#ASYA FF - A Lot Like Love UPDATED chapter 6- page 6 - Page 4

chapter 1...

awesome... zoya oh zoya

still in a t shirt and underwear

chapter 2...

poor zoya stuck there like a criminal...

and look like agent khan...

order... to keep her there...

nice update
loved this story it is so different
asad is this hard ass cop and zoya the attorney
so surveillance for her and he will let her know
he sure it wouldnt be a problem bcuz they both
up each other asses
continue soon

Chapter 6

AS BOBBY UNPACKED the groceries, he heard Zoya start the shower in the master bathroom upstairs. From past experience, he knew this meant he had approximately twenty-two minutes before she made an appearance. Plenty of time to whip something up for breakfast.

It never ceased to amuse him, as it had earlier that morning when he'd first checked the fridge, how little her culinary skills--or lack thereof--had changed since college. Actually, what amused him most was just how predictable she was. After twelve years' experience, he'd known exactly what he would find when he opened the refrigerator doors: one solitary unopened Egg Beater carton that had expired four weeks earlier; a bag of bagels and three tubs of different-flavored cream cheeses, all one schmear away from empty; and two dozen Lean Cuisine entrees in the freezer, neatly organized according to the four major food ethnicities: Italian, Asian, Mexican, and macaroni and cheese.

Which was why a trip to Whole Foods had been in short order that morning, if Bobby had any intention of keeping his promise to make breakfast. Luckily the grocery store was only two blocks away. Even more convenient, it happened to be right across the street from an independent coffee shop, The Fixx, whose six-shot specialty latte, the "Smith and Wesson," packed enough punch to knock the hangover out of even the sorriest of late-night drinkers. In truth, Bobby knew he'd only get through about five sips of the stuff before throwing the rest out in disgust. But what could he say--he got a kick out of ordering a drink named after a gun.

Another guy thing, perhaps.

He located a twelve-inch skillet in the cabinet above the stove--actually it wasn't at all hard to find; it was in exactly the same spot he'd left it the last time he'd slept over. He coated the pan with some oill and added zucchini and mushrooms to saute while he fired up the broiler. He'd decided to make frittatas instead of the omelet Zoya had requested as they'd parted ways at the top of the stairs last night. With frittatas, he figured, she could always reheat the leftovers and might actually have two whole meals in one day that didn't come out of a box.

Bobby was feeling very protective of Zoya, more so than usual. For her sake, he was trying not to show it, but he still felt uneasy about her near brush with a killer two nights ago. Of course she'd played the role of the nerves-of-steel prosecutor to the hilt--part of the wall she had put up after her father's death--but he suspected she was more freaked out than she let on.

And it certainly didn't help that the FBI had assigned Asad Ahmed Khan to the investigation. Given their history, his involvement in the case undoubtedly had sent Zoya's insecurities about showing "weakness" into maximum overdrive.

The sudden reappearance of Asad Ahmed Khan in Mumbai was indeed an interesting development. Bobby remembered how furious Zoya had been, rightfully so, over the infamous "head up her ass" comment. But he also remembered, despite her anger--and he was only one of a handful of people who knew this juicy tidbit--how hard she had tried to dissuade the DOJ from transferring Ahmed Khan out of Mumbai.

He had always found that particular contradiction quite curious.

Bobby was sprinkling cheese on top of the frittatas when the doorbell rang. Considering that it wasn't his house, and also considering that Zoya hadn't mentioned that she was expecting anybody, he ignored it.

Just as he was putting the skillet under the broiler, the doorbell rang again.

Twice.

Bobby shut the oven. "All right, all right," he grumbled. He cut through the dining and living rooms and headed to the front door. It was when he reached to unlock the deadbolt that he realized he was still wearing the oven mitts. He took one off and opened the door. He found two guys on the doorstep, staring at him in surprise.

Bobby's eyes passed over the man in the tailored suit and rested on the taller guy, the one wearing jeans and a blazer.

Well, well, welll. . . if it wasn't Special Agent Asad Ahmed Khan in the flesh.

Bobby straightened up. It may have been three years, but no introduction was necessary. He knew exactly who the guy was from all the media coverage surrounding the Huda investigation and the subsequent fallout with Zoya. Not to mention, Asad Ahmed Khan was not a man who was easily forgotten. Definitely not his type--meaning straight--but that didn't mean he couldn't recognize that he was looking at one damn good-looking individual. With a lean, muscular build and a face that was just barely saved from being almost too handsome by that five o'clock shadow that probably started somewhere around 9:00 A.M., Asad Ahmed Khan was one of those men that made other men wish they weren't standing on a doorstep wearing red-checkered oven mitts.

But just as he was starting to feel a bit territorial and defensive, Bobby noticed that Khan was similarly studying him. And maybe the scrutinizing once-over was simply the instinctive reaction of the CBI agent, but a man could usually sense when he was being sized up.

Feeling good about having the upper hand, Bobby smiled. "Gentlemen.

Can I help you?"

