When Faults Collide (Faultlines #1) (8 page)

“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 interrupted 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.

I texted back quickly.

“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 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.

The National was Richmond’s main music venue downtown.

I smiled.

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.

I shoveled another big bite into my mouth before responding.

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

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.

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.

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 to 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.

“So, do you have family here in Richmond?” he asked between bites.

I shook my head. “No. Well, Lily and Tom are practically family to me. But no, my dad and stepmom live in Tyson’s Corner.
No grandparents or aunts and uncles or anything. What about you? Any family?”

He nodded, “Yeah. My foster parents live here. And James, the guy who answered the door that day we were moving?”