D

I'm attending the investment banker bro sausage fest to watch my friend F speak on a panel. We are two of the only five women in the entire auditorium, and she was only added at the last minute when she met the organizer on her flight over. In fact, the stage has space for 4 chairs, and it's quite clear there is no space for the 5th one which has her name tag in front of it, half hidden behind the podium. She was clearly added as the after thought.

I have crashed the conference because I hadn't seen her since she moved to Zurich, only to find as I get there that she is in the middle of changing her flight to leave early. "How could you F! You just got here and you're flying back out in 3 hours! What the fuck!" I forget to use my inside voice, and the guy standing next to her turns, startled, at the expletive.

We both muffled our giggles that. She slaps his arm, and said "Oh let me introduce you, you guys were both in the same school and may know each other."

She says his name - famous billionaires son, running the media line - I had heard of him of course, but don't remember him from school. The lean build, crisp white shirt that screams of something expensive because it wasn't rumpled like everyone else's. And those glasses. Uff. I have always found nerd white boys hot. I avoid F's eye because she knows me too well, and knows exactly what she's doing. Her grin is unbearable. 

"Oh I was class of 99! Nice to meet you!" I smile at him. He blinks, checking me out, and I inwardly smirk because I know I look hot. My hair was done because of the thing I went to yesterday, and I'm wearing that super expensive designer shirt that hid my newly acquired tummy pudge. Casual, summery, yellow in a sea of black conference suits. I had to state my class year, by way of introducion. It's this weird jig we all do, trying to figure out who we are in the six degrees of separation. Which side of the snob line my pedigree lies in. Somewhere in the middle, thank you very much, he and his ilk are way cooler and way richer than me.

He's looking a little flummoxed. We all pause, confused. "Who were you..." he trails off awkwardly. "I was with A and G" i mention the house captains everyone knew, and he recognizes one of the names.

"Oh how. She was much younger.." and then "Oh I was confusing that with my college year! I was with her elder brother!" 

"Ah yes! I just met him recently, he and T had flown up together for that school alum game we hosted". Social positioning established, I move back to my friend and we go back to talking. She walked on to the plane that morning with only one earring, and once I'm done with my laughing fit, I offer mine. She cannot go on to stage with that! But she insists, probably because she finds my large freshwater pearls too lahori for her taste.

He's listening to us, amused, but also pretending to be on the phone.

***

It's been months. Random dates. Lots of messages. Lots of missed availability windows because he doesn't live in Lahore. And his work of course. He just got back from Davos and has stopped over in this city, because I was visiting for a wedding.

I'm in his hotel room. Holy shit. I have ducked out from the dinner in the other building. The one I was supposed to attend. The one in this hotel, which is why he chose to stay here as well. I walk over, jittery with excitement. I couldn't believe it. Me. It was going to happen! 

He was SO cute. From the second F introduced us at that conference, it was inevitable.

I've lost weight (thank you Diet by Design), without the GLPs that freak me out. My panties almost incinerate when he opens the door and hustles me in before someone sees.

So clandestine. We've been sexting all day. 

He latches the door behind me, his arm trapping my body close. Uff. I know I'll remember that cologne forever. 

He looks down at me, and I can tell he likes what he sees. He uses the lack of space to position himself between my legs, his strong arms hook my butt up, so I'm his height now. My legs wrap around him, and we both give a muffled erghm because we're old and not as flexible anymore but then settle into it. "I think I may have the wrong room. I'm looking for my friend X" I quip. We both crack up. He's grinning. I'm grinning. 

"Hello." He puts his forehead on mine. 

"Hello to you too."

I have a fleeting moment to wonder if that lush head of hair is real or transplanted before I dig my hands into it, and pull him down to my mouth.

***

I come back from the dholki function super high on the music and the mehndi and chooris and dance practices, and just having a rocking good time. A destination wedding was a fabulous idea, because it has pulled us out of our normal day to day we've all let loose in a way we never could in the middle of all our work routines. And it's fabulous to just be able to go upstairs to your hotel room and not worry about cleaning or laundry. Bliss.

