Page 162 of Should Our Stars Collide

“That’s not what I sa?—”

“It’s time for you to take responsibility.”

Ash blinks. “For?”

Kieran eyes him with disbelief, as if it should be obvious. “This is all your fault. I was living a chill, unremarkable life as a completely straight guy content in his misery until you came along.”

Ash’s eyebrows shoot up. “I’m…sorry?”

“You should be,” Kieran grunts. “Look, I don’t know how I managed to lose it over the biggest asshole on the planet, who also happens to be a guy. I don’t know and I don’t care. The point is, you destroyed my straightness. My life is fucking mayhem thanks to you. And I’m gonna hold you accountable.” He snaps his fingers and points inside the car, as if ordering a dog. “Get. In. The fucking car.”

Ash gets in the fucking car because there’s a very real chance that if he stands there any longer, watching Kieran fume in all his grumpy glory, he’s going to bend him over the hood and spank the attitude out of him until he’s a blabbering, begging mess.

“That temper of yours will get you in trouble one day,” he informs him, brushing up against Kieran’s arm as he slides into the seat.

Kieran’s fingers tighten around the edge of the door and he gazes down at Ash with a heat that doesn’t seem to be coming from a place of anger.

Prompted by curiosity, and a smidge of masochism, Ash peers into Kieran’s thoughts and nearly swallows his tongue. He sees Kieran bent over a kitchen counter, underwear around his ankles and facetear-streaked. His ass is bright-red, marked with what Ash would swear is an imprint of his hand. A mumbled string of pleas and apologies is spilling from his bitten lips.

He’s fucking perfect. So much better than anything Ash has imagined.

How on earth are Kieran’s thoughts so clear and sharp? They feel more like a memory, the details too precise to be a product of imagination. Maybe Kieran’s imagination is just very…vivid? Or he’s thought of it so often it became realistic.

Fuck. Ash is in trouble.

He withdraws from Kieran’s mind quickly, before he does something that will earn them both a night in jail.

Kieran smirks, like he… Shit, like heknowswhat just happened. Like he knows aboutAsh.

“I’m counting on it,” he says and slams the door shut.

Yeah, Ash is in big, biiig trouble.

Is Kieran a criminal mastermind, or just absurdly lucky? Ash hasn’t been able to answer that yet. Out of every place on the Coast he could’ve kidnapped him to, it had to be his favorite Indian restaurant. There’s no way he knows that, because Ash only discovered the venue a couple months back. And the last time he came here was when Kieran still couldn’t stand him, so there’s little chance he stalked him back then too.

Which leaves luck. And honestly, luck is almost more dangerous, because it makes Kieran’s crazy look like fate.

So now he’s here, sitting across from him, trying not to stare while Kieran gobbles up the appetizer like he hasn’t eaten in a week. By the time the mains arrive, he’s working through curry and naan with the focus of a bear preparing for hibernation. When manners werebeing handed out, they must’ve skipped him, but Ash can’t stop watching.

And that’s the problem—no matter what he does, he can never take his eyes off Kieran. It’s been a problem since the day they met. Although, back then it was his dick that was largely responsible for the hyperfixation. It’s not as simple now. Now, his fucking heart is on the line.

The stupid organ won’t quit. It’s hammering in his chest like a warning alarm, except instead of making him backtrack, it just makes him want to laugh. He hides it behind a sip of water, blaming the spices for the heat in his face, but he knows better.

Because really, who falls for someone—well, falls evenharderfor them—over the way they inhale food? Apparently, he does. And if Kieran keeps grinning at him between bites like this, Ash is done for.

Kieran points his spoon at Ash’s plate, barely touched. “Not hungry?”

Oh, heishungry, just not for curry.

“I had my lunch late today.”

Kieran grumbles something like “Could’ve said something, fuck’s sake” and does agimmemotion with his fingers. Ash hands the plate over reluctantly. He always asks for extra spicy, and he doesn’t want Kieran to hate him tomorrow.

He rests his chin on his interlaced hands, watching Kieran go berserk on the seconds. Clearly, his mouth is made of durasteel.

“Wha’?” Kieran tries to say through a mouthful. There’s a big, orangey-red spot on the corner of his mouth.

“I’m just impressed. For such a beanpole, you sure can eat.”