The Bride Test (The Kiss Quotient, #2)

by Helen Hoang

She searched his face with solemn eyes. “I thought you two were close. Don’t you care that he’s gone?” His heart jumped and started beating so fast it hurt. When he tried to speak, nothing came out. His throat was swollen shut. “Of course they were close,” his mom chided her sister before tugging on her arm. “Come, Mai, let’s go. They’re waiting for us.”

Mỹ stuck her head out of her stall in time to see a pretty girl saunter toward the sinks. She wore the highest, scariest heels Mỹ had ever seen and a red skintight dress that ended right beneath her butt. If you believed anything Mỹ’s grandma said, that girl would get pregnant the second she stepped foot on the street. She was probably pregnant already—from the potency of a man’s child-giving stare. For her part, Mỹ had gotten pregnant by messing around with a playboy from school, no skimpy dress and scary heels needed. She’d resisted him at first. Her mom and grandma had been clear that studies came first, but he’d pursued her until she’d caved, thinking it was love. Instead of marrying her when she’d told him about the baby, however, he’d grudgingly offered to keep her as his secret mistress. She wasn’t the kind of girl he could introduce to his upper-class family, and surprise, he was engaged and planned to go through with the wedding. Obviously, she’d turned him down, which had been both a relief and a shock for him, that son of a dog. Her family, on the other hand, had been heartbroken with disappointment—they’d pinned so many hopes on her. But as she’d known they would, they’d supported her and her baby.

she wanted to do nothing for a few moments. Just nothing. Nothing was such a luxury. Her pocket buzzed, ruining her nothing.

“You might wanna be fast. I just heard someone pull into the driveway.” Quan took a good look at Khai then, and his eyebrows arched. “Did you just run home from work in a suit?” “Yeah, I do every day. This kind is engineered for motion.” He pointed to the elastic cuffs at his ankles. “And the fabric breathes really well. It’s also machine washable.” Quan grinned and took another slurp from his pilfered Coke. “So my brother’s been running the streets of Silicon Valley like an evil Asian Terminator. I like it.”

His mom considered his seventies kitchen with a frown. That look on her face was textbook dissatisfaction. If he lined up his old facial expression flash cards with her face right now, they’d match perfectly. “You need to get a new house,” she said. “This one is too old. And you need to move all those exercise machines out of the living room. Only bachelors live like this.”

A long silence ensued, broken only by the occasional slurping of Coke— Khai’s Coke, goddammit. When he couldn’t take it anymore, he looked from his brother to his mom and said, “ So ... who is Mỹ?” As far as he knew, mỹ meant beautiful, but it was also how you said America in Vietnamese. Whichever way he looked at it, it seemed an odd name for a gorilla, but what did he know? His mom squared her shoulders. “She’s the girl you need to pick up from the airport Saturday night.”

“She can’t stay with Quan because she’s your future wife.” “What?” He laughed a little. This had to be a joke, but he didn’t understand the humor. “I chose her for you when I went to Việt Nam. You’ll like her. She’s perfect for you,” she said. “I don’ t— You can’ t— I—” He shook his head. “What?” “Yeah,” Quan said. “That was my reaction, too. She got you a mail-order bride from Vietnam, Khai.” Their mom glowered at Quan. “Why do you say it so it sounds so bad? She’s not a ‘ mail-order bride.’ I met her in person. This is how they used to do it in the olden days. If I followed tradition, I would already have found you a wife the same way, but you don’t need my help. Your brother does.”

“I already booked the banquet hall for the wedding. The deposit was a thousand dollars.” “Mom.” “I picked August eighth. I know how much you like the number eight.” He raked his fingers through his hair and suppressed a growl. “I’ll refund you the thousand dollars. Please give me the contact information for the banquet hall so I can cancel.” “Don’t be this way, Khải. Keep an open mind,” she said. “I don’t want you to be lonely.” He released a disbelieving breath. “I’m not lonely. I like being alone.”

