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I'M GOING TO KILL HERRERA.
I'm going to beat his ass into next fucking week.
I'm going to run him over with Charlie's Porsche.
I'm going to slam his head into a locker.
He smirks across at me from the doorway as if he knows the exact level of violence I have reserved for him within my head. Mira, on the other hand, is properly mortified. I don't blame her.
My hands fall limp from where they'd bunched up in the thin fabric of her dress and she doesn't meet my eyes, tumbling off me. Her skin is as hot as mine as she pulls away and I literally have to grit my teeth to resist the urge to pull her back. I tilt my head back, head knocking against the cold steel behind me but I don't give a fuck, scowling up at the ceiling as my clenched fists drop to my lap.
I'm going to knock Herrera's jaw clean off.
I'm going to wipe that stupid ass smirk off his face.
I'm going to buy him a bloody fucking Tesla myself and then I'm going to run him over with it.
I look back down but Mira still doesn't look at me as she finds her feet, knees unsteady, fingers tugging wildly at the hem of her dress. Her lips are pouted, bruised red with a kiss, or like nine kisses, grey eyes dark like smoke, her skin is flushed a pretty shade of pink. She looks properly ruined. A small surge of satisfaction unwinds in my chest. I did that.
Her eyes flicker to me briefly yet her stare burns like a lance against my skin. I wonder what I look like to her. I wonder if she's thinking the same thing as she looks at me. I did that. Hair wild, skin hot, pants tugged down low over my hips, hands in my lap because I'm fucking aching and she fucking knows it. She did that. She did that. She fucking did that.
Fucking hell.
Mira looks away first. I pull in the breath I'd been holding under that gaze of hers that whipped like a hurricane's wrath.
She whips her eyes over to Raf and her mortification wears off. Eyes flashing, I think she wants to kill him just as badly as I do.
He meets her stare, dark gaze glittering mischievously. "Sorry to interrupt, says Raf, not sorry at all.
Zahed all but growls at him, "Get the fuck out."
Raf does no such thing. His eyes waltz between us before settling on me. I glare. I'm going to kill you. He smirks, looking at me like Christmas came early. That'd be one thing.
"Seems like someone needs a cold shower," observes Herrera. His dark eyes dance to Zahed and her lips are pulled into a tight scowl. "If you wanna join him for that," he tells her, fingers dropping to tap at the door handle meaningfully, "I think you should maybe lock the door this time."
Mira steps forward sharply. Herrera lifts a bemused brow at her, daring her. Fool.
"Herrera," I snap, tilting my head to the doorway, "shut the fuck up."
Of course, he does no such thing. Grinning like a fiend, Raf meets my deathly look and states, "Charles is here. That's what I came to let you know. If I'd known you'd be preoccupied—,"
"Okay," I snap sharply at him. "Tell Charlie I'll be there. Just give me a second."
His eyes are bright, swinging between us. "Sure, no problem," he says with a shrug. "Don't take too long though. I'll lock the door as I go."
He walks away with a wicked wink and Mira snarls after him. Maybe I won't have to kill him. She'll do it for me.
She's still snarling when the door clicks shut with a meaningful click except now she's snarling down at me.
I sigh, chest rising with the motion. When I stand, her eyes give her away, wandering, tracing the exposed swaths of skin she'd just run her hands all over. I rake a hot hand through my hair, eyes closing. "Can I help you, Zahed?" I ask impatiently, eyes flying back open.
I need her to stop looking at me. Not with those fucking eyes. I'm losing it.
I look back at her. I could always kiss her again. What more damage could I do?
A lot more damage.
But I'd like that.
She'd smiled against my lips as her fingernails raked a path of destruction down my skin. She'd like that too.
When she pulls forward toward me, I think she might've been weighing the odds too, I think she's going to kiss me because she wants to kiss me as much as I want to kiss her again because we're both fucking losing it in this locker room. I close my eyes as the drifting scent of her fills my senses again— rosewater and girly perfume. Her dress had smelled like perfume, fruity and sweet, but her skin, the space right behind her ear, the column of her throat, roses. I inhale a shallow breath of her. But she halts. A breath away. Her breath is warm on my cheeks as she exhales slowly. I reopen my eyes.