Asad's eyes lingered on the oven mitts. What he made of them was tough to say.

He pulled a badge out of his jacket. "I'm Special Agent Asad Ahmed Khan with the CBI, this is Agent Haider. We'd like to speak with Zoya Farooqui."

"She's in the shower. Been in there for a while, so I don't think it'll be much longer." Bobby gestured inside the house. "I've got something in the oven. You guys want to come in?"

Leaving the door open, Bobby turned and headed back to the kitchen to check on the frittata. As he took the skillet out of the oven and set it on the counter, he watched out of the corner of his eye as the two agents stepped into the living room and shut the front door behind them. He could see Asad doing a quick survey of the house, taking in the relative lack of furniture in the front two rooms. Due to budgetary constraints, Bobby knew, Zoya was furnishing the house in a piecemeal fashion. The living and dining rooms were low on her totem pole given, as she had once said, that she didn't do a lot of formal entertaining.

Being there as often as he was, Bobby had gotten used to the sparseness of the decor, the simple leather armchair and reading lamp opposite the fireplace that were the sole furnishings in the living room, and the modest four-person table and chairs that looked practically Lilliputian in the spacious tray-ceiling dining room. He'd hazard a guess that Jack, however, was speculating right then about the circumstances under which a person would own such a big house and leave half of it sitting empty.

Bobby pulled the oven mitts off. "You guys are making me nervous by hovering there. Why don't you come in--I'll go check on Zoe and let her know you're here."

He felt Asads eyes on him as he made his way up the wide, open staircase that led to the upper floors. On the second floor, he entered the first room on the right, the master suite. The shower was still running, so he knocked and opened the door a crack.

"You've got visitors, babe," Bobby said, trying not to let his voice carry.

"CBI wants to talk to you." He shut the door and went back downstairs, where he found the two agents waiting in the kitchen. "It shouldn't be much longer.

Can I get either of you something to drink?"

"I'm fine, thank you, Mr. . . ." Asad cocked his head. "I'm sorry, I didn't catch your name."

"Bobby."

He saw that this registered with Jack. A look of recognition crossed Haider's face.

"That's it! You're Bobby Shah ," Haider said.

Bobby grinned. Ah . . . fans. He never got tired of meeting them. "Guilty as charged."

Haider rocked back on his heels excitedly. "I thought you looked familiar when you opened the door, but it took me a moment. Something's different from the picture they've got in the paper."

"It's the goatee. An unfortunate choice in my late twenties. I've been trying to get them to change the photo, but apparently it tests well with the eighteen to thirty-four demographic."

Asad's eyes darted between them. "I'm missing something here."

"He's Bobby Shah ," Haider emphasized. "You know, the sportswriter."

Asad shook his head. No clue. Bobby tried to decide how offended he was by this.

Haider explained. "He does a weekly column for the Sun-Times where he writes directly to the teams--you know, 'Dear Manager,' 'Dear Coach So-And-So'--and he makes recommendations on trades, what players to start, how to improve the team, those kinds of things." He turned back to Bobby. "That was one hell of a letter you addressed to Piniella last week."

Bobby chuckled. He'd pissed off a lot of Cubs fans with that one.

"Needed to be said. When people stop dropping thousands of dollars in season tickets for a team that hasn't won a World Series since 1908, maybe the owners and management will finally be motivated to put together a ball club that's worthy of its fans."

Haider glanced over, embarrassed for his partner. "Seriously, Jack, I think you might be the only guy in this city who hasn't read his stuff. Bobby Shah is like the Carrie Bradshaw of Mumbai men."

"You mean Terry Bradshaw," Asad corrected.

"No, Carrie," Haider repeated. "You know, Sarah Jessica Parker. Sex and the City."

A silence fell over the room as Bobby and Asad stared at Haider, seriously fearing for the fate of men.

Haider shifted nervously. "My ex-girlfriend made me watch the show while we were dating."

"Sure, you keep sticking with that story." Asad turned to Bobby. "Sorry I didn't recognize the name. I've been out of touch for a while."

"Oh? The Sun-Times doesn't deliver to Nebraska?" Bobby quipped without thinking.

Oops.

He saw the flicker in Asad's eyes and could read the agent's thoughts as clearly as if there was a cartoon bubble above his head. So . . . he knows where I've been the last three years. She's talked about me to this joker, then. Who is he, and how much does he know? Except on the issue of sports, a subject on which he clearly is all-knowing.

"Actually, I meant that I'd been working undercover the last time I lived in this city and didn't have much time to read the paper." Asad eased back against the counter and took in the kitchen, a room much higher on Cameron's totem pole that recently had been remodeled. His gaze fell to the hardwood at his feet. "The floors turned out great. You have a very nice place here."

"I'll be sure to pass your compliments along to Cameron," Bobby said.

"Oh, I assumed you lived here as well."

"Nope, just visiting."

A smoky, feminine voice interrupted them. "And apparently letting unexpected visitors into my house."