Lonely was for people who had feelings, which he didn’t. It wasn’t loneliness if it could be eradicated with work or a Netflix marathon or a good book. Real loneliness would stick with you all the time. Real loneliness would hurt you nonstop. Khai didn’t hurt. He felt nothing most of the time.

It was just like his mom to hatch a scheme like this. The entire thing was ridiculous. He wasn’t going to change his mind. Mỹ could be the most perfect woman in the world, and it wouldn’t change anything. His liking her was inconsequential. In fact, if he liked her, that was all the more reason why he shouldn’t marry her.

If this girl actually showed up, he had to live with her for an entire summer. Even worse, he had to treat her like a fiancée. What the hell did he know about that? He took his phone out of his pocket and pulled up the picture his mom had sent him. If she hadn’t assured him she’d already met the girl, he would have thought this was a prime example of catfishing. The person in the photograph was almost too beautiful to be— Someone stepped into his personal space. “Chào Anh.” He glanced up from his phone. And found himself staring into the same light-green eyes from the picture. Only in real life. It was her. “Hi,” he said reflexively. She smiled, and his thought processes hiccupped. Bright-red lips, straight white teeth, stunning eyes. People would call her pretty. No, she was more than that. Hot. Gorgeous. Breathtaking. Not that he cared about stuff like— His gaze accidentally dropped below her chest, and his mouth went dry. Holy fuck. She was some kind of walking sex fantasy. Apparently, he was a boob man. And an hourglass-figure man. And a leg man. How did they look so long when she was so short? Maybe it was those three-inch heels she was wearing. When he realized what he was doing, he forced his gaze back to her face. Back when his family still had hopes of him dating, his sister had made him memorize a set of rules since he was so good at following them.

THE RULES WHEN YOU’RE WITH A GIRL: 1. Open and shut doors. 2. Pull out chairs and push them back in. 3. Pay for everything. 4. Carry everything. (That included her purse if she wanted. Never mind the fact that he preferred keeping his hands free.) 5. Give her your coat if she seems cold. (No, it didn’t matter if he was cold, too.) 6. No matter how she’s dressed, don’t check out inappropriate areas of her body.* *Specifically, boobs, butt, and thighs. He could make an exception if she was grievously wounded. Uncomfortable heat flushed his face and singed the tips of his ears. He’d just gone to town on Rule Number Six. In his defense, he had no practice being with a woman like this. She positioned her suitcase in front of her legs and took and released a fast breath before smiling again. “You’re Diệp Khải. I’m Esme,” she said in Vietnamese. That surreal sensation came back. This was really happening. His mail-order bride was introducing herself. But wasn’t her name Mỹ?

“This way,” he said. With each step through the airport, words pounded in Khai’s head. What. Had. His. Mom. Been. Thinking. His mail-order bride was nothing like he’d expected— which was a younger replica of his mom, complete with the matching sweat suits and the sriracha and hoisin sauce she always kept in her purse. That, he could have handled. But this girl, Esme, looked like a Playboy bunny. She lacked the trademark platinum hair, but the rest of her fit the description. What did you do with a Playboy bunny? Aside from sex. Not that he was thinking about sex. Except, clearly, he was thinking of sex. Fuck. No, there wouldn’t be any fucking. A sneaky part of his brain reminded him he’d promised to do all the things a fiancé would do. Fiancés had sex ... He shook his head to clear it of the porn thoughts. It was wrong to reduce a person to their sexual value. He was a rational being. He should be better than this. Besides, she could be the kind of person who regularly performed ritual animal sacrifices in her backyard. Was it safe to drop your pants around such a woman? That killed the sex thoughts quickly, and the rest of his trip through the airport went smoothly.

“Thank you, Anh Khải.” Anh meant brother, but when they weren’t related it was more of an endearment. He didn’t find it endearing. But when she flashed another of her disruptive smiles at him, he forgot to be annoyed. Right as his brain function started to stutter, she looked about the interior of his car. “This car is nice.” “Thanks.” He didn’t generally like flashy things, but he loved to drive. His car was by far the most self-indulgent thing he owned. Too bad about all the bird shit on the windshield. She took a deep breath. “I know you don’t want to marry me.” “That’s right.” He saw no reason why he should lie.

