Page 43 of Don't Date Your Nemesis

My pants felt tight and every fucking thing felt tight.

Focus. I needed to focus on literally anything else.

“Kiara and Ethan are going to be there tonight,” Deepika said, adjusting her dress. “We need some ground rules.”

“Agreed.”

“Don’t contradict me in public.”

“Don’t tell embarrassing childhood stories.”

“Don’t let your hands wander.”

I glanced at her and lied, “I wasn’t planning on it.”

“Good.”

“Fucking great.”

Silence stretched between us, and it was thick and uncomfortable.

The perfume was killing me, so I cracked the window.

“You look stunning, by the way,” I said, my tone rougher and deeper. I cleared my throat. “The thing with your hair and dress—yeah. It’s nice.”

She turned, caught off guard, and touched her hair self-consciously. A nervous laugh escaped her. “Oh. My friend Priya helped me with this. We found the dress at a thrift shop, actually. It was like fifteen dollars. Can you believe that? She said I needed to look—” She stopped, realizing she was rambling. “Thanks.”

I nodded and pursed my lips. She made the fifteen-dollar dress look like a million bucks.

Fuck.

The pool party was at the Beverly Hilton, and Olympic elites were invited with their plus-ones, influencers with perfectly curated feeds, and a few celebrities. It was a black-tie event despite the pool and enough cameras to film a small movie.

After helping her out of the car, I immediately placed my hand on her lower back. The fabric of her dress was thin enough that I could feel the warmth of her skin underneath, and she stiffened slightly at the contact.

As the cameras started flashing, we plastered smiles on our faces, pretending to be the couple in love.

My hand drifted lower, settling on the curve of her ass because it was right there, and I was apparently seventeen and had no self-control.

Deepika kept smiling, turning her head to hiss at me through clenched teeth.

“Move. Your fucking hand.”

I leaned in, keeping my expression soft for the cameras, and cooed, “But it’s so comfy and perfect.” I kissed her forehead, lingering just long enough to make it look genuine. “Can I spank it next time?”

Her eyes went wide. “You pervert⁠—”

She pinched my side, hard, and right below my ribs where it hurt like hell.

I covered it with a laugh, pulling her closer, and she pinched even harder.

Fuck, she’s going to kill me.

The photographers ate it up, snapping away, probably thinking we were being cute and flirty instead of engaged in a very specific form of mutual torture.

“You’re dead,” she mumbled while smiling.

“You’re gorgeous when you’re threatening me,” I replied.