Page 67 of Reasons We Break

Rajan wrenches her truck door open for her. At this rate he wouldn’t be surprised if she tried to tie a rakhri on him. “Never mind. If you wanna see him again, fine, he’s clearly into you. Just...don’t bring the Lions into it, all right?”

“Okay,” she whispers. God, she reallyisgoing to see him again. Probably when he’s in a boxing ring because she’soh so interestedin martial arts..

While he’s wrestling these incredibly stupid thoughts back, he almost—almost—misses the shadow crossing her face.

“What? What’s wrong? You don’t like him anymore?”

Simran slowly buckles herself into her seat. Her truck is high enough off the ground that they’re at eye level. “How do you know he’s into me?”

“I know what people look like when they’re into someone.” And thank god Simran doesn’t.

She bites her lip. “I don’t know how to do any of this.”

Rajan’s every sense is suddenly on high alert. “Any of what?”

“Well, everything.” She swallows. “Like...what if he kisses me?”

Jesus. Christ. Rajan takes his cap off to run a hand through his hair. “What about it?” he says, moodily. Imagining Simran kissing that dickhead has him wanting to go back upstairs to the library just so he can throw himself down. “If you like him, go for it.”

“I don’t know how to kiss. I’ve never done it.” Her words are whispered. He can’t be sure, but she seems embarrassed.

Slowly, Rajan puts his cap back on. This conversation is literal torture, but it isn’t about him. It’s abouther. The fact that she’s asking him for advice shows she really has no one else.

So he says, as evenly as possible, “That’s okay. It’s usually a little awkward at first.”

“I don’t want it to be awkward. I want to do this right. Can you even kiss with glasses on?”

He barks out a laugh. Yet another mental image he didn’t need. Simran, taking off her glasses to kiss someone. Someone else kissing her back. Someone else touching her.

Simran fiddles with her braid. “Never mind, I—”

Rajan takes a long, slow, deep breath. “You can kiss with glasses. But if you’re having a full make-out session, you should probably take them off.”

“I don’t know how to do that either.”

She sounds troubled by the fact. It’s kind of funny. “You can’t be perfect at everything from the start, dude. I’m sure you had to work on your singing skills, too.”

“Well, yes,” she bursts, “but with singing Ipracticebefore I perform.”

Their eyes meet. In that moment, Rajan swears everything else fades into the background. She’s in the driver’s seat half facing him, one hand dangling from the wheel, the breeze coming into the parking garage stirring her hair loose from its braid. Those long-lashed eyes, huge behind her glasses. Her half-parted, half-parched lips.

Rajan is sure the same thought passes through her head as through his.

He never, ever allows his brain to go there. Never. If it starts sliding that way, he thinks about the least sexy things he can think of. Gunshot wounds. Socks with Crocs. Nick’s goatee. But she’s sitting there now, and it’s too late, because the thought has seeded in his mind, a possibility of kissing her with no consequences, only tohelp—and it’s all his brain needs to slide there all at once.

He’d put his hand under the base of her braid and gently tug her in. He’d press his lips to hers—chastely at first, to get a feel of her, to let her get used to him. Once her body relaxed, he’d go for it. He has a feeling she’d like that. That she would sigh and reach for him, too. He’d unbuckle the seat belt at her hip to pull her right to the edge of her seat and into his arms. She would say his name. He’d kiss her until that was the only thing she could remember—

His phone buzzes in his pocket. He blinks back to reality. Simran is still gazing at him with an indecipherable expression. With Herculean effort, he steps back. “Stop worrying. You’ll figure it out.”

He didn’t realize she was holding her breath until she exhales, sticking her key in the ignition. Her hand is shaking. “Right. See you later, then.”

“Later, Sahiba,” he whispers. Closes her door gently. He remains standing there as she drives off.

Rajan knows Simran wanted him to kiss her. Itkilledhim not to. Problem is, it might just be practice for her, but for him, it’d be like someone put a line of coke in front of him. He can’t have only one. He’d keep going; he would tell himself he could stop, but he wouldn’t. The consequences wouldn’t matter. He would devour her until there was nothing left, and even then, he would be craving her for the rest of his life.

And she never asked for that—she just asked for one kiss.

He shakes his head and checks his phone for the text he got. Probably Yash, pestering him for Oreos again—