“Accounting,” she said slowly, this time in English. “Not exactly, but I do have a CPA license. I’m certified to provide tax documentation for public companies in the United States.” “Me, too.” He took a surprised breath. She was an accountant? That was unexpectedly wonderful. The hem of her dress became very interesting to her, and she fiddled with a loose thread as she said in Vietnamese, “In Việt Nam. Not here. It’s probably really different.” “I bet it’s different. I don’t have any experience with Vietnamese tax regulation. It’s probably fascinating. Do they expense bribery as a cost of doing business? Is it tax deductible?” It would be entertaining to see bribery as a line item on an income statement. This was why he liked accounting so much. It wasn’t just numbers on paper. If you knew how to look at them, the numbers meant something and reflected culture and values. She hugged herself like she was cold, saying nothing.

He set her suitcase in a small room that contained a desk, sofa, and closet. When she noticed the old wallpaper, tears stung her eyes. Teddy bears, beach balls, dolls, ballet slippers, and building blocks. This used to be a child’s room. She touched her fingertips to the ballet slippers. Jade would love this. “This is your room,” he said. “You’ll have to make do with the couch.” “It’s nice. Thank you, Anh Khải.” She’d never slept on anything as nice as a couch in her life. She’d never owned a couch. But she didn’t mention any of that. She was sophisticated Esme in Accounting now. Esme in Accounting probably had a nice apartment with two or three couches and had never slept on a straw mat over a packed-dirt floor.

If anything, she liked that he didn’t have as much money as his neighbors. They were a better match that way. She didn’t need a rich man. She just needed someone who was hers. And Jade’s. He merely shrugged. “Suit yourself. I’m going to heat up dinner. Come out when you’re hungry.” Her shoulders sagged. He didn’t understand she wanted to earn things herself. “I’m going to call home first, okay?”

He was strange and tactless and very possibly an assassin, but when she looked at his actions, all she saw was kindness. Cô Nga had been right. Khải was good stuff. Very, very good stuff. She’d memorized how to dial internationally from the United States before she left and dialed her mom’s cell phone number. Her mom picked up on the first ring. “Hi, Má.” “Already, already, tell me everything.” “First, how is Ngọc Anh? Can I talk to her?” “She’s fine, excited to have a dad soon. Talk to me a little. How are things? Do you like him?” her mom asked. “Yes, I like him.” A pleased hmmmmm sounded on the line. “That’s good. What about his house? Is it nice?”

“Hi, my girl. I miss you too much. What have you been doing since I’ve been gone?” “I caught a big fish in the pond yesterday. Great-Grandma killed it by slamming it against a tree, and after that, we ate it for dinner. My fish was good.” Esme covered her eyes with a hand. Killed it by slamming it against a tree ... Esme in Accounting would be appalled by this conversation. Not only would she not have a five-year-old daughter out of wedlock, but her daughter wouldn’t be catching her own dinner. There certainly wouldn’t be any killing by slamming anything against a tree.

He sat upright, rubbed a hand over his face, and prepared to get out of bed. “Lemme get it. It’s probably just the setting— Shit.” He yanked the covers back over his crotch. He was sporting some mega-monster morning wood. She didn’t need to see this. The way he was pitching a tent in his boxers was grotesque, and she’d probably mistake it as a reaction to her. When it wasn’t. Most days, he woke up like this, and it wasn’t like he was nursing an out-of-control porn addiction or something. It was just a natural biological response to morning levels of testosterone. One that he could’ve done without. His mornings would be so much more efficient if he didn’t have to jack off in the shower every day. When he caught her looking at his naked chest and abs, however, he stopped thinking about efficiency and inconvenient hormone levels. She bit her bottom lip, and he swore he felt her teeth on his own lip. His stomach muscles tightened, and his senses sharpened. She was pretty even without makeup, wholesome, more real. The water drops on her smooth skin stood out in perfect clarity, calling to him. Something told him they would taste better than regular water. He hadn’t thought it was possible, but he hardened even further.

