"I think you should stop being so mean to me, Zahed."
"Why would I ever do that?"
Aryan grins, a bright, wicked thing.
"Because I kiss you like this."
•
Mira Zahed and Aryan Shankar are at war.
When her best friend and his cousin decide to fall in...
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THE EARLY FRIDAY AFTERNOON IS WARM, sunlight contrarily splaying through the windscreen, dancing across the skin of his knuckles curled over the wheel. Late October has no effect on L.A. weather and I think that's my favourite thing about this place— how purely stubborn and utterly indifferent California sunshine is to the passing seasons.
It's the twenty-eighth of October and the sun makes no amends as it showers Aryan Shankar in gold.
We roll down sunny, unfamiliar Pasadena streets with him driving, his movements fluid as he steers the way.
Of course, he knows I'm watching him, his fingers drumming a happy little tune along the wheel, lips fighting an arrogant smile. But with him, arrogance always wins.
"You know, Zahed." He says my name armed with a grin. "The whole point of wearing sunglasses while checking someone out is defeated by your complete lack of subtlety."
My mouth curls into a scowl at being caught and I tip the new cat-eye black frames, a gift from Naz, onto the top of my head.
I'm quick to reply, dubious, "I wasn't looking at you."
His grin only grows at my brittle attempt at a lie. It's so unbelievable on my part that he doesn't even bother arguing, only shaking his head and turning the wheel.
Slowing to a neatly-manoeuvred park on the side of the street and, clutching the gear handle, he turns to me grinning and states, "Whatever you say."
Asshole.
I pull my shades back down and flip him off.
He beams like I just handed him the keys to a Ferrari.
Scowling, I tear my gaze away from him, in all his white shirt, short sleeves, stretching corded forearms fever-burning glory, to further roll my eyes over my shoulder.
I catch sight of a lady in Violet Verbena Lululemons walking her dog, an excited German Shepherd held on a matching purple leash. "A puppy," I exclaim, whipping around in my seat.
To my delight, the Shepherd barks in the direction of the car. I grin. He's cute and big enough to undoubtedly have Aryan break into a cold sweat.
It's like two presents in one very fluffy German Shepherd.
True to form, alarm lights his voice behind me as he follows my attention, repeating incredulously, "A puppy?" He leans across the glove box to narrow his eyes over my shoulder, shaking his head. "That thing can eat your demon dog for breakfast and still have room for Raf as seconds, Zahed."