The three men turned and found Zoya standing in the doorway.

She wore jeans and a gray T-shirt that hugged tight to her chest, and she had her long hair pulled up into some sort of ponytail/bun-type thing. She looked adorable in a fresh-faced, kicking-back-on-the-weekend kind of way.

Bobby stood farther from the doorway, where he had a view of Jack.

And although it was subtle, he was pretty sure he saw the agent run his eyes over Zoya before resuming his guarded expression.

Interesting.

Zoya folded her arms across her chest. "Agent Khan . . . this is a surprise. I wasn't aware we had an appointment this morning." She peered around him and her expression turned warmer. "Hello, Agent Haider. Nice to see you again. Sorry if I kept you waiting."

"No problem--we were just catching up with your boy Bobby here,"

Haider said.

Zoya turned her attention next to Bobby. "Can I speak with you for a moment?"

"Of course, dear." Bobby followed Zoya into the living room. When they were safely out of earshot, she poked him in the chest.

"What is he doing in my house?" she whispered.

"There was a badge. And some mildly intimidating gazes. I felt it was best to cooperate."

She poked him again. "I don't want him in my house."

"I'm sorry, I didn't realize you'd get this flustered over Asad Khan."

Zoya scoffed at this. "I'm not flustered. I just prefer to handle him on my terms. As in, at my office, at a time when I'm more prepared for a business meeting."

Bobby's gaze fell to her bare feet. He recalled her vow to be more suitably dressed the next time she encountered Asad Khan. "You're losing clothing every time you see him. At this rate, you'll be naked in front of him before you know it."

Then the strangest thing happened.

Zoya blushed.

"I'm perfectly capable of keeping my clothes on around him, thank you," she said, her cheeks tinged rosy pink.

Bobby was intrigued. He couldn't recall the last time he'd seen Zoya blush because of a guy.

The plot thickened.

"He's even better looking in person," Bobby said, seizing the opportunity to probe deeper. "No wonder you nicknamed him Agent Hottie."

Zoya threw him the evil-eye. "He's in the next room. We are so not going to have this conversation right now."

Bobby looked her over. "You seem pretty tense. Are you getting any sex these days?"

"My God, Bobby . . . time and place."

He grinned. "Fine. We'll continue this conversation later. I should get going anyway--leave you and the boys to discuss whatever it is you need to talk about."

Zoya frowned. "But you made breakfast--you should at least stay to eat. It smells fantastic."

Bobby leaned in and kissed her forehead affectionately. "There'll be more for you this way. You need a home-cooked meal a hell of a lot more than I do."

She chucked him under the chin. "You were poking around in my freezer again, weren't you?"

"It's pathetic, babe. Truly pathetic."

AS ZOYA HEADED back into the kitchen with Bobby, the first thing she noticed was that Asad looked uncomfortable. Probably not particularly thrilled to be spending his Sunday morning with her.

"I apologize if we're interrupting," he said.

"Actually, it's fine--I was just leaving," Bobby said. "Got some work to catch up on."

Haider's face lit up. "Next week's column? Can you give me a hint? I'm a huge fan," he explained to Zoya.

Because Haider was such a nice person, she resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Guys geeked out over Bobby all the time and, frankly, his healthy ego was a testament to that. "He's a very talented writer," she agreed diplomatically.

Bobby snorted. "Like you would know. When's the last time you read one of my columns?"

She pooh-poohed this with a wave. "I read your column all the time."

"Oh? What was last week's about?" he asked.

"Sports stuff."

Bobby turned to Haider and Jack. "This is why I stick to men."

Zoya watched as Asad and Haider processed the meaning of Bobby's remark. Haider blinked. "Holy shit, I didn't realize you were . . ." he trailed off uncomfortably.

"A Sox fan? I get that a lot," Bobby said teasingly. He gave Zoya a quick peck on her cheek. "Thanks for the hospitality, Cam. If you can handle a second drowning of the sorrows, I'll call you later and let you know how it went with Tarun. Hopefully when he moved his things out of the apartment, he at least took his CDs. I mean, we might be gay, but . . . Enya? Really?"

With a nod in farewell, he addressed each of the two men. "Wilkins--it was a pleasure; it's always nice to meet a fan. I hope the other agents don't make fun of you too much when your partner here tells them about the Carrie Bradshaw comment. And as for you Agent Khan--man-to-man, if you ever insult my girl on national television again, I'lll. . ." he stopped.

Everyone in the room waited, hanging. Asad raised an eyebrow. "Yes?"

Bobby turned to Zoya with a look of astonishment. "I've got nothing.

I had this whole exit speech going and I was gonna end with some big macho threat but when I got there, it was like-- bleh--nothing. That's a pisser." He appeared disgusted with himself, then shrugged it off. "Oh well. Catch you guys later."

He strode out without a second glance.

Hope you Enjoyed...

I truly love Bobby...

I thought boobyy might give a nice threatt butt ...😆😆

Its fabulous!
plzz continue soonish soon