Page 71 of Don't Date Your Nemesis

“Come on out.”

She narrowed her eyes at me. “What have you planned?”

I pouted. “Don’t you trust me?”

“No.”

I gasped, clutching my chest. “Did you lie on that podcast? About trusting me with your life?”

“Yes. I might have.”

“You’re such a party pooper! Come on! Or I will pick you up and⁠—”

“Fine! Fine!” she got out, glaring at me. “But if this is weird, I’m leaving.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

The gym was massive, with three floors, state-of-the-art equipment, and floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city. Olympic athletes trained here, like professional swimmers and people who took their bodies seriously.

But I led her past the weight room, past the cardio section, through a hallway that opened into the aquatics center.

She gasped.

The pool was Olympic-sized with lanes marked in perfect lines. The water was so clear that you could see the bottom. Diving platforms at one end and the ceiling arched high above, letting in natural light that made everything glow.

“This is incredible,” she breathed, looking around with wide eyes.

I showed her around the locker rooms, the hot tub, the sauna, and the viewing area where coaches watched their swimmers.

“But why are we here?”

I smirked.

She started backing away. “No.”

I stepped closer. “Yes.”

“Nuh-uh.”

“Yuh-uh.”

“Liam James.”

“Deepika Sharma.”

She turned to run.

I grabbed her waist, lifting her off the ground as she yelped.

“Put me down!”

“Not a chance.”

“I’M NOT GETTING IN THAT POOL!”

“You absolutely are.”

“I can’t swim!”