“It’s backed by science, asshole. That’s what made Gori and me a great match before she died. That’s why a large percentage of South Asian immigrants today actually pursue an arranged match like their immigrant parents.”
“Are you sure it’s not because our parents raised a bunch of anxious overachievers?” Bunty asked.
“Practical overachievers. Look, people who think that love can sustain a relationship believe in a toxic emotion that doesn’t last. Love makes people depressed, insecure, and sometimes isolated, which affects heart health, as well as the midbrain and frontal cortex. It’s like a chocolate craving that releases dopamine. Too much is bad for the body, and bad for our emotions.”
Bunty grunted. “Fuck you, chocolate is never bad.”
“My point is love has absolutely nothing to do with a happy relationship. Communication, mutual respect, physical intimacy. Complementary goals and ambitions.”
Prem looked over at the bar and locked eyes with Sexy Librarian again. She was trying superhard to ignore him, and the feeling was mutual.
Bunty laughed. “Dude, I can’t sit here and watch you with a woman for another hour. Get yourself together and go talk to her. I’m sure you remember how. I’m going to go check on my kitchen.” With those parting words, he stood, and crossed the restaurant toward the double doors in the back.
Sexy Librarian watched Bunty go, and then she glanced in Prem’s direction before looking down at her phone again.
What the hell, he thought as he stood. He could review his notes for his show later. His pulse beat just a little faster than normal as he wove through tables and approached the bar. Bunty was right when he said that it had been a long time since he’d approached a woman. But like his mother reminded him, Gori had been gone for a while. He’d barely allowed himself the time and space for relationships since. Not to say that this would be anything serious, but what was the harm in trying?
Prem grinned when the sexy sweater vest librarian woman looked up and did a double take at his approach. She turned left to right, eyes widening.
“Hi,” he said when he stood inches away from her. “I’m Prem.”
“H-hi,” she said. “I’m, uh . . . Rina.”
They stared at each other for a moment longer before she motioned to his drink.
“Want another drink?”
He looked down at his club soda. “Sure,” he said. One was his limit when he was on call, and he hadn’t reached that point yet. “I’d love to buy you one as well.”
She looked at her glass that was two-thirds filled, and then, in a move that both shocked and delighted him, chugged the rest of it and placed the empty glass on the bar top. “Yeah,” she said after swallowing. “I’d like that.”
Prem motioned to the bartender, then leaned in close. Sandalwood and vanilla. The heady combination was intoxicating. “Rina, what do you do?”
“I . . . help women build businesses,” she said vaguely.
I’m going to want to know more than that, Rina. I’ll want to know everything about you.
“Do you enjoy it?”
Her eyebrows winged in surprise. “Yeah, I do. It’s my dream job. What about you? What do you do?”
“I . . .” Don’t say doctor, he thought. Sometimes, Indian women either avoided single Indian doctors like the plague, or immediately saw diamond rings. As pompous as that generalization sounded, he didn’t want to take the chance in ending this conversation too soon. “I fix broken hearts,” he finally said, then flashed her his most charming smile. “And I’m very, very good at my job.”
She leaned in closer, and even though he towered over her in her heels, she was close enough that Prem could swear the noise around them drowned out.
“Tell me more,” she said. “Can you fix someone like me?”
He lifted a hand, waited to see her eyes darken with interest, then brushed a wavy lock of hair off her face. Her shiver was like an electric bolt to his chest. “Absolutely,” he said.
Chapter Four
Kareena
Three Hours Later . . .
“I want to touch you,” he whispered against her neck.
Kareena felt like her bones were melting as his big hands ran over her back and under her sweater vest. She should be appalled at herself for following a stranger into a back room, but Prem didn’t feel like a stranger. He felt . . . perfect. After hours of nonstop conversation, she felt like she knew him better than her best friends. And that he knew all the secret parts of her.