Page 7 of Drunk On Love

“Why. Do. I. Need. A. Girl?” I muttered, half-considering if technology had advanced enough for me to punch him through the phone.

“Seriously? I thought you’d know,” Kartik laughed.

“I don’t know what kind of magic your very talented wife has cast on you, but if you don’t stop, I might have to hit your nose again. And trust me, she won’t find you as charming without it,” I said, massaging my temple to keep the growing frustration at bay.

“You know what? Let’s get you hooked, buddy! It’s been a while, hasn’t it? Remember back in college? The girls couldn’t stop talking about you… The magician in the bedroom!” He was clearly drunk.

“There were no girls, no stories, and no titles,” I replied firmly, the throbbing in my head intensifying. “Just focus on your honeymoon and leave my personal life out of it… Please.”

“Not gonna happen,” he and Meeta giggled like co-conspirators in the background.

“Good night, Kartik,” I said, cutting off the call before his drunken rambling could spiral further.

Kartik and I practically grew up together. We graduated together, and when I returned to India to help Dad manage the business, he stepped into the COO role.

Over the last three years, he’s proven himself—sharp, loyal, and instrumental in turning the company around. His support and friendship have always been constant, no matter how chaotic life got.

And then there’s Meeta. Kartik met her during our London days, and from the moment they locked eyes, they’ve been in a real-life version ofTom and Jerry. Watching them bicker like two kids over a popsicle one minute and swooning the next, has become an exhausting yet oddly entertaining part of my life.

3 ♥?Kiara

Damn this country… I'm hungryagain.

What's up with my taste buds these days?

They only want spicy, mouth-watering, and authentic Indian food like the biryani I ate yesterday. The grumpy, beautiful chef was kind enough to let me share his food after I called his abs gross.

The moment I took my first bite, I couldn’t help it—I practically moaned. And, of course, he heard me.Great.Why else would he have that smug little smile on his face?

I am on a mission to shatter every record of awkwardness known to mankind. In a completely foreign country, no less, and with a total stranger.

After a solid twenty-minute conversation with the shirtless, utterly distracting Manav Oberoi, I’ve deduced three crucial things about him:

He does not work here or anywhere in Beaufort—which, technically, makes himjobless.

He lives in the guest cottage of my brother’s house—which, let’s face it, makes himhomeless.

He cooks the most delicious, taste-bud-satisfying food—which means, despite points one and two,he’s useful.Very,veryuseful.

“Please leave my breakfast here. I’ll call if I need anything,” I said to the small army of waitresses and staff standing around the table.

“Sure, Ma’am. We can customize the pancakes if you like. Buckwheat pancakes are the specials today. Miso tahini avocado toast is fresh out of the oven. Here are your easy skillet potatoes. And Tiffani Thiessen’s Green Glow Avocado Açaí Smoothie is ready,” Elena, one of the staff, said with a bright, professional smile.

Buckwheat pancakes… Miso tahini, what now?

Oh, God!!!

“Thanks. I’ll call if I need anything,” I muttered, eyeing the menu like it was written in alien code.

One more miso-tahini toast and I’ll burn this place down.

I headed toward the kitchen, hoping to grab some orange juice and maybe whip up a simple sandwich. Bread, butter… easy enough, right?

But just as I reached for the fridge, a deep, slightly groggy voice sounded from behind me, “Hey… good morning.”

Oh, God…Not again. Not this early in the morning. And not with that stubble. I'd rather vanish into the floor tiles than deal with my body’s reaction to his morning face.

He is ausefulguy, remember? “Hi… uhh… good morning?”