More Than the Ball (10 page)

“
C
an I refill your drink
, Mr. Bandi?”

The flight attendant - Tom, his nametag said, from its position on his broad chest - smiled at me. He’d been exceedingly attentive on the flight, and it was a pleasant reminder that being single didn’t mean I had to be alone. It helped that he was tall and blond and nothing at all like anyone I didn’t want to be thinking about.

“I think I’m all right,” I said, handing him my empty glass. “But why don’t you check in with me at the end of the flight?”

“I’ll do that, sir.”

I was fairly certain I didn’t imagine him winking before he turned away.

“I didn’t even know people actually winked,” Colin said from his seat next to mine. “Famous looks good on you, boss.”

“I’m not famous,” I argued, but there was a bit of a smile playing at my lips, and I couldn’t quite hold it back.

Coach’s story, as it turned out, had grabbed people’s attention. There was some Oscar buzz around it, and the result had been that I was suddenly bombarded with offers for new projects. My current project - a period piece about two young artists in the 19th century who fall in love over Oscar Wilde’s poetry to the great shame of their families - was a direct result of Coach’s film. It had brought me back to London, and I had much higher hopes for this trip than my last. The BBC was bringing me in for a test run, letting me direct an episode of their own popular period drama.

“Whatever you say, boss. I’m pretty sure Tom would disagree.”

That brought a genuine grin to my face, and I laughed a bit. “Well, Tom is a man of the highest taste. I’m sure he would know.”

When we disembarked the plane, Tom stopped me on the way out. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Bandi,” he said. “I forgot to get that drink for you.”

I pulled a card from my pocket and handed it over to him. “Why don’t you make it up to me tonight?”

“Of course, sir,” he said. “We aim to keep our guests satisfied.”

“I’m sure you do, Tom,” Colin said, nudging me along from behind. “So let’s satisfy the rest of the plane by allowing them to get off.”

“I think we’re all just trying to get off,” I quipped as we stepped into the corridor that led to the gate.

“It’s a really good thing I’m not prone to take offense, boss. I could have you up on sexual harassment charges so fast...”

“It’s a good thing you love me so much,” I teased, shouldering my bag as we made our way to customs.

“Just keep signing my paychecks and I’ll be happy.”

As we stood in line to get our passports checked, Tom breezed past us, giving me a grin and a quick wave.

Yeah, this was definitely going to be a better trip.

I
had
a meeting with the BBC almost immediately upon arriving, so Colin took my bags to the hotel. By the time I actually got there, I was exhausted. I knew that sleeping at five o’clock would only make jet lag hit me hard tomorrow, so I didn’t let myself sleep, but I did let myself flop onto the bed.

Fifteen minutes later, I was woken by my phone vibrating against my cheek. I picked it up to check the text.

The cheeky little bastard had sent it with an eggplant emoji.

I added his number to my contacts as “English Tom” since “Tom” was already taken up by Dr. Adamian, and I didn’t know English Tom’s last name.

Then I checked my email quickly before heading back to my contacts to call him.

I must have been sleepy enough that my thumb slipped because the voice that answered was definitely not English Tom’s.

“Hello?”

I didn’t answer right away, too shocked to be suddenly faced with Elliot’s voice.

“Hello? Dev?”

I cleared my throat. “Yeah, hi. Sorry. I... I totally misdialed.”

“Well, I’m glad you did,” Elliot said, and I could hear the smile in his voice as it stretched across his face. “It’s been, what? A month? Two?”

“Two,” I said. “Sorry. Things got busy.” It was half true. Things had gotten busy. That just wasn’t the reason I hadn’t kept in touch. A guy runs away from you once, and you forgive him. He does it twice, and you don’t really want to make the first call.

“Yeah, I saw. Amazing stuff. Who knew Coach’s story would get so big?”

“I think we both knew,” I mused. Much as I wanted to keep my distance, Elliot and I had too much history for this not to feel comfortable.

“Yeah, I think you might be right.”

We were both quiet a moment, and then Elliot asked, “So... what are you up to?”

I laughed. “I’m... actually in London.”

Elliot’s responding laugh warmed me straight through, melting over me like butter. “No shit!”

“Yeah, I’m in talks to do a film for the BBC. It’s super early pre-production right now, but they needed me to do a sort of working interview this week.”

“That’s awesome, man. Hey, we should get together while you’re here.”

“Yeah, we should,” I agreed, suddenly hungry to see Elliot’s face again, feel his hand, even if it were only on my hand. “Are you free tonight?” I asked, forgetting all about English Tom’s broad chest.

“I actually am. You wanna meet for dinner?”

“I really, really do.”

E
lliot took
me to the same Indian place I’d taken Jordan to. I didn’t want to bring it up at first. I wasn’t sure how Elliot was feeling about me and, by extension, my relationship with Jordan.

When the same proprietor from before approached our table with a wide grin and started chattering at me in Hindi again, though, I cringed. “Sorry, man,” I said. “I still don’t speak Hindi.”

