Completely sober Karma action. I held good on my end of the bargain! Enjoy!

"We're leaving in five minutes, whether you're ready or not!"

"I'm coming, Dad!" I secure my last earring, smooth down my dress, and check to make sure I'm presentable. There is something about formal affairs that turns me into a complete mess, and this is no exception. Tom has been invited to a charity banquet for the hospital he interns at, with the invitation extended to his immediate family. I usually find these things incredibly boring, but lucky for me, Kartik's brother Amar is a surgeon at the same hospital, which means Kartik will be there too.

A last look into the mirror reveals no blatant errors in my appearance. I look decent enough, in a simple black dress with a flared skirt (can't go wrong with a LBD), silver kitten-heeled shoes (less heel to trip over), and the pearls given to me at graduation. If anything, I look classic, which goes to show that a little eyeliner can make any girl look like Brigitte Bardot, even though I'm compared to her on a regular basis anyway. Can't imagine why; I'm no blonde bombshell, though Kartik once suggested I try out the look something. Perish the thought!

"You look lovely, precious," my father greets me as I carefully walk the last few steps from upstairs.

"Thanks, Dad," I say sheepishly. My mother sweeps into the living room, fussing over a nervous Tom.

"Mom, please, I think I can handle my bowtie."

"You have it tied all wrong," she says calmly. "Let me fix it for you!" After a stern look from our father, Tom relents.

"Thank you," he grumbles. "Can we go now?"

Once in the car, I fiddle with my handbag, bored already. "Are we going to be sitting with Kartik's family?" I ask, just to be certain.

My father eyes me in the rearview mirror. "Yes, but don't take that as an excuse to go goofing off with Kartik. I expect you to be on your best behavior."

"Yes Father," I say formally.

Tom leans over. "Yes Gemma, don't make use of the utility closets. There are surveillance cameras everywhere," he whispers. Unlike our parents, Tom knows that Kartik and I have done the deed, and unfortunately he knows by accidentally catching us (almost) in the act.

"Tom!" I hiss, elbowing him in the ribs. "Shut up!"

"No fighting," my mother sings out. "Honestly, you two are both adults."

We drive the rest of the way in near silence, broken only by Tom's impatient sighs and our dad's off-key singing. I'm antsy in the backseat, anxious to get to the banquet, down a glass of champagne, and find a surveillance-free area to snog the hell out of Kartik. No need to sit through speeches and other formalities, and no need to watch Tom kiss up to his superiors.

We arrive soon enough and I scope out the hordes of fashionably dressed patrons and hospital personnel for any hint of the dark-haired sex god whose presence promises to make any boring occasion worthy of committing to memory. I spy him by the coat check area, glowering as his mother fusses over his remarkably tamed hair. I happen to know that Mrs. Mehra wanted a daughter after Amar and was mildly disappointed to find that Kartik was yet another son.

I also know that Mrs. Mehra encouraged Kartik to play dress-up in her clothes when he was a child, and I have seen the pictures to prove it.

His face lights up when he catches my eye. As my parents are busy chumming it up with old friends, I steal away without them noticing.

"You look beautiful," Kartik says, brushing off his mother and brandishing a kiss on my cheek.

I shrug, blushing. "Thank you." I wrap my arm around his neck. "You look quite ravishing," I whisper into his ear. He pinches my side playfully, though I know it is only a substitute from grabbing my bum. He'd never dare do that in front of his mother.

"Hello Gemma," his mother says warmly, embracing me as if I was her daughter.

"Hi Mrs. Mehra," I say shyly. Kartik's mother is a very kind woman, but she is also a bit intimidating. This feeling is intensified due to the fact that she is my boyfriend's mother. Kartik's father, however, is exactly like a big teddy bear.

"I'm going to go find your father and Amar," she says to Kartik. "I'll see you both in a bit.

Kartik exhales loudly when she leaves. "Good God," he says. "All afternoon. All afternoon, just nitpicking over every aspect of my appearance. A hair out of place. A wrinkle in my shirt. Honestly, you pay less attention to your horse at a show."

"Cut her some slack," I say, laughing. "She wanted a girl and she got you. I mean, you are quite pretty, but not daughter material."

"Mmm." He rolls his eyes. "Lucky for you, I'm a male."

"Indeed."

He throws me a naughty look, eyes twinkling in the dim light. A light, bubbly feeling forms in my chest and I haven't even had champagne yet. Which reminds me…

By luck or chance or something, a waiter threads throughout the arriving guest with a tray of champagne flutes. Kartik takes two from him and hands one to me.

"Cheers," he says, holding the flute up to mine. I am about to take a much needed sip, but the glass is whisked out of my hand before I can touch it to my lips.

"She's underage," my father says to the waiter. He takes Kartik's drink as well. "They both are."

My cheeks burn hotly with embarrassment. "Dad!" I hiss through my teeth. "Why did you do that?" Kartik's eyes are wide and his hand still assumes the position of holding his glass.

