Page 46 of Drunk On Love

“What are you doing?”

“None of your business,” I muttered under my breath, determined to ignore him. I stretched a little higher, my fingers brushing against the pack. Almost there…

And then—Wow!

I felt myself wobble, my balance slipping.

This is it. I’m done. I’m going to die surrounded by noodles in Manav Oberoi’s presence.

Boxes, cans—everything was falling around me in pure chaos. My hands flailed uselessly, grasping for anything to steady myself, but gravity had other plans. I was certain I was about to crash right onto the stove.

“Ouchhhhhhhhhh!” I yelped as the stool gave way beneath me. I braced for the worst, expecting to hit the ground hard, but instead—I was suspended mid-air, caught in strong, steady arms. Before I could process what had happened, Manav’s body was shielding me, solid and unyielding, like a fortress against the mess I’d created. And then, somehow, I was pinned, gently holding me firmly against a wall.

My first thought? Why is his chest so annoyingly comfortable?

My second?Please let me pass out now before I have to face this.

I couldn’t bring myself to open my eyes. I couldn’t breathe! The clattering of falling items finally stopped, leaving the kitchen eerily quiet except for the sound of our breathing—mine was shallow and panicked, his ragged and deep. Slowly, I dared to peek through my lashes.

Manav’s arms were still wrapped around me, his grip was protective but controlled. His chest rose and fell rapidly, and his usually composed face was drawn tight, his eyes closed like he was processing… something. Maybe relief. Maybe irritation. Maybe both.

Then, as if sensing my gaze, he opened his eyes slowly, and they locked onto mine with a force that made my heart stutter. His usual frown was there, etched deeply into his features. “You okay?”

I nodded slightly, unable to form actual words because my brain had decided to go on vacation. And then, we just… stayed there. Frozen.

Seriously, where do I even begin to understand this chaotic nervous system of mine?

Is it because he smells so ridiculously good? Or maybe it’s those eyes—so deep, so intense, like they hold entire galaxies, and here I am, free-falling into them without a parachute.

Then there are his biceps.Dear Lord, those biceps.The way they flex subtly under my hands makes my ability to breathe feel like an optional skill.

And that frown. How can a frown—a literal expression of displeasure—be so… endearing?

Oh, and his hair. Can we talk about his hair? No, let’snot.Just looking at those strands falling casually over his forehead is enough to make me want to reach up, run my fingers through them, and maybe never stop.

And my ovaries? Forget it. They’ve given up on any semblance of restraint and are outright begging me to touch those full, perfect lips.

This is fine. Everything is fine. Nothing is fine.

“Kiara?” He said softly, his voice breaking through my inner monologue of doom.

Oh right. Reality. Great.

I finally spoke, “Yeah,” even though every nerve in my body was on high alert. My eyes betrayed me, flicking between his lips and his eyes, unable to settle.

He didn’t move. His gaze was still locked on mine, unblinking, as if searching for something.

Did something hit his head? Oh my God, so many things fell on him. What if he’s lost his memory?

Wait—what is he looking for inmy eyes?

Is he having a heart attack?

Do I need to call a doctor?!

“Manav…” I whispered.

He blinked, snapping out of whatever trance he’d been in. He bent down silently and began picking up the mess on the floor, moving with his usual annoying composure, as if the last 60 seconds of intense eye contact hadn’t just happened.