He was immediately apologetic, and he quickly took our orders before disappearing back into the kitchen. I must have been frowning because Elliot reached across the table for my hand. “Sorry,” he said, giving my hand a brief squeeze. “I know how much you hate that.”

I glanced up and met his sympathetic gaze and found myself smiling. “I forgot,” I said. “I forgot you were there at the party.”

“Man, I won’t ever forget that. I thought your uncle was going to explode.”

I laughed and shook my head. “You should have seen him when my sister married a white guy.”

“If your other sister does the same, you have to let me be your wedding date.”

“Yeah, because that wouldn’t cause any drama.”

Elliot was grinning as the waiter brought over our drinks, but he waited until the man left to say, “What do you think he’d do if you all married white guys?”

“Renounce the entire family and move back to Mumbai?”

“That settles it. I am definitely going to the wedding with you.”

I shook my head. My face was starting to hurt from smiling, but I didn’t care. “Rashmi asked my parents to make a match for her.”

“No shit?” Elliot asked, tilting his head in the way he always did when he couldn’t decide if something was good or horrible. “That’s pretty cool, I guess. If it’s what she wants... Is it what she wants?”

I shrugged. “I think after Kiri got married, Rashmi just thought it was up to her to carry on the tradition in the family.”

Our food came, and we were quiet for a few moments as it was laid out. Butter Chicken and Pad See Ew. The curry in a small brushed copper bowl, the noodle dish and the naan on matching platters. We laid the crimson cloth napkins across our laps.

“Hey, I never asked,” Elliot said, mixing curry and rice on his plate. “Are you out? I mean, to your parents?”

“Yeah, I am,” I said, dipping naan into a bowl of butter chicken.

“How’d that go?”

“It was... a mess. I rushed it. They weren't ready and neither was I.” I took a bite, letting the savory sauce course through my mouth before swallowing the bite.

“So why’d you do it?” His foot slid across under the table, resting against mine.

“My first film was this... pretty explicit gay romance. I thought about hiding it from them, but Kelly convinced me that I’d regret it if I couldn’t share my work with them.”

“Kelly?”

“My first boyfriend,” I said. “You’d like him. He already thinks you’re hot.”

Elliot laughed and a faint flush came to his cheeks. It was so endearing that I almost leaned across the table to kiss him right there. “How does he know that?”

“You’re on TV, El. And you look great in shorts.”

“Oh, I see. You only watch the games for my ass.”

“Your ass is the best thing on the field, man.”

“Hmm, I don’t know. Petey’s ass is pretty nice.”

I almost choked on my rice. “Oh, yeah?” I managed, caught by the image of Elliot admiring another guy’s ass. It sent a surge of jealousy through me that I wasn’t sure how to deal with.

“I mean... not as nice as yours,” he admitted, grinning.

“Don’t I know it.”

E
lliot’s place
was not far from Covent Garden, so when he invited me back for a drink, I accepted, and we walked through narrow, cobblestone streets and winding alleys until we got to the building his flat was in. The stones bulged unevenly over its whole facade, and vines grew up one side of the weathered building, mingling their way to the roof.

“How old is this place?” I asked, my fingers tripping along the stone railing as we walked up the stairs.

“It’s Georgian I think, so... 18th century?”

“Damn.” I gave a low whistle and heard it echoed back a moment later.

“Hello, Elliot, love,” said a woman in her forties. She was leaning against one of the door frames, wearing a tiny pair of shorts, an almost non-existent tank top, and a short silk dressing gown. “Who’s your friend?”

“Hello, Mrs. Hennessey,” Elliot said, giving her a warmly exasperated smile. “This is Dev Bandi. Dev, this is Mrs. Hennessey.”

She held out her hand, and I took it for a quick shake. “Nice to meet you.”

“You as well,” she said, giving me a slow, and obvious once over. “And you can call me Lizzie, even though Elliot never does.”

“I’ll see if I can’t convince him of it, Lizzie,” I said, far too amused at the predatory glance she sent Elliot’s way.

“You do that, ducky, and then you can both come round for a drink.”

“That sounds positively delightful,” I said, grinning as Elliot tugged me down the hall with a quick, “Goodnight, Mrs. Hennessey,” tossed over his shoulder.

“Goodnight, Lizzie!” I called as well, while Elliot quickly unlocked his door and pulled me inside.

His hand was at my waist, and I was laughing.

“She’s going to be insufferable now, you know,” he said, and I leaned in a bit. He still smelled of oranges and cinnamon.

“I’m sure you’ll survive the advances of Mrs. Hennessey,” I replied, all too aware of being in Elliot’s home, in his space, as he reached over my shoulder to hang up his keys.

My back was against the door, and Elliot didn’t pull back after he hung them up, and I could feel the heat of his breath on my cheek. Neither of us spoke, but Elliot’s hand came up to brush a curl of hair off my forehead, and my eyes closed at the touch, so I didn’t see him closing the distance between us until his lips were on mine.

A small part of me knew I should stop him. We’d been down this path too many times for me to think that it might turn out differently this time.