Page 68 of Drunk On Love

After a two full minutes of this ridiculous game of cat and mouse, I finally caught her, wrapping my arms around her waist and pulling her to me. Her laughter didn’t stop—it only got louder, her sparkling eyes locking onto mine with pure mischief.

“Do you have any idea… what have you done?”

She struggled to catch her breath. “This salt-and-pepper looks cute on you.”

“You’ve ruined my shirt, Cheeseball…” I muttered, pulling her a little closer until there was barely an inch of space between us. “And I don’t have any spare clothes.” Itried not to focus on the intoxicating vanilla scent that seemed to wrap itself around me.

“Please go ahead and do your favorite thing—roam around shirtless. I’m sure some butterflies will appreciate the view.” Her fingers rested lightly on my chest. That traitorous organ in my chest, the one that always lost its cool around her, thudded in protest.

My laughter died completely as I realized how close we were. Her soft breaths mingled with mine, and I became excruciatingly aware of every inch of space between us—because there wasn’t much left.

My eyes closed briefly when I heard her voice—a whisper, “Manav.”

I couldn’t respond. Hell, I didn’t knowhowto respond. This girl—this extremely beautiful girl—had waltzed into my life, unearthing things I thought I’d buried for good. Feelings I’d sworn off, emotions I didn’t have the bandwidth to deal with.

But when she whispered my name again, softer this time, my eyes flickered to her lips. “Hmm…”

“The pancakes—” Her gaze motioned toward the now-charred mess in the pan. “—are burning”

“Hmm…?” It took me a second to process what she had just said.

I snapped out of it, breath catching in my throat, and let go of her instantly.

Too fast. Too abrupt.

One second, I was standing too close—her laugh curling into my lungs like something I didn’t want to let go of, and the next, I was rushing to the stove like it was on fire.

She followed, brushing past me, trying to hide her flushed face behind a smirk. “Almost burnt the garlic,” she said, nudging myarm.

“Almost,” I muttered back.

And just like that, we were both leaning against the counter, breathless and laughing—trying to pretend like that moment hadn’t just happened. Like my hand hadn’t lingered on her waist for a second too long. Like her fingers hadn’t curled into my shirt.

Boom.

Footsteps.

Voices.

And then—the door flew open.

“I thought I’d never see you laughing like this again,” Kartik announced dramatically, bursting into the kitchen like he owned the damn floor.

Of course, it was Kartik. Nosy, noisy, and perpetually three seconds away from being drop-kicked out of the room.

Kiara straightened instantly, tugging at her sleeves like a teenager caught sneaking in late. I stepped away from the counter, every muscle bracing for impact.

I turned at the sound of more footsteps echoing through the hallway.

“We are going to talk,” Meeta said, arms already around me in a quick hug, her eyes narrowing in mock disapproval as she pulled back.

And then, because the universe wasn’t done with me—

“IhopeMs. Randhawa hasn’t officially eaten up your popular abs,” Myra announced as she swept into the kitchen like a hurricane disguised in designer prints. She struggled with the strap of her bag, which appeared to be fighting back with equal commitment.

Before I could register what was happening—

Thud thud thud thud—