Zahed's gaze is half-lidded. I can't help it. My thumb is under her chin, palm curling over her pulse, tilting her gaze up at me. Her eyes open and flash dangerously at me at this. I know I'm playing with fire. I can see it in the glare.
I don't drop my hand though, leaning forward, to that wicked space at her ear that smells like roses. A steady inhale then I ask, "Can I help you, Emira?"
I fully expect the hands that comes crashing at my chest. Zahed pushes me away harshly and flies a good distance away from me, glaring as she goes. She knows she's playing with fire too. The difference is she doesn't like to be burnt.
My lips quirk. After that shocker of a kiss, I'm amused by her doing something so predictable.
At my smile, her glare grows hotter. "Fuck off, Aryan. I'm not joining you for shit."
I chuckle, striding forward calmly. Her back is on the locker and she has no where to go but she makes no move to go either, eyes rising to mine daringly. I grin at her, pressing a forearm onto the locker beside her head. "Funny," I remark shortly, "I don't recall inviting you to."
Then, I pull away completely, eyes dancing upon her. She's still glaring when I lift a finger and point at the door. "Fuck off, Mira," I say, throwing her words back at her with yet another grin, even playfully waving my fingers, shooing her away.
If looks could fucking kill.
But she peels off the locker, those kiss-stained lips of hers twisted into a scowl just for me, and then she flips me off before drifting to the door.
I inhale slowly as she goes, reigning in the urge to just pull her back.
My heart is still hammering in my chest when the door slams behind her and I don't think it's stopped since she'd appeared with her hands on her hips outside there. I bend to retrieve the fallen sports bag, dropping it onto the bench where I would've let Zahed do whatever the fuck she wanted to me.
Then, I do just as Herrera suggested, I take a really fucking cold shower. Because hell knows I need it, chasing Mira's perfume from my skin and head.
When I finally leave the locker room, bag slung over my shoulder, my hair is wet and the lights on the football field beside the small building have been turned off so I navigate my way to the car park in mostly darkness.
The night is warm, or maybe it's just the warmth that not even a cold shower could chase. But there's more warmth, curling around me like tendrils of hot, merciless flame when I approach the darkened lot only to find two vehicles parked there and three distinct figures standing near Zahed's Range Rover.
I didn't expect her to still be here but as I draw nearer, she sketches into vision, lines of stark irritation as she holds Herrera at bay with a glare behind Charlie's back, arms crossed over her chest. I realise why she'd stuck around. If looks could kill, Rafael Herrera would be a dead man.
Charlie looks none the wiser to the death stare Mira has reserved for Rafael.
But it doesn't take too much of a genius to put together what two stupid college kids with nothing but pent-up fury for each other would be up to on a lonely campus. Charlie, to his credit, doesn't open his mouth and say something stupid like Raf. He only lifts a brow at my wet hair.
Mira looks over to me too as I pull to a stop in front of them. She blinks at me like she hadn't expected me to actually take a cold shower. Then, she looks away and I don't miss the quiet, self-satisfied tilt of her lips. Brat.
Raf, on the other hand, is bored by now and he yawns loudly, rolls his eyes at all of us and walks away towards the idling Porsche. Mira glares after him.
Charlie swings his keys between his fingers and turns so he's facing both of us. "I see you got my message," he tells me.
"Delivered," I reply, smirking across at Zahed.
She bristles under my stare. I hide a smile.
Charlie nods, tucking his keys into his pocket and throwing a stealthy glance over his shoulder at the parked Porsche. But Rafael doesn't give a fuck about us, tinkering with the radio by himself, scowling at whatever was playing through. Charlie turns back around when he decides Raf isn't paying attention.
"Anyway, Mira," says Charlie. Mira looks at him impatiently and I think she wants to kill him too. I don't even know why but— Fuck, none of us are safe. I need to move so that when she comes after Raf and Charlie, I'd have skipped continents by then. Charlie falters under her glare. Poor guy. He regains himself quickly though, carrying on, "we're throwing a surprise party for Raf's birthday at the house next weekend. You should come. Aryan will text you the details. Just give him your phone and he'll put his number in."
