"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...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
♥ ♥ ♥
MY PHONE IS A HEAVY WEIGHT IN my pocket, the unsent messages to Ivan almost burning a hole through my jean shorts.
I'd typed and retyped paragraphs time and time again, my patience wearing thin with each and every word. It makes sense that I don't study Literature or something because by the third line of my first paragraph, I wanted to throw my phone out my bedroom window.
Refraining from doing that, I decided the last place I wanted to be was my room, his spot on my bed staring at me like an accusation. So, I'd thrown my books and my ass into my car and decided to drive somewhere to get my thoughts off last night.
I was about to pull into a cute vegan coffee shop I'd discovered last week when I remembered I had a test.
At that point, I was fully convinced that the universe is out to get me.
So, I shot a hateful glance at my books and decided the library at school would work just as well as an iced matcha latte.
I don't know at what point in the journey from my car to the library I decided that a drinking game worked better than either of these things.
But, hey, nothing gets your mind off fucking your best friend's brother more than liquor, right?
So, here I am, my arm linked through peppy, cheerful sorority girl Kenna Westbrooke. I have half the mind to unlink my arm from hers, but the other option was walking beside Aryan. And I'd rather eat shit.
Still, the trace of his gaze is difficult the ignore. It's so distinct that I want to turn around and ask him what his problem is. But that would imply I care about Aryan Shankar and his stupid problems. And I don't.
I have my own problems.
Ah, there it is again. The urge to throw my phone.
I don't partake too much in the party scene of UCLA, so I have no idea who to expect as Kenna steers me toward the campus's parking lot.
What greets me are two SUV's, trunks popped open to strike against the daylight blue sky. They're facing each other, parked opposite within the still parking lot, the little sliver of space left between their open trunks is shaded wholly by a leering, leafy tree that drops small yellow leaves into the lot like rainfall.
A small girl wearing ripped jeans stumbles out of the back of one of the cars. The front strands of her hair are dyed neon green. Her eyes pass over us as if she's expecting company, though they stall on me momentarily.
I pretend I don't notice her staring as Kenna drags me forward.
Kenna is very much like her Instagram paints her to be. Except for the reassurance that she and Shankar were not a thing whatsoever.
That was comforting, to say the least. I don't think I could stomach someone who would fuck Aryan Shankar, far less let them rope their arm through mine.