I have green-brown mehndi on the palms of both my hands, drawn in intricate designs squeezed out a cone almost like thin piping on a cake, in the ancient tradition of celebrating happy occasions. All the women get together, have experts apply it on in a big function full of song and dance, and by tomorrow all our hands will have these orange designs dyed on for a week or so. But it renders me unable to touch anything till it dries, a process that takes 2-3 hours, and some people leave it on all night, and even apply lemon juice and what not to the maximum color, but I'm not that invested or patient. I'm still somewhat bopping to the Punjabi beats we were practicing to at the event, wondering how to operate the remote and get Netflix up when there is a knock on the door. Of course, I had asked D to swing by. I skip to the door, but am flummoxed, because I can't open the handle. I awkwardly jimmy it using the back of my wrists, then realize i have to use my elbow for the lock, but eventually manage, triumphant, if a little mussed in the hair and breathless from the shimmying.

He's holding a wine bottle. Bless that man. He does a double take when he sees me. He stands back and a slow grin appears. "Red huh" he tips his chin at my red lipstick and matching choli lehnga.

"Hell ya baby" I grin back, raising my arms and doing a pseudo sexy swirl, and then thrust out my hotel bedroom slippers and we both burst out laughing.

He comes in, but I notice he's side eyeing my exposed midriff, and can't help but smile inwardly at how transparent he is. Boys are so simple minded honestly.

"Sooo Netflix and room service?" He asks as he puts the wine on the desk, grabs the remote, and flops on to the bed. 

"Yesss I was just figured out how to operate the damn remote with this" I gesture with my palms as I sit next to him at the foot of the bed. 

"You know, I really hate the smell of mehndi, it's like super gross" he wrinkles his nose as he turns the TV on and fiddles with the menu to get to the app.

Like any normal person who grew up with a ton of siblings, I do what the situation calls for. "Oh you mean this smell" and waggle my palms in front of his nose, and crack up when he lets out a girly shriek trying to jump back so he doesn't get any on his nose. 

"Oh hell no" he grabs my wrists, and yanks up my arms so my offending hands are out of range. Except I'm attached to the arms, so I'm launched on to his stomach, and it's my turn to shriek.

And just like that, the energy shifts. He's trapped under me, still holding my wrists above his head, and we're eye to eye. Fascinated, I notice his chocolate brown eyes darken in color a little bit as his breath hitches a bit.

"Hello" I say, and his eyes go down to my mouth, apparently hypnotized. 

"Red suits you" he says, his voice a little husky, and he rolls me over suddenly, and I'm the one pinned under him now, his mouth hovering inches from mine. 

"Smooth move, well done" I crack, but he just gives a small distracted smile, his mouth sliding towards my jaw. "Errhmmmpphh" is all I can manage as he trails a series of small kisses from my jaw, and then reaches my ear and takes a tiny nibble. 

He looks up at my face, and looks super satisfied with what he sees. A cross eyed panting mess probably, get it together woman. He slides his hands down my arms, and takes his weight on his elbows, cups my face, and then closes the gap and kisses me. I'm awash with sensation, being pressed into the soft bed, the feeling of his rough jeans on my silk clad legs, his mouth robbing me of all thought. I moan as he comes up for air, and he makes a rough sound and grits his jaw trying to stifle his own sound.

Then his eyes go wide. "SHIT" he jumps back, alarmed, looking at his hands and then at my face. "Shit shit shit shit I'm so sorry" and then his expression goes from alarm to hilarity. "Oh shit you're going to kill me" he's looking at me with his eyes full of mirth and sheepishness.

I'm still lying down a little dazed "Wha.. what?" I muster, completely confused, unable to fully form words. 

He holds up his left hand, and the pinkie has a huge smear of mehndi. My eyes grow big, and - like a horror movie unveil - I check my palms, and sure enough, an entire band of the intricate mehndi design near my wrist is a smooshed mess of green brown, with the orange dyed skin showing underneath. My brow furrows, he's backing away, levering off the bed. "Now- don't kill me I will fix this - you have some on your face." 

"Whhaaatttt" I shriek, and my hands jerk automatically towards my cheeks, but he manages to stop them before I touch my face trying to look for the offending bit. 

"Wait wait, its salvageable give me one second let's go to the bathroom and fix this" he's speaking quickly, but his shoulders are shaking with laughter. 

"You asshole!" I wail, and try to swat at him, but again his grip on my wrists comes in handy from doing too much damage, and that just makes him almost double over with laughter.

