara and what made her tick.
She turned away, stared at the poster in front of her. “She can’t stand musicals and she doesn’t care for the theater. I’m seeing her this week for her birthday dinner and I have to remember not to talk about my extracurricular activities. Her life is all about her work, and she takes a dim view of things she considers frivolous.”
“This isn’t frivolous.” He swept her hair over her shoulder and pressed a kiss to her nape. “Not if so many people enjoy it.”
“Exactly.” She looked over her shoulder, and the smile that spread across her face took his breath away. “Musicals capture emotion and make it bigger than life.” She pointed to each framed poster in turn. “ ‘I’ll Cover You’ from Rent? Destroyed me. ‘Memory’ from Cats? Focus on the pain and it will ruin you. ‘Last Night of the World’ from Miss Saigon? It’s a love song, but oh my God . . .”
“So, they’re all sad,” he said. “No wonder your mother doesn’t like them.”
“Are you kidding? That’s only one side of the coin.” She twirled around the lobby. “You can’t get much happier than ‘Singin’ in the Rain’ or ‘I Could Have Danced All Night’ or ‘Ding-Dong! The Witch Is Dead.’ ”
Jay didn’t think he could get much happier than watching Zara dance around the lobby humming the tunes from the musicals she loved so much. When he was with her, he almost believed she could light up his darkness and set him free.
“If this is your dream, why didn’t you pursue it?” He leaned against the wooden wainscoting beneath a framed poster of Hairspray.
“My family expected me to have a profession—even my dad. I took psychology at college because it was a science, which made them happy, and I thought it would help me become a better performer. At college I got a chance to work with a law professor who brought creatives to campus. I realized I could put my dreams and a professional career together as an entertainment lawyer helping diverse artists in the industry.”
“It sounds perfect.”
“I thought so and my mom agreed.” She ran her hand along the dusty edge of a picture frame. “She helped me get a start at a big-city firm with an entertainment practice, but it didn’t work out. After two jobs and the interview with Lucia, I realized I could never be happy working at a place that stifled my creativity. I still love the world of entertainment. I scream when I see my favorite celebrities. I ask them for autographs. I’m on an alumni committee that promotes diverse artists, and one day I hope we’ll see greater representation in the industry. But I love my new job. I love helping people who have been hurt and can’t advocate for themselves. Dreams can change and it’s not a bad thing. They can be what you make them, or you can live them a different way.”
“My dream is to be successful.” He folded his arms across his chest, watching the dust motes dance on the sunbeams shining through the window. “I want financial security so my mom and I never have to worry about having enough to eat or where we’re going to sleep at night.” His hand tightened into a fist, words he had never shared spilling from the dark secret part of him in a harsh, bitter tone. “Part of me also dreams about sticking it to my old man, who left when I was a baby. If he ever comes looking for me, I want him to see that I made it to the top. That I didn’t need him. I want him to regret that he walked away.”
“I can’t imagine how hard that must have been.” Zara slid her arms over his shoulders and pressed a soft kiss to his mouth. “But your mom must be very proud because she raised a strong son.”
Jay held her tight, soaking up the warmth of her body. “She came by this morning to drop off a meal for Sunday dinner because she’s going away on a day trip, and decided to stay and prepare enough food for a family of ten: paneer tikka, dahi bhalla chaat, rajma masala, dal makhani, vegetable korma, chicken karahi, two types of biryani, mango cheesecake . . .” He trailed off when Zara laughed.
“I guess you won’t be ordering in for a while.”
“She was hoping I would have a guest.” He hesitated, not wanting to scare her away, but also not wanting to let her go. “Are you free tonight?”
“You had me at ‘enough food for a family of ten’ but I would have been knocking on your door for a slice of mango cheesecake. Too bad your mom can’t join us. I would love to steal her recipe.”
“She might have come back early from her trip. I’ll give her a call.” Jay swept Zara up in a kiss. “There’s only one thing you should know. Her boyfriend is a biker.”
* * *
• • •
Except for the odd night when Avi and Rishi came over to watch a game, or Elias crashed after a long night out, Jay didn’t socialize at his apartment. That meant Jay didn’t know how to throw a dinner party for four guests. Luckily his mom was on the job.
“You’ve got everything in here,” Zara said, unpacking one of his mother’s sturdy plastic containers. “Napkins, wineglasses, a tablecloth, candles . . .”
“Mom, we didn’t need all this.” Jay took out a saltshaker and four silver spoons. “It’s not like I have nothing.”
“Actually, you do have nothing.” Zara looked out over the breakfast bar to the living room. “You weren’t kidding that day when you told me you only had the bare essentials. It looks like a showroom in here.”
“They usually have some decor in showrooms,” Rick called out from his seat on the couch. “Fancy pots, pictures of flowers, magazines so it looks like someone lives there. I used to work for a staging company, so I know all the tricks. We had eyeglasses that we put in every room, so it looked like someone had just been there all cozied up with a good book. We chose a different color palette for each house. You gotta stick to neutral earth tones or warm shades of white for flow then add a pop of color with the accents.”
“I thought you said he was a biker,” Zara whispered.
“It’s a second career.”
Zara and his mother chatted in the kitchen as they set the table. Zara was always friendly and outgoing, but listening to them together, he liked to think they had a special bond. He hadn’t seen his mother laugh as much in years, and it turned out she had a love of musicals that she had never shared with him.
After the food was heated and ready to serve, they sat at Jay’s small dining table and toasted the meal with a red wine from the Napa Valley his mother had picked up on her day trip.
“It’s so lovely to finally meet you,” Zara said to Rick. “Jay mentioned you were a biker but he didn’t tell me you were a fan of the greatest soap opera of all time.”
Jay froze, a roll in his hand. “Don’t tell me you watch it, too.”
“Oh yeah, baby.” Rick held up his hand and Zara gave him a high five.
“I like all entertainment.” She patted Jay’s hand. “If it’s on, I’ll watch it.”
Jay cocked a brow. “What about sports?”
“Not sports.”
“But sports are entertaining.” He couldn’t help but enjoy watching her squirm.
She pushed her food around her plate. “Not my kind of entertaining.”
“Documentaries?”
Zara rolled her eyes. “Are you trying to bore me to death?”
“You kids make a cute couple.” Rick shoveled a forkful of biryani into his mouth.
“They aren’t a couple,” Jay’s mom said evenly. “They have an arrangement. Zara finds Jay a girlfriend and he introduces her to some celebrities. It’s how they do things today.”
