Page 16 of Don't Date Your Nemesis

We had been circling this for seventeen years, never addressing it, and never acknowledging the elephant in every room we occupied together.

“That,” I said slowly. “Was not an accident. That was me being a dick.”

She blinked at me, surprised by the admission.

“I’m sorry,” I continued, the words feeling rusty and awkward. “I’m sorry about the Valentine’s Day thing. I was fourteen and stupid, and you hit a nerve about Kiara, and I lashed out. It was cruel, and you didn’t deserve it.”

The tequila was making me honest, and that was a dangerous line to cross. Especially with her around.

Deepika stared at me for a long moment before she said, “I’m sorry I pushed you in the pool and tried to drown you.”

“It’s okay. I deserved it.”

“You really did.”

I looked at her, and the impossible happened. The corner of my lips turned up as we laughed. It was the first genuine, real laugh in a long time that came from somewhere deep and unexpected, fueled by tequila and seventeen years of unresolved tension.

“Another round,” Deepika told the bartender.

“I really think you two have had enough⁠—”

“You heard the lady,” I said. “Another round.”

Five shots later, we were both thoroughly hammered.

The world had that pleasant fuzzy quality where everything was funny and nothing hurt as much. Everything felt blurred on the edges and I enjoyed the feeling.

Deepika’s hair looked luscious and thick, falling in waves around her shoulders. She had kicked off her heels at some point, and there was still a tiny smudge of frosting behind her ear that I wanted to point out but couldn’t quite form the words.

“I bet I can drink more than you,” she announced, swaying slightly.

“You’re on, Sharma.”

“Wait, what are we betting?”

I thought about it, the alcohol making everything slow and syrupy. “Loser has to admit the other one isn’t completely terrible.”

“Deal.”

We shook on it. And I noticed that her hand was smaller than mine. Her palm was warm, and she held on a fraction too long.

A couple more shots later, we both lost track of who was winning.

“Your twin sister is annoying,” I said, too loudly.

“I know, right?” She said, throwing her hands up. “She giggles at everything that dumbass spouts. Everything. Yash could recite the phone book and she w-would act like it was Shakespeare.”

“Yash can’t act for shit.”

“Thank you!” She grabbed my arm for emphasis, and I liked how it felt. “I’ve been saying this for years. He’s terrible. But everyone loves him because he’s ‘charming’ and ‘handsome’ and…” She made air quotes that nearly knocked over her glass. “‘Has great chemistry with his co-stars.’ What a bunch of bullshit!”

“You have better chemistry with inanimate objects than he has with other actors,” I pointed out.

She nodded proudly and stopped to blink at me. She tilted her head, so I also followed her action.

“Was that a compliment?”

I shook my head. “Don’t let it go to your head, Sharma.”