He manages to get a hold of himself, and then helps me up. "I got you, don't worry" and he maneuvers me towards the bathroom sink. He grabs one of those small hotel towelettes, and puts a bit of soap and water, and then placing me between his legs he focuses on the job at hand, and gently rubs my jaw.

"Dude, swipe harder I can't have an orange jaw during the wedding tomorrow!"

He looks down from his superior height, "Ok ok relax," and dutifully rubs harder. He emerges triumphant and shows me the towelette - "See! all done, no damage."

I turn and check the mirror.

"Ok minimal damage, you can barely see it," he quickly corrects, as my eyes narrow. 

"Give me a phone light! I can't see anything in damn hotel lighting!" 

He fiddles with the vanity mirror and it has a built in light that helps. 

I relax, the damage is indeed minimal. 

"Ok whew!" I reluctantly give a relieved smile. "That was a close call" I turn around, and he's still standing too close, towel dripping. "Ok please get that away from my outfit, that's like a drip bomb waiting to go off."

He quickly pulls the towel over the sink, "Ok Ms. Bossy!" he grins good naturedly, rinsing the offending mehndi paste off his own hand. It's already gone bright orange, but his eyes are on me in the mirror and he doesn't seem to notice.

"I prefer the term Ms. Girl Boss Energy thank you," I grin back, and his eyes go my lips.

"Do you need me to get that for you?" he asks, gesturing to the red lipstick smeared over my lips. 

"Get yours as well first" I laugh, because it's true, my lipstick is all over him as well. 

He grabs a bunch of tissues, then adds a bit of liquid soap and rubs his mouth, and then turns to do the same for me.

"I would really prefer makeup remover." 

He sighs, about to protest, but then seeing my resolve looks around helplessly. "Make up remover?" He chews out the words strangely, like he hasn't heard them before. He looks at me for help, I just raise a brow. He goes back to looking at the array of bottles on the counter, till he notices a labelled bottle "This one?" 

"Good boy."

He raises an eyebrow at that, and haughtily says "I lead a 750 person global organization, I can find makeup remover thank you very much." 

"Looked hit and miss there for a second," I drawl, and his eyes crinkle with amusement at my sass.

Somewhere in the middle of gently scrubbing the lipstick off, his expression sobers. I'm suddenly acutely conscious of standing close to him, his hands on me. Electricity crackles between us.

"I.. I think we need to make sure you don't get that silk wet," his says in a low voice gruff with need. He gestures to my blouse, which has a drop of water on it. He's biting his lower lip, and I think I'm going to incinerate.

"Unhuhhh" is all I can manage, my back bowed, swallowing back my moan, losing my ability to breathe and form words at the same time. 

He smiles his little crooked smile, discards the tissues, and lowers his lips to mine, his hands going to my lehnga first, unhooking it at my waist till it falls and pools around our feet in a soft flumph of fabric.

"Err I think that was the wrong piece of clothing" I look down, and I'm barefoot in my underwear, my hotel slippers long forgotten somewhere. Gross.

"Oh sorry let me get that for you properly now" he lifts me up to the sink counter, and my legs automatically go around him as he unhooks the buttons at the back of my choli. "Damn this shirt is tiny," he says against my neck, taking a deep inhale. "I don't think I know how to pull this off you without messing up the damn mehndi,"  he says in my ear, and I have to remember to keep breathing. "But I think I have a solution"

"You are the head of a 750 person global organization" I say wisely, and he stills for a second as he's pressing hot kisses on my neck, and then I feel his lips stretch in a smile against my jaw. 

"You're killing me N" he says in a low rough voice, reaching behind me, allowing me to get a deep heady inhale of him. He calloused hands slide from my waist to under the back of my opened blouse, the warmth in contrast to the cold AC air. His breath is ragged, his hands discover my bra is strapless, and with a sound of satisfaction in his throat he unhooks it and discards it onto the bathroom floor along with my lehnga. He's fully clothed, I'm only in two tiny scraps of clothing. the rough denim between my thighs in mesmerizing contrast with the cold marble and his warm hands that are coming up my back. He reaches forward to cup my breasts and I let out this gutteral groan, as they're suddenly exposed and unbearably sensitive in his presence. He slowly grinds his jeans, right there, his eyes half shuttered, and I feel like I've ignited in flame. My voice is gone, I'm drowning in feeling, aching.