That odd state of heightened awareness returned, stronger this time. The roar of the pouring water grew louder, and he felt each water drop dissolving against his skin like a tiny kiss. Images of him peeling the wet towel off her flashed in his mind, but her body remained fuzzy from her chest down to her thighs. He didn’t know how to envision her there. But he wanted to. No, he didn’t. Yes, he did. No, he really didn’t. He didn’t need that imagery rambling around his perverted head. “We’re smart, huh?” she said with a grin. “We’re cleaning clothes, towels, and bodies at the same time. It saves water.”

When Khai’s alarm rang the next morning, he smacked it off, sat up, and stared blearily at his room. He’d spent his Sunday in the office to escape her, but then she’d invaded his dreams. He was lucky if he’d gotten three hours of sleep. Fantasies had plagued him all night. Sexual ones. Featuring a certain pair of Hammer pants. He was officially losing his mind, and look at that monster wood. His dick was so hard it was lifting his heavy down comforter all on its own. He needed to take care of this, but how did you do that with another person on the other side of the door? What if she barged in halfway through? None of the locks worked in this house. It hadn’t mattered before now.

But she walked around to his side and motioned for him to open the window, which he did, even though he didn’t want to. What now, what now, what now? Meeting his eyes, she said, “Thank you for driving me. And about the looking ...” Her lips curved into a smile that was almost shy. “You can look at me however long you like. I don’t mind it. Good-bye, Anh Khải.” She turned around and strode toward the restaurant’s front door, ponytail bobbing with each step. He was free, but he let the car idle there. He was still sleep deprived, still completely off routine and irritated as hell, his head still hurt, and his balls were still blue. But something inside of him loosened, and he didn’t mind so much the way she said his name now. He waited until the restaurant door shut behind her before driving away.

He sat upright and swiped the hair from his face. “Are you okay? What—” She crawled across the bed and straight onto his lap. Her arms wrapped around his neck, and she trembled as she held on to him tightly. Breaths quick and ragged, she pressed her wet face to his neck. He held himself as stiff as a mannequin. What the hell did he do? He had a crying woman latched on to him like an octopus. He couldn’t help recalling that the blue-ringed octopus was one of the most venomous animals in existence. Don’t upset the octopus. After clearing his throat, he asked, “What’s wrong? What happened?”

A long silence followed. She started to talk several times but held back. Finally, she whispered, “Can I sleep here tonight? At home, I sleep with Má and Ngoại and ... I won’t touch you, I promise. Unless you want ...” Her eyes glittered mysteriously as she gazed at him. Unless he wanted what? Wait, did she mean sex? No, he didn’t want sex. Actually, he did. His body was enthusiastic about the idea. But mind over penis and all that. Sex was tangled with romantic relationships in his mind, and because he wasn’t suited for relationships, it only made sense to avoid the sex. Besides, touching was complicated for him. Hugs were mostly okay, but anything else was likely to be a problem. It was bad enough he had to give his haircutter instructions for how to manage. He didn’t want to do that with a woman before the act. He looked at the empty half of his large bed. The blankets were completely undisturbed, pristine. And he liked them that way. He always felt a certain accomplishment when he woke up in the morning and didn’t have to make the other side of the bed.

Was he going to be hers someday? He’d held her last night, and she’d enjoyed her first good night of sleep since she’d come here. No nightmares about her baby’s playboy daddy and heiress wife taking Jade or the accompanying guilt that she’d been selfish in keeping her child. She told herself repeatedly that she hadn’t done it just for herself.

They complained that their brother, Michael, would be absent tonight because his fiancée didn’t like big parties, and he was “whipped.” At first glance, Esme recognized they were mixed just like she was— something about them resonated with her as familiar— but instead of feeling like she belonged, she felt even more out of place. They possessed an American polish Esme lacked.

