“I have two left feet and no sense of rhythm. I don’t think I’d be an asset to the group.” Jay’s mother loved Bollywood dancing. She’d taught him the basic steps when he was young, and they’d danced together at home, often collapsing in laughter when they tripped over each other’s feet. Those days had ended when he hit his teens and turned his focus to the man he wanted to become. Successful. Respected. A man who didn’t dance or subject himself to activities that would affect his carefully cultivated image.
“You might surprise yourself. Sometimes if you open yourself up to new experiences, you discover skills you never had.” Avi followed Jay’s gaze to the bar, where Zara’s friend was pulling her away from the bartender, who had procured an even longer funnel. “Are you planning to do a funnel? Please say yes.”
“Of course not.” Jay shook his head. “It’s a disaster waiting to happen. No one can metabolize a second pint of beer that quickly. Where’s Rishi? He’s Tarun’s best man. It’s his job to make sure no one winds up in the hospital tonight.”
“Zara can look after herself.” Avi chuckled. “But if it makes you feel better, I’ll go ask him to keep an eye on her. I think he’s playing beer pong, so no promises.”
After Avi left, Jay watched Zara get into position, laughing and chatting with everyone around her. She reminded him of his former copilot JD Hobbs. He’d been a full-throttle kind of guy, performing unimaginable feats of strength and endurance until he crashed spectacularly, putting himself and sometimes the entire squadron at risk. Jay had always had his back until the one time JD really needed him. Now JD was gone and a dozen good men with him. Someone had to look out for Zara. Since Rishi wasn’t around, he would have to step in.
* * *
? ? ?
Zara twisted her hand through Stacy’s hair, holding it back while the maid of honor threw up in the toilet.
“Beer funnels aren’t for everyone.” Zara rubbed Stacy’s back with her free hand. “You can’t expect to get it on your first go.”
“You made it look easy.” Stacy sobbed into the bowl.
“I’ve had a lot of practice. My older brother, Hari, used to bring his friends over to our house to do funnels when my dad was out. I hid in the broom closet so I could learn all their tricks.” A little white lie. By the time she was sixteen, she was doing the funnels with Hari and his friends, not just watching them.
Stacy retched into the toilet. Zara gathered up the folds of Stacy’s dress, holding the torn, paint-splattered chiffon off the floor. She was perversely pleased to see it had not survived the rigors of the paintball game.
“Why are you being so nice?” Stacy drew in a shuddering breath. “I gave you the worst dress. On purpose.”
Zara glanced down at her stained, ripped, and paint-covered dress and tried to think of something positive to say. “I think it’s a lucky dress,” she assured Stacy. “I met Chad Wandsworth in this dress. My team won all the paintball games. And you and I have sort of become friends. Who knows what other lucky things will happen while I’m wearing it tonight?”
“I’m feeling a lot better now.” Stacy sat back, resting her head against the wall. “You don’t have to stay. I’ll freshen up and call a cab to take me home. Could you let Maria know? I don’t think she saw my text.”
“Of course. But I’ll come back and keep you company until the cab gets here.” After fixing herself up, Zara ran a quick hand through her hair, trying to smooth down the unruly curls. Unbound and out of control, her hair had frizzed from the heat and humidity of the bar. Even a quick finger-comb and a firm pat-down with a damp paper towel weren’t enough to tame it.
A wave of exhaustion hit her, sucking the air from her lungs before she made it to the door. The day was catching up with her. Thank God Parvati had stopped her from doing that second funnel. Bracing herself on the sink, she pulled her emergency energy supply from her purse. No way was she crashing now.
Two handfuls of gummy bears and a stern talking-to later, she pushed open the door. A stranger leaned against the wall across from her, a scowl creasing his breathtakingly handsome face.
“I’ll call a cab to take you home.”
His voice, vaguely familiar, slid across her skin like dark velvet. Tall and brooding, with a strong, sexy jawline, and the barest hint of a five-o’clock shadow, he wore a black dress shirt that had to have been custom-tailored for his muscular body, hugging the broad expanse of his chest like a glove.