"I think I'll just wash the mehndi off," I gasp with difficulty, I can't bear to keep my hands off him anymore.

He grabs my waist to stop me, gives this wicked smile at my quizzical look. His voice is low as he nips my ear, his hands on me, touching me everywhere. "I think I like you like this Ms. Girl Boss Energy. At my mercy." His warm tongue laves my neck all the way up to my ear, and I feel a full body shudder of anticipation as I dissolve into a puddle of need.

"Ok but get me out of this bathroom. And no way I'm stepping barefoot on some gross hotel carpet"

"Yes ma'am."

***

I've moved back to Karachi, home sweet home. Its a 12 month gig, one academic year, and was messy as hell managing Rs school year and payments, but we made it work because the money is helping me save for his college, because goddamn that kid isn't going to be getting any scholarships.

I enter the elevator to get to the gym on the 20th floor, typically I would avoid these expensive coed ones but this is Karachi and its broken shitty roads that take unnecessarily long to go anywhere, and this is literally 90 seconds from my house, and I'm not going to go out of my way to do something I loathe. So I suck it up, shifting uncomfortably pulling my tshirt down to cover my butt as I pass the security guard. 

I emerge and nothing, I mean nothing, beats the view. miles of concrete jungle, stretching into the horizon, soaring with the eagles. I'm momentarily distracted by a 20 yr old doing squats in her sports bra and what can only be described as underwear. The boy cut kind I liked to buy in middle school. I glare at the desk attendant who is staring at her through the glass doors, standing slack jawed ogling her bottom, but he has the courtesy to notice my pointed look and avoid my eye and appears fixated by his feet as he beeps me in. 

The trainer is waiting. I would have preferred a woman, but he was the only trained physiotherapist. Thirty year old gym bro trainers are someone I would typically avoid like the plague. Even with this one, I had to explain all the medical stuff three times, and he didn't quite take me seriously till I literally brought my x-rays and had my doc speak to him. Now he is super careful, and actually listens when I tell him not to push it. In fact he's more cautious then I am sometimes, and I caught him sweating in apprehension the last time I tried one of the more advanced stretches.

I discuss the plan for the session (he's recommending extending the core exercises), and then warm up with a run. Never ever thought I could pull that off with my joints, but the miracle of modern medicine, apparently running is now good for middle aged women.

So I'm red, sweating ungracefully, in my voluminous t-shirt, panting like I'm having an angina episode, when of course he walks in. Fucking billionaire media mogul fucker. The one who didn't have the courtesy to just cheat on me but had to honestly and earnestly confess that his wife wanted to reconcile, and actually asked me what he should do. Of course he needed to go back to his wife and kids. His father in law owned the media house he was employed at. No way in hell i could compete with blocking the reconciliation of two of the richest families in the country. And all for nothing, because they ended things a year later anyway. Fuckers. I squash down the memories. He's taking off his glasses and putting them on the side of the bed so he could kiss me. Breathe. Focus. Doing that thing with his mouth. Stop it. Looking at me like I'm the hottest thing he's ever seen. It meant nothing to him you fool. He went on this weird post divorce cliche, dating a string of models like a fucking walking midlife crisis. I wish I'd worn a nicer t-shirt. This one keeps fucking falling off my shoulder showing the ratty sports bra straps. I've even used it to blow my nose 5 minutes ago.

I see in the mirror that he clocks me almost instantly and freezes, pole axed. Someone bumps into him from behind and jostles him out of his double take. He didn't know I've moved here. He looks like he's about to come over. I try to make the unfriendliest expression I can muster, but underwear girls squeals a hello grabs his arm and pulls him in the other direction. Good. Fuck him.

I'm doing floor work on a yoga mat, surreptitiously ducking behind the low wall where the weights are stacked, trying to muffle the ungodly grunts that the weighted leg lifts squeeze out of me.  I have so far managed to stay out of his eyeline, hopefully for the full session. I swat the trainers hands away as they hover solicitously near my back, one of the unfortunate side effects of him knowing the number of rods in there. "You can do it ma'am, just 40 more", he says cheerily, and I want to kill him.

At the 30th rep, I stumble because my knee gives up a bit. Maybe the hip, hard to tell where it starts sometimes. The trainer has a heart attack trying to grab my elbow, but he misses and I become completely unstable, stumbling past the weight wall straight into two people standing next to it. Shit. It's sports bra chick who had been effortlessly out squatting me, and, fuck me sideways it's him. Shit shit shit shit. 