Sara smiled wryly. “I remember how when we went to weddings when we were little, you and Andy used to hide in the bathroom during the dancing and play video games.” His fingers froze on the book, and he went unnaturally still. “That’s what it is. It’s Andy.” Sara drew in a quick breath. “What do you mean?” “I’ve been wondering all night what’s wrong with this wedding,” Khải said. “It’s Andy. He should be here.” After a second of suspended belief, his cousin’s face collapsed, and fat teardrops tracked down her face, ruining her carefully applied makeup. “Why would you— What can I— How can I—” She covered her mouth and fled the room. The groom looked at Khải for the longest moment like there were things he wanted to say, but in the end, he raced after his wife without a word. All the people from their table stared at each other, stunned speechless. “Find me when you’re ready to leave.” Khải tapped his book against his thigh once and turned to leave.

Khải backed away from the door. He contemplated the window before his gaze locked on the closet. Another thump on the wall. The footsteps grew louder. Another moan. In three long strides, he crossed the room and yanked the closet door open. His jaw fell when he saw her, but there wasn’t time for surprise. He shut himself in the closet with her right as a couple stumbled through the door.

Once he’d realized what was missing, he’d started to notice all the places where Andy should have been. Getting a drink at the wet bar, standing with the groomsmen, at Khai’s side ... “I’m also not good with people,” she said. That was a revelation to Khai, and when he looked at her then, her imperfections stuck out for the first time. One of her eyebrows arched more than the other. Her nose wasn’t as straight as he’d thought. There, on the left side of her neck, a tiny birthmark. She wasn’t a photoshopped image on a magazine. She was a real person, flawed. Oddly, that made her more beautiful. She was also smart in her own strange way, with a sense of fairness that resonated with his own. She wasn’t at all what he’d thought in the beginning.

The ground shook with a rhythmic bass when they passed the doors to the banquet hall where the reception was taking place. The dancing had started. That meant dinner was over, the fruit-filled wedding cake had been eaten, speeches spoken, and the wedding was basically done. Andy had missed all of it. He should have been here. He probably would have been a groomsman. If not, he definitely would have been an usher. He would have sat next to Khai during the ceremony and reception. He would have given a speech that embarrassed Sara and made everyone laugh. Right now, he’d be in there dancing because it was Sara’s wedding and he was that kind of brother. The fact that he wasn’t in there dancing made Khai’s shoulders, lungs, and feet heavy. He pulled at his collar again because it was strangling him. At least he knew what was wrong now. It was his sense of order. Things weren’t in their proper place. It was so important to him to have things in their proper place.

She threw her hands up in the air and followed him. “Why are you doing this? I’m not done.” She still had a lot of gutter left to clean, and she hated leaving a job unfinished. Without thinking, she grabbed his shoulder and said, “Anh Khải, put it back—” He whipped around instantly and wrapped an arm across his chest so he could rub at the shoulder she’d touched. “You have to stop all of this.” “I’ll finish later, then, but—” “No, there won’t be any finishing. You. Have. To. Stop. Do you understand? You. Have. To. Stop.” Her bottom lip trembled at his slow, exaggerated pronunciation. “You don’t need to speak like that. I understand you.” He made a frustrated sound. “You don’t. You’ve been reorganizing my stuff in ridiculous ways, cutting down trees with a meat cleaver, touching that motorcycle, touching me. It all has to stop. I can’t live this way.” When his meaning sank in, Esme’s shoulders drooped. “Ridiculous?” she repeated in English. That didn’t sound good. He clawed both hands through his hair. “Yes.” She looked at the half-cleared lawn and wiped her dirty hands on her pants as her heart shrank and her face flamed. Ridiculous. If she were classier, she’d know what that meant. Now that she thought about it, it probably wasn’t very classy for her to do yard work or clean his house or any of this stuff.

ENGLISH DICTIONARY Ridiculous: inviting derision or mockery; absurd VIETNAMESE DICTIONARY Absurd: đáng cười

The baby’s face was red and teary from several minutes of hard crying, and it made Esme’s arms ache to hold her own girl. Jade had never gotten so sick, thankfully, but Esme had. She remembered when the fever and pain had been at their worst, she’d told Jade to keep her distance so she didn’t get sick, too, and Jade had broken down into tears. “Don’t cry,” Esme had said. “I’m not crying because I’m scared I’ll get sick,” her girl had replied. “I’m crying because I love you.” Esme’s longing for her girl grew unbearable, and she would have offered to bounce this stranger’s baby if her ankle weren’t swollen to two times its regular size and propped between a pillow and an ice pack.

