Priya in Heels (Entangled Embrace) Read Free

guys off and not giving them the time of day.”
    “Yeah, I noticed.”
    “If she knows you like her, she will slam your hopes down so fast, you won’t know what hit you. But if you can get past her barricade, you might have a shot. Get her to laugh and relax without feeling threatened.”
    “Why does she do that?”
    Vicki shrugged. “I’ve never asked. She’s done it for as long as I’ve known her. I think it’s just a quick way to let guys know not to bother, and they don’t usually keep trying when they’re rejected so tactlessly. It’ll really stump her if you keep trying.” She lit up with excitement.
    I stuffed my hands into my pockets. “Think you can help me out?”
    Vicki’s smile returned, along with a mischievous gleam in her eyes that said she’d been waiting to play this game for a while.

Chapter Three
    Priya
    It took twenty minutes to get to The Harmon’s, and five minutes to find a parking spot. Not too shabby for this time of night.
    Before getting out of the car, I pulled out my wallet from my backpack and stuck it in my pocket. I was probably the only woman around town who didn’t own a purse and rocked odd-shaped, stuffed pockets. Keys, cell phone, and a thin wallet somehow fit into my jeans.
    The air was crisp tonight, very rare for muggy Houston, but welcome and long awaited. Perhaps the reason nightlife prevailed here was due to the fact that the days scorched the inhabitants in unbearable heat and sane people only emerged at night.
    The Harmon’s was bustling—more than usual. Had Vicki not saved a seat for me, I would have waited in a line ten groups long. She waved me over, excitement and a flare from alcohol evident in her eyes. She wore a low-cut black dress, and for a reason beyond me, a chic green scarf and high-heeled boots.
    I passed the bar and glanced at the stage to the right—because curiosity got the best of me. Tyler, more handsome than before, if that was even possible, sat on a chair with his foot propped on a stool and hugged a guitar to his chest while he played. One guy played the drums and another sang. They were very good. No wonder the crowd was going crazy for them.
    Jeeta and Tulsi waved when I approached. They had a table covered with empty shot glasses, wine, and half-empty fruity drinks. Jeeta tapped a square glass filled with red liquid, ice, and a maraschino cherry. Ah, they had ordered a cherry vodka for me!
    After I hugged each of my girls, I settled in between Tulsi and Jeeta.
    “How was work?” Jeeta asked in her thick Indian accent. She’d arrived from Punjab a year ago on a student visa to study for her master’s in chemistry at Rice University and hadn’t yet shrugged off the telltale signs of a newly imported immigrant.
    Though, after ten months, she had learned to let her hair down, literally. She no longer kept it back in a long braid. Her hair was mid-length, wavy, thick, and layered. She dressed better, too. When she’d first arrived, she’d looked ten years older and could’ve been mistaken for someone’s auntie (a woman old enough to be our mother). Now she wore jeans and a little makeup. She didn’t look like a clown with pasty white powder and red lipstick anymore.
    Tulsi had been raised in America and was borderline skank, and that was putting it nicely. Don’t get me wrong, I loved her like a crazy sister, but she led two distinct lives. In Austin with her family, Tulsi was a well-behaved biochemical engineer who properly observed all religious holidays. Anywhere else, she was a man-crazed woman whom I feared would make a devastating mistake one day.
    “Oh my God, that dude on stage is fine as hell,” Vicki declared.
    Yeah, yeah. I was hungry as hell and didn’t care about the guys. I perused the menu, and the waitress arrived, thankfully, before I finished my drink on an empty stomach. I ordered, and then inhaled, a chicken burger with Parmesan fries and a butt-load of ranch dressing, but refrained from licking my