My father has no shame. "Water's better! Juice even! I'll get you kids some Shirley Temples." He walks in the general direction of the bar with determination.

"Gemma."

"Yes, Kartik?" I'm mortified.

"Your father is a nice chap and all, but I think he's a bit mad."

"I agree. I think it's safe to assume I was adopted."

"Just know that I will not be touching a Shirley Temple. Ever. At least not in public."

"I'll drink yours," I offer, taking his hand. "Let's go sit down and get this over with.

The next few hours pass in relative boredom. Kartik and I have been allowed to sit next to each other, but as our parents are on either side of us, whispering and under-the-table groping are strictly off-limits. We actually have to pay attention as various people of importance speak about the wonders of modern technology in the hospital and how it's made possible by "patrons like you".

Thankfully most of dinner allows for talking, though our conversations are very much censored for the sake of our potential audience. But during coffee and dessert, we are shushed into silence because the board of trustees find themselves too good to eat key lime pie like the rest of us. I content myself with sculpting the too-thick whipped cream into the head of a monkey, which Kartik promptly swipes off my plate with his fork and eats.

I kick him playfully under the table, which leads to a vicious and painful game of footsie (not romantic when wearing heels and dress shoes), which earns us deathly glares from our parents. We fall silent with guilty smiles.

A few minutes later, Kartik leans over. "Do you have a pen?" he whispers. Wordlessly, I hand him the pen from my purse. "Thank you," he mouths. He scribbles something onto a napkin, folds it, and pushes it over to me.

What color knickers are you wearing?

I choke back laughter, crumpling the note into my fist. My father shoots me a warning look. I look at Kartik; he is sipping from his water glass innocently, acting as if he never asked me a dirty question in the middle of a formal event while flanked by parents. I gesture for my pen back, determined to have the upper hand.

I'm not wearing any.

This time it is his turn to choke, literally. His eyes water as he coughs from his drink going down the wrong way. Still coughing, he quickly exits the room to recover in peace and perhaps ponder what I wrote in the note. It is a lie, but surely one that will benefit his evening with fantasies that will, in turn, benefit me.

Minutes pass and Kartik still does not return. Mrs. Mehra leans over to me. "Would you mind seeing if he's alright, Gemma? I don't want him to miss Amar's speech."

"Sure," I say, standing up to leave. I find him not too far from the banquet area, in the private sitting area near the restrooms. He lounges serenely in a wicker chair, happily eating after-dinner mints from the crystal bowl on the side table.

"Took you long enough," he muses.

"Your mother was worried about you. She doesn't want you to miss Amar's speech."

Kartik scoffs and reaches for another handful of pastel mints. "As if I don't hear Amar talk enough as it is." He looks at me, balancing awkwardly in front of him, and opens his arms. "Come."

I accept his invitation and curl into his lap, glancing around warily to make certain we're alone. He shifts his weight underneath me and rests his hand on my upper thigh, softly stroking the material of my dress with his thumb. I spread my fingers through his hair, pulling it back from his face, and place my lips against his.

His other hand reaches to the back of my neck and he coaxes my lips apart with his tongue, slipping it inside to explore my mouth and inviting me to explore his. His mouth tastes sweet and minty and delicious; I find myself salivating a bit too much for comfort. I pull away, my hand flying to my mouth.

Kartik laughs and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. "Do I taste that good?"

"It's those bloody mints," I grumble, reaching for a tissue from the lacquered box on the table.

He pulls me against him and wraps his arms around me. "Gemma," he murmurs, nuzzling my neck. "I love everything about you…" He kisses my neck in such a fashion that I find my body temperature rising. "…even your drooling."

I'm touched, really, despite the jibe. I lift a hand to stroke his cheek. "At least I'm only drooling over you."

"Mmm." He turns my face to his so that we can have another go at kissing. This time it is considerably less messy, and it quickly escalates to snogging proportions that should not be executed in public places.

Kartik slips his hand under my skirt and suddenly pulls his face away from me. "You lied, Gemma!"

"W-what?" I asked, bewildered. He doesn't look angry, per se, but I have no idea what he is accusing me of. The answer comes soon enough.

He snaps the waistband of my underwear. "You said you weren't wearing any!"

"Oh," I say, feeling stupid. "So I did."

"So what color are they?"

I slid off of him and lean forward to whisper in his ear as sexily as I can. "Black."

A visual shudder passes through him. Satisfied, I turn to return to the banquet.

"Hey Gemma?" I stop and look back. He remains in the chair with an eager, anxious look on his face. "What are you doing after this?"

I give him a wink. "Hopefully you."

Yay for saucy Gemma! See? Kartik can still be hot and lovable even when completely sober. Silly Mr. Doyle, taking their champagne away. Tsk.

Please review!

Has 4 philosophy classes tomorrow,
LunaEquus

What else would you guys like to see happen in Spence U? Let me know and maybe I'll use your idea!