“You can put her there.” The nurse indicated the paper-covered exam bed. On his way out of the room, the nurse said, “Great boyfriend you’ve got. The doctor will be in shortly.” Boyfriend. The nurse was gone before either of them could correct him, and once Khải set her down, she fixed her attention on the picture of bones and muscles on the wall. “Thank you for ...” She waved at her ankle, which he’d carefully positioned on the exam bed.

“Why did you come?” He gave her a funny look. “You’re hurt.” Things collapsed inside her heart, and she turned her face away from him and stared down at her hands in her lap. He’d come ... to be with her? What a foreign concept. Growing up, she’d been expected to take care of herself. Her mom and grandma were always busy working, and if she was hurt or sick, it was best to grit her teeth and deal with it on her own. That was even more the case now that she had Jade. When he fussed with the ice pack and repositioned it against her ankle, she felt more cared for than she ever had. “I’m okay,” she said. “I hope so.”

A knock sounded on the door, and the doctor strode in— the same one from before. He was extremely good-looking, with dark features, above-average height, and an Indian name she couldn’t pronounce. Navneet Something. He held a black X-ray film in his hands. “Good news, Esmeralda. No fracture. If you keep it compressed, elevated, and iced, it should be better in a couple weeks.” Esme’s body loosened with relief. “Great. Thank you.” “My pleasure.” The doctor flashed a white-toothed grin at her as he took a business card from his pocket and handed it to her. “It’s not serious enough to need another checkup, but if you want to meet after hours sometime, I’d be happy to take another look.” Esme accepted the business card and flipped it around to see another phone number scrawled across the back. When her gaze jumped back to his face, he winked at her. Khải stood up then, and the doctor’s eyes widened as he took in Khải’s height, dark clothes, and that intense air that made her think of assassins and bodyguards. “I’m sorry. I didn’t notice you here,” the doctor said. “What do you mean by ‘after hours’?” Khải asked in his serious way. The doctor swallowed. “It means ... whatever she wants it to mean.” He backed toward the door. “That’s it for this visit. I’ll send in the nurse to wrap the ankle.” With one last tight smile, he left. Khải scowled at the door as it swung shut and picked up a roll of cloth the doctor had left behind. “I can do it. I know how.”

Then he shocked her by lifting her leg and winding the cloth around and around her ankle and the arch of her foot. His grip was firm, but he never hurt her. His warm fingers were gentle against the icy skin of her calf, her heel, and the ball of her foot, sending goose bumps up her leg. When she caught her breath, he looked up at her. “Is it too tight?” She was too distracted to speak. He was touching her ugly foot, and he wasn’t jerking away or wiping his palms on his pants. Instead, he held her like she was precious. It was a heady sensation having his beautiful mind focused entirely on her, even if it was only her ankle. Belatedly, she answered, “No, not too tight.” He returned his attention to her ankle, and the edges of the business card pressed into Esme’s skin as she tightened her fingers. She wanted to touch his face, the brooding lines of his profile, his forehead, his jaw, the sharp bridge of his nose, his oh-so-...

She got to her feet, so happy she wanted to hug him, but she squeezed her hands into fists instead and grinned. “Thank you, Anh Khải.” An awkward smile touched his mouth. “Yeah, sure.” He walked toward the bathroom that connected their rooms but paused with his hand on the doorknob. “Remember to take the binding off when you shower. I’ll wrap it again when you’re ready to sleep.” “Okay.” When he left, she took a moment to admire her ankle binding. It had been perfectly done, not too tight, not too loose, with evenly spaced loops. So this was what it was like when Khải took care of someone. A daydream of him taking care of Jade ran through her mind. If he wanted to, he could be so great with her little girl. But Esme had no confidence that was in the cards. This didn’t mean anything. She shouldn’t let it go to her head. He was just a good person. She’d been working on it, but she was still ... herself. Surprisingly, experience from her previous life as Mỹ was going to be useful tomorrow. She got her phone out and searched through photographs of movie stars and musicians until images of beautiful men were stuck to the backs of her eyelids. Tomorrow, she was going to give Khải the best haircut of his life.

