Page 69 of Don't Date Your Nemesis

How hard could it be? Especially for an Olympic gold medalist such as me?

I smirked and got to work.

It was hard.

Extremely hard for an Olympic gold medalist who barely knew how to cook cup noodles.

Two hours later, I stood in front of a smoking pan, the chole burned beyond recognition, the bhature somehow both raw and charred.

The smoke alarm was screaming, and that’s when she decided to come downstairs after her video meeting.

Deepika appeared in the doorway, hair wet from a shower, wearing one of my t-shirts that hit her mid-thigh.

She took in the scene as I stared at her like a deer caught in the headlights.

I swallowed and looked around at the destroyed food and smoke wafting in the air. I probably looked good. With flour in my hair and clothes, splashes of spices and curry on the apron and—what the fuck, how did I get it on my jeans and socks?!

“What the hell happened here?”

“I tried to make you dinner,” I said and repeated it for good measure. “Like… really tried to make you dinner.”

Her face softened as if I had done something sweet instead of nearly burning down the house.

“That’s... really thoughtful.”

“It’s inedible.”

“Most probably,” she said, moving closer and examining the carnage. “If we eat this, we’ll definitely get food poisoning.”

“Agreed,” I said with a sad sigh.

We looked at each other and burst out laughing. Our laughter echoed in the ruined kitchen until our cheeks hurt.

“Come on.” She grabbed her phone. “I know a place that delivers amazing chole bhature with delicious mango lassi.”

We ate on the floor of the living room with containers spread out between us like a picnic. We had cleaned the kitchen together until the takeout was delivered.

“This is really good,” I said around a mouthful.

“Better than yours?”

“Way better.”

She grinned, stealing a piece of my bhature. “Thank you for trying.”

“Thank you for defending me. You didn’t have to do that.”

“I know.” She met my eyes, knowing what I meant. “I wanted to.”

The air shifted between us, so I cleared my throat. “I canceled all our plans for tomorrow. You’re spending it with me.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Is that a threat?”

I smirked. “Consider it one.”

The next morning, after a light breakfast of fruit and coffee that I didn’t burn, I led her to the garage.

Polished to perfection, her vintage convertible sat there. I had it detailed, tuned up until every inch was gleaming.