They both turn looking concerned, and the entire gym seems to stop. They're peering down at me, concerned. "Omg it is you! I was wondering if I had hallucinated you!", he says. "Are you ok!" Sports bra girl asks at the same time, her voice is husky like a singer.  

"Sorry! I'm ok! Hello!" I say from the floor. And for reasons unknown to god or man, lying there winded on the filthy gym mats, hair askew, knee on fire, in a sweaty obscene mess, I crack up laughing. Like a fucking lunatic.

She looks at me quizzically, gives him a WTF look,  but then helps me up and smiles good naturedly. The trainer comes over and retrieves the errant kettle bell that caused the issue. Sports bra goes back to her reps. The gym goes back to normal. 

He and I are still standing there, awkward as fuck. He discreetly looks at me, stripping me down to my soul like he always does. He takes in my red sweaty face, ratty tshirt and has the audacity to get that look. The one where he makes me feel special. Hell no.

"How is A doing," I smile and ask cheerily about his ex-wife, and that knocks the smile off his face. I watch the comment land, and he looks gutted. Shit i feel bad 

"Oh, she's ok. I think anyway" He's blinking rapidly, a little choked up. He hesitates, and then lowers his voice. "We - we - decided to divorce last year. I was..." he trails off when he meets my eyes, his courage apparently failing unable to complete the sentence. 

I resist the urge to jump in and fill the silence.

He looks up at me again, and then shakes his head as if to clear it. "I'm just gym buddying with my friend from work", and he jerks his head towards underwear girl. Of course he is. That fucker. I can't help but glance over, and I know there is no way my body - the one that's churned out another human - can hold a candle to her midriff. He looks a little uncomfortable seeing my expression, as if suddenly realizing what I must be thinking. He opens his mouth to say something, but I huff and wave him sway, mumbling about cradle snatching and go back to the trainer who's now holding a lighter weight and my knee brace. Damnit.

*

I'm still in the damn knee brace when I'm rooting around the locker. They had kindly given me the ones closer to the floor once they realized with my height, I couldn't reach the top level, but it's super awkward trying to pull my gym bag out with 40 yr old knees and I spill stuff out. The guy with the locker above mine of course approaches at that minute. I am at sock level. A lipstick had rolled over to his shoe. He bends down and picks it up, and crouches down to help. I look up gratefully into beautiful brown eyes. Oh for fucks sake.

He blinks rapidly, and I realize I said the last bit out loud. He looks down at me at his feet and smiles his beautiful sweet open honest smile, and just looks so... happy... to see me. The fucker.

Of course he's been given the locker above mine. 

And that moment, with my sweat filled work out clothes, my shirt falling off my shoulder, hair in a French braid, on my bloody knees on a floor with all my stuff strewn around me, he's looking at me like I'm the most beautiful thing he's ever seen. Fuck, I feel my cheeks heat up because of his proximity. I try to take a deep breath to get a grip,  to step back, but all I get is a wave of that damn cologne of his, and my mind reels unable to think. I put my hand on the floor to brace myself, I think I'm going to keel over.

He holds my elbow and gets me up, and it feels like a hot coal has touched me. I flinch, and my body ignites in flame. He is oblivious, picking up the pieces of my bag strewn around us. 

My throat has slammed shut and I can't say anything. He's at my feet. I'm going to scream. He didn't call. I'm going to cry. He's hanging out with hot skinny 20 yr old's. My skin is on fire. I can't breathe. You never meant anything to him. 

He's putting the stuff into my open gym bag. He looks up at me, and my heart twists. Every defense gone. He didn't even call.

Oblivious, he's now done picking up my bag. When I don't put my hand out to hold it, he awkwardly puts it on my shoulder. Cross body, how I always do it. We are standing way way too close, but I can't help it. It's like he has some sort of gravitational force field. He's this black hole and I'm the star going nova, about to be sucked in. His eyes. Chocolate. So sweet. They have so much hope. So much regret. I'm drowning in his eyes.  

He raises his hand like he's going to touch me, but catches himself and stops.

I hear the shuffle of footsteps approaching and we both jump back guiltily.

I don't even thank him. I don't even try to keep my dignity. I just turn and run.