Focusing on the wall, he said, “I’m autistic, and I have sensory issues. There’s a certain way to touch me, especially my face and hair.” He switched his attention to her face. “It’s probably best if I show you. Can you give me one of your hands?” He held his palm out, and Esme approached him. She didn’t know what “autistic” was, or “sensory issues,” either, but she understood he was trusting her with something important— himself. Holding her breath, she slowly lowered her hand. Closer. Closer. Until they touched.

“All those other times when I ...” she whispered. His chest lifted on a deep inhalation. “Too light, and you caught me by surprise.” “I didn’t know ...” She’d thought it was her touch. She’d never imagined it was everyone’s touch. “What does it feel like when people touch you too lightly?” His brow wrinkled. “It’s just too much. It almost hurts, but actual pain is preferable. It’s difficult to describe.” “If I need to touch you, I should tell you first?” she asked. “Yeah, it’s best to warn me if I’m not expecting it.” She tugged on her arm slightly. “Can I touch your face?” He nodded and let his hands drop away from hers, but his throat bobbed on a loud swallow.

“Is that okay?” When his eyelids drooped with pleasure and he nodded, she grew braver. She pushed her other hand from his jaw up to his temple and into his hairline. “How is that?” she whispered. “Good.” The word rumbled out of him, deep, almost gravelly. His hair was thick and cool between her fingers, smooth as silk, and before she realized what she was doing, she was massaging his scalp with slow, sweeping motions. And he was letting her. His eyes fell shut, and he leaned into her touch like he was soaking it up. His breaths came slow, easy. If she pressed her palm over his heart now, she would have bet everything his heartbeat had calmed down. She’d done that. She pulled on the strands like she usually did while cutting. “How is this?” He frowned, but his eyes didn’t open. “Tighter.” “Like this?” She pulled harder. “More.” She bit her lip and pulled harder yet, scared of hurting him. “This?” A long breath sighed out of him. “That’s better.” She shook her head as she smiled to herself. He was a puzzle she never would have been able to solve if he hadn’t shown her how. Those were the best kinds of puzzles, though, weren’t they? The ones no one else could figure out? “I’m cutting now,” she said.

He glanced at her over his shoulder, gave her a puzzled smile, and pressed her hand to his hair before facing forward again. Her motions were tentative at first, but she gained confidence with every snip of the scissors. She gathered his hair between her fingers, taking care to keep the tension tight, cut, and smoothed her fingers over his scalp before gathering more hair. Over and over, she did this, and before long, the rhythmic nature of it relaxed her as much as it did him. She trimmed the back and sides and ended up in front of him. With a last snip of the scissors, dark hair floated to the kitchen floor. She took a step back to assess her work, widening her focus to take in more than just his hair, and the transformation made her gasp. He’d been good-looking before. This was too much. The short haircut opened up his face, showing off his strong features to full advantage. Girls were going to throw themselves at him. Starting with her, if she wasn’t careful. “How is it?” he asked. Making sure to keep her touches firm, she tugged on the strands to see if the lengths were even on both sides. “It’s good.” Tapping the handle of the scissors on her jaw, she let a smile sneak onto her lips. “I’m good.” He dug his cell phone out of his pocket, unlocked it, and handed it to her. “Take a picture for Vy, please. She’s the hair police.” Esme took pictures from several different angles, but before returning the phone to him, she sent her favorite one to herself. “She’s going to l...

He scratched at his neck where small hairs stuck to his skin as he sent the same picture to his sister. “We’ll see.” She got the broom and dustpan and had half of the hair on the floor swept up when his phone buzzed. Chuckling, he showed her the text messages on his screen. Finally! Who cut it? Tip 50%! My baby brother is a hottie!!! “I guess she approves,” he said. Esme grinned. “I told you she’d like it.” “Thank you.” He returned her smile, and it was one of his rare real smiles that wrinkled his eyes, dimpled his cheeks, and revealed even white teeth. Sky and earth, she wanted to taste that smile.