Charlie isn't Kenna. He doesn't look over at me and wink and ask for a thank you for his match-making. Still, he isn't slick at all and we both know it.
Mira certainly knows it, her eyes sliding from Charlie to me, brows held together tightly.
Her gaze narrows completely when I speak up for the first time, adjusting the shoulder of my bag as I meet her stare. "You going to give me your phone or what, Zahed?"
Charlie beams between us. His brows draw together however, when, in response, Mira simply holds out her empty palm. She doesn't even need to say it though. I grin, rifling through my pocket before she even says it. "How about you give me yours, Shankar."
I drop it into her palm and Charlie's smile returns.
"It's Pi to the fifth decimal," I tell her my passcode and watch her roll her eyes as she types it in.
"Damn, Einstein," Mira replies sarcastically.
But she's still typing as she talks and I grin across at her. "You didn't get it, did you?"
"Fuck off," she snaps.
The phone clicks open in her hands and I can't help it, remarking, "Took you long enough."
I really should watch my mouth when she's holding my phone in her hands. Thankfully, Zahed does not, in fact, drop it onto the asphalt and stomp on it with her Vans. I'm surprised by this immense show of control.
She types her number in and hands the phone back to me.
Charlie's smiling like a fool because he thinks his plan has worked but I know better.
Sliding my phone back into my pocket, I ask plainly, "Are you even going to open any messages I send to you, Zahed?"
A shrug and a little self-satisfied, evil smile. "Probably not."
I roll my eyes at her. Her little smile sharpens into a vengeful smirk at that.
Oh, I see how it is.
Raking a hand through my soaked hair, I grin down at her, grin widening as I note her eyes following the movement. I let my hand fall, eyes finding hers. "Anyway," I muse at her, "thanks for delivering Charlie's message, Emira. It was a— riveting talk we had."
She scowls. But she's not done with me yet, crossing her arms over her chest and raising a brow. "Really?" Mira asks. "I distinctly remember telling you to shut the fuck up. Twice."
"There's that Hollywood charm I've heard so much about, Zahed."
Jerking her chin at me sharply, she snaps, "You wanna see some real Hollywood charm, Shankar—?"
Charlie coughs. "Listen, I know TMZ isn't here right now but if you start another parking lot fight, Mira, I think they'll show up." He flicks his eyes to me. "Also, I think you could beat his ass so I'm asking you to lay off for his own safety."
At Charlie's final comment, Mira's grin is bright, flashing, deadly. A threat, if I'd ever seen one.
"Only because you asked me so nicely," she says with a nod for Charlie.
Charlie pats his chest in a steady show of thanks. "But anyway," he said to her, eyes bright. "You should come. It'll be great."
Her eyes flick to me almost warily. I cock my head at her, meeting her gaze. I grin. "Yeah, Zahed." you should come."
At that, Mira ignores me completely as she takes a slow step back, tilting her head so a waterfall of dark hair came over her left shoulder as she bid Charlie and Charlie alone goodnight. But her gaze flicks to me a second before she walks away to her car.
When the Range door closes behind her, Charlie shoves his ringed hands into his pockets, blows out a breath and remarks, "I ship it."
I shove him lightly in the shoulder and turn away. "Shut up."
But I toss a quick glance over my shoulder as I amble toward the Porsche, watching her roll out of the lot.
And when Charlie's pulling down the highway, Raf turning up the radio on some Spanish rap, I drown out their conversation from the backseat, clicking open my phone and spying the contact name she'd put for herself. Zahed. Knife emoji. I grin quietly to myself.
And even later, when it's late enough that most undaunted souls are drifting off to sleep, I twist over amidst my bedsheets, head turning on my pillow. I throw an arm behind my head, fingers lifting up my phone in the dark. Sleep doesn't touch me— not like she touched me— as I open up her contact and type a quick message.
So, you do your own stunts or what, Zahed?
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Merry Christmas guys this is a present from me to you xoxo