Page 87 of Fixation

“WHAT. THE. FUCK.” Ananya’s loud voice jolted him out of the madness that had enveloped him. He raised his head and found Ananya and Mihir standing behind them, one of them looking shocked, the other grim.

“Did you have to choose my fucking car to make out on top of?” Mihir growled.

He looked down and found that Reina and he were sprawled over Mihir’s prized Bugatti. Shit. Mihir was fucking mental about his car.

He gave his brother a sideways glance. “Oops.”

Mihir looked heavenward.

Reina opened her eyes. Finding him still atop her, she pushed at his chest. He stood, and she got to her feet as well.

Her eyes met his. He grinned. He couldn’t help it. At least now, he was certain of what she felt about him. Her body wanted his, that much was clear. Now, he only had to ensure her heart wanted him as well.

“Wipe that smile off your face,” she raged. “This was nothing. We are over.”

“On the contrary, my beautiful Reina,” he said, “We have finally truly begun. This is far from over. You aremine. You’ve always only been mine. Better remember that.”

Her eyes flared, but she didn’t respond. She simply took Ananya’s arm, and the two girls returned inside.

Mihir looked at him. “I’m getting a headache. First Armaan and now you. At least in Armaan’s case, he never hurt the girl. You, however… This is going to blow up in your face if you’re not careful.”

“Then help me,” Vedant said.

“You have to talk to Armaan,” Mihir said. “Her family likes him. He’s the only one who can help you figure this out with her, that is, if he agrees.”

Vedant sighed. Mihir was right. Which meant he was going home and asking help from Armaan, who, in all probability, would punch him in the face first. Fuck. How the hell had he messed up everything so badly?

30

Vedant found Armaan in their gym the next morning. It was barely six, and his brother was thrashing the punching bag, his fists flying with acute precision and aim. He stopped when he saw Vedant enter. Armaan didn’t rush to meet him. He simply stared at him, looking mad as hell. Fuck. Clearly, the news of the events of last night had reached his brother already. No wonder Armaan was up early. He must have been waiting for him.

“Hi,” Vedant greeted him.

Armaan tipped his chin to a pair of boxing gloves. “