As Khai drove Esme to Berkeley, he couldn’t get her confession out of his head. She wanted to kiss him. He wanted to kiss her back. But he couldn’t. You kissed a woman if you wanted to date her and have a relationship, if you wanted to love and be loved in return, if you could love. If you kissed a woman when you couldn’t deliver on the rest, you were an asshole. It was better to jack off in the shower.

Fuck, she was crying for real now. Something much like panic gripped him. She couldn’t cry. She was supposed to be happy for the both of them because he didn’t know how.

Did that count as a kiss? She turned her face to the side and peered up at him through damp eyelashes, and he brushed the residual moisture on her cheek away with his thumb. So soft, so pretty. He stroked wet tendrils of hair back from her temples, and her lips parted. In an instant, everything changed. The wind became velvet, and sound was the loudness of his heart and the rush of his blood. Colors brightened and danced. The green of her eyes, the yellow of her shirt, the blue of the summer sky, it all centered around the pink of her mouth. He didn’t realize what he was doing until he saw his fingertips smooth over her bottom lip. What a sight to see his tanned skin against her pale face. Her eyes went luminous and dreamy, and when he ran his fingertip over her lip again, her mouth opened wider. He found himself leaning toward her, wanting, wanting, wanting, but he managed to stop before he broke all his rules. “You can kiss me,” she said, her voice half whisper, half husky rasp. “Anytime you want, you can kiss me.” Girl loves boy loves girl repeated in his head. He couldn’t love her, couldn’t make her any promises. He should stay away from her. Eyes steady on his, she continued, “You can kiss me ... and touch me ... and not marry me. I just ... want to be with you. Before I go.”

He could just kiss her because he wanted to. He could kiss her. His skin went hot, and he knew it was going to happen. He was going to kiss Esme. It was inevitable now. He brushed the backs of his fingers across her cheek, and a shaky breath sighed between her lips. He had to taste them, had to know them. Now. Cradling her jaw in his hand, he leaned toward her. “Esmeralda, it is you,” a loud voice interrupted in a thick Russian accent.

Esme tried to smile, but her lips refused to cooperate. “Thank you.” They were both quiet as they made the short walk back to the car. Someone had stuck a yellow slip of paper under one of the windshield wipers, and Khải pulled it out and read it. She caught the words Parking Ticket on the paper before he stuffed it in his pocket, and clear as daytime, right in front of the car, there was a big sign that said, No parking without permit. He’d intentionally gotten a ticket, and she knew he’d done it for her. Because of her ankle. It was a small thing, but she didn’t know anyone else who would have done something like that for her. Just Khải.

When they reached their table, Khai spotted a familiar buzzed head and set of shoulders. Quan turned around, grinned, and shot to his feet so he could give Khai a monster hug. “Look at you.” Quan scrubbed a hand through Khai’s newly short hair. “Good haircut.” “Thanks.” Khai pushed his brother’s hand away and stepped back. “So here she is,” Quan said. Khai suppressed the strange urge to wrap his arm around Esme’s waist. Instead of pulling her close like he wanted, he took a step away from her. “Esme, this is my brother, Quan. Quan, Esme.” Quan took in the distance between Khai and Esme with a pensive expression on his face. Esme rubbed at her elbow before smiling at him. “Hi, Anh Quân.” When his brother’s face broke into a wide smile, Khai wasn’t able to relax like he should have. Instead, his muscles tensed up, and he watched Esme’s reaction, trying to interpret it. He didn’t know what he was looking for, what he wanted, but something important hinged on this moment. Esme held her hand out for Quan to shake, but he gave her a funny look. “Really? A handshake?” He pulled her in for a hug, and she laughed as she hugged him back. Khai had known these two would like each other, but the sight made acid churn in his stomach. With Quan’s designer suit and tattoos peeking above his collar, he had this reformed drug lord image, and Esme provided the perfect soft counterpoint to all that badassness. They looked good together.