Page 10 of Don't Date Your Nemesis

OOPSIE

DEEPIKA

“Hold still or you’re going to look like a drunk raccoon,” Priya hissed, wielding an eyeliner pencil like a weapon as our Uber hit another pothole.

“I’m going to look like a drunk raccoon,” I said, checking my phone for the fifteenth time. I was officially late to my cousin’s engagement party (they got engaged earlier but wanted to throw an official party), still in my car, getting my makeup done by my best friend while wearing a golden dress that cost more than my first paycheck.

Ugh. I hate being late.

“Okay, listen to me,” Priya said, grabbing my face and forcing me to look at her. “Yash is bringing Diya. Your ex-boyfriend is bringing your identical twin sister to a family event, which is psychotic. But you? You are going to walk in there looking like a golden goddess with Marcus Reynolds on your arm, and you are going to be fine.”

“Fine,” I echoed weakly, with an equally weak nod.

“Say it like you mean it.”

“FINE!” I said, sounding as if I were trying to convince myself. Because I was.

Priya sat back, examining her work. “You look hot. Like, inappropriately hot for a family event. Your boobs look amazing.”

“Thanks?”

“Just saying, if Yash has any regrets, they are about to multiply.” She handed me my lipstick. “Now get out there and make your twin sister feel like the poor man’s version.”

I loved Priya. She was a terrible influence and the best friend I ever had. She gave me a flying kiss as she left for her own party to attend.

Marcus was waiting by the elevator, looking devastatingly handsome in a navy suit. He was my co-star, my friend, and tonight, my armor.

The fact that he was secretly dating a lovely sound engineer named David was information the world didn’t get to have yet. Hollywood wasn’t ready for Marcus Reynolds to come out, even though it was the twenty-first century and we should have been past it.

“Deepika, you look lovely,” he said, kissing my cheek and offering me his arm. “Ready?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Perfect. Let’s go.”

The rooftop was gorgeous with string lights, a city view, and beautiful people drinking expensive champagne. I scanned the crowd immediately, my stomach in knots.

Where was Yash? Where was Diya? Where was the nearest exit?

And then my eyes landed on him.

Liam fucking James.

Time didn’t slow down because that would be too romantic. Instead, it felt like time slammed to a halt, like a car hitting a brick wall.

He was across the rooftop, champagne in hand, looking unfairly good in a suit that probably cost more than my rent. His date was a literal supermodel. Tall, dark hair, perfect bone structure, and the kind of woman who made me want to check my teeth for lipstick.

Our eyes met, and neither of us smiled.

Seventeen years of terrible history passed between us in a single look. Pool water and a lost heirloom, birthday cake and accusations of cheating the game, a Valentine’s Day closet where he humiliated me so badly I cried in my mom’s car for an hour, promising her I’d never see him again.

I looked away first, turning to Marcus. “We need alcohol.”

“Way ahead of you, darling,” he said, steering me toward the bar.

Unfortunately, Liam had the same idea.

We arrived at the bar simultaneously, both reaching for the same champagne glass as if it were some kind of rom-com meet-cute, except we already knew each other and hated each other’s guts.