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Distraction would be key from here on out. He needed to put on his game face and stick to the plan. Because being around her five days a week without the power to prod, delve, or touch was a special type of challenge, one that he’d need all his reserves to overcome.
Layla flopped onto her couch with a satisfied groan. Four weeks. Four weeks at the new job under her belt, and once again she and Zahir were on their way to being regular, normal, non-sexually-active coworkers.
She flipped onto her back, studying the dappled ceiling of her new apartment. It was a three-bedroom with a balcony in the heart of Minarak, not that she needed three bedrooms. But her pay package included it, and it was sorta luxurious, and now whenever she had guests she could offer them their own room instead of a lame blow-up mattress next to her own bed.
One month at the job. Two weeks in her new apartment. One week, six days, and two hours since Zahir had last penetrated her. She groaned, tugging at her hair. She had to stop thinking things like that. But they sprouted unbidden inside of her, like a clingy weed she had to keep uprooting and spraying with dangerous chemicals.
But yet it persisted. The sinuous thoughts, wending their way through her mind.
At least it was better at work. Ever since his stern talking-to, Zahir had behaved himself like a choir boy. He barely even looked at her, which relieved as much as it infuriated. And most days, it felt like they were simply playing a game, one in which the rules were crystal clear until they weren’t.
Because she didn’t trust herself to not fall back into his arms sometime over the next year. And she didn’t trust him to not let it happen. Especially if anything brought them together over a free weekend.
She needed to find a new dude and stat. Not that she advocated for distraction via the male gaze, but Zahir was a tough one to forget. Uprooting him simply wasn’t enough. She had to replace him so that new roots could take over.
Yeah. That seemed like it made the most sense. She rolled off the couch, eager to snack on the hummus she’d found at a neighborhood market. It looked homemade and ultra-tasty. She hadn’t had much of an appetite for breakfast the past few days, which left her starving by lunchtime and super ready for snacks after work. After that, she’d open some wine and settle into her favorite Friday routine—getting ready to go out.
Marian and Omar were still on their honeymoon. They’d planned for a long getaway, and by her calculations, they were probably somewhere in Iceland by now. Things at work had been busier for Zahir in Omar’s absence, which was a blessing. Anything to lessen the chances of them running into each other.
Four weeks down. Only forty-eight to go. She sighed as she rummaged through the fridge, pulling out the hummus and a bag of carrots. It wasn’t like she was counting down or anything. She sorta liked having the stable job in a foreign country. It was a cool way to explore a new country while living there. She hadn’t done much proper exploration yet, but it would come in time.
Most of the exploration you’ve done has been Zahir’s body.
The thought slammed through her and she almost dropped the carrots. Dammit. If only she could stop those thoughts, her life would be so much easier. She’d get around to traveling Parsabad. It wouldn’t only be Zahir’s body soon enough. Maybe she’d take a day trip tomorrow. Somewhere cool and new.
Yeah. That sounded good. She plopped the carrots and hummus onto her coffee table and reached for her laptop. A quick search would help her find exactly what she was looking for. Fun, affordable, and perfect for single ladies.
Once her laptop was on, she reached for a carrot, swirling it in the hummus. She crunched into it as her operating system flashed to life. She moaned in approval when the hummus hit her taste buds. Definitely homemade.
Does Zahir make hummus? The thought stepped tentatively throu
gh her brain space. She should find out. She swirled the bitten end of her carrot into the hummus again, crunching a second time. Except no—she wouldn’t ask him. Because that would be getting personal. And that wasn’t allowed.
She sighed. Better to just plan a little getaway and get over the Zahir complex. With enough time, this plan had to work—the avoid-and-forget approach.
She typed in a Google search and scrolled through results, ideas sparking to life. Some of these destinations would be awesome for long weekends. Spa environments, hiking trails, even camel rides through the desert. Didn’t Annabelle do something like that? She vaguely recalled a story about Imaad wooing her in a Bedouin tent. Maybe Zahir and I could…
No. Wrong thought. She doubled down on her efforts to concentrate, clicking through the options for a day trip from Minarak. She’d have to rent a car or even hire a taxi, but that would be easy enough. Maybe she could get a recommendation through the Almasis. That would be a totally legitimate reason to call Zahir over the weekend.
She pinched her eyes shut. It just wouldn’t stop, would it? She crunched into another carrot. Her sex drive had been ravenous the past few days. She was getting off every night at bedtime and then again in the morning sometimes too. Maybe it was her time of the month—she always seemed to get a little more amped up around then. That would explain the Zahir thoughts, at least.
That or the fact that he’s drop dead sexy and the best lay of your life.
She groaned as she opened the computer calendar. When was her last period? She certainly hadn’t bled since her first hook up with Zahir. And the first time was…a month ago. She struggled to think when her last period fell, swallowing a big chunk of carrot that made her cough. She could have sworn it was a week or so before leaving New York. Because she’d been over it by the time she had her going away party, which had been…
She consulted the calendar again, furrowing a brow. Wow. It had been way over a month since her last period, and that was maybe still being conservative. She reached for another carrot, nibbling it while her brain worked through the math. Why would she be late? She was never late. She didn’t use birth control, but she also didn’t have unprotected sex.
You can’t be pregnant. The thought soothed her, made it seem like a fact. She and Zahir had used a condom both times. She’d seen him use it herself. Heard him rip open the package. She was safe and protected.
She swallowed hard, thinking back over the past week. Each morning she’d felt a little off, but was it maybe, somehow, a sign? Not necessarily a pregnancy sign, but just a totally-normal-late-period sign.
Her hand hovered over another carrot as a sneaky thought crept through her head. What if you’ve been starting to have morning sickness?
She hadn’t eaten breakfast for the past three days. Just hadn’t wanted to. That didn’t mean she was pregnant though.
She tried to laugh it off, as if it might convince the reality of the situation to join in on her reasoning. This was just a blip. A late period due to moving. A random bout of nausea because she was acclimating to a new diet, a new eating lifestyle.
She blinked a few times, trying to go back to planning her day trip. But the thought hung threatening and bulky in the back of her mind. A distant threat. It pushed her to her feet and out the door.
