"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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MONDAY MORNING ROLLS AROUND AND I find my eyes sweeping the parking lot for a dark head and insufferable grin.
I don't even realise I'm doing it and then I'm stopping myself. Our little chat in my driveway left me more confused than anything.
He hadn't looked like himself too much, the moonlight clinging to him when he was the grinning sun. His mussed-up hair and wilted shirt, pouted lips and wild eyes didn't leave a single thing to my imagination as to what he had come from. Yet, he'd looked like something had shaken him straight from his skin.
It was the only reason I didn't throw my soft serve at the sight of his tousled self.
But the slight curl of jealousy, streaking like lightning right down the centre of me, was hard to ignore.
No, I was not jealous of whoever the girl was who had made that one strand of his hair stick up. The poor, unfortunate soul who had to put up with his arrogant ass even if for a few moments. I was jealous of the fact that he could go out onto the fucking town and throw his frustration out on anyone while I was here, soft serve in hand and still mad.
I mean, sure, stupid frat boys were always an option. But I had too much anger to waste on stupid frat boys.
I had too much anger to waste on Ivan too.
Or that's what I was telling myself every time my eyes drifted to my phone over the week.
I'd studiously ignored every message over the week, my lie for Dima lurking at the corner of my mind every waking second. I try to tell myself it won't mean anything but I know I'm lying. And though Aryan Shankar had accused me of being such an actor, I didn't have my father's talent to such a degree. It would mean something if I call Ivan up just for a quick fuck. Because I'm angry. Because I care. Because he knows it.
And he's an asshole and he'll use it against me.
Ivan's texts rang through for the entire week though. They're borderline taunting.
I wonder whose words burn more— Aryan Shankar's or his. But I know the answer.
His hand in mine had been hot. I'd never wanted to pull away from something more. Yet, he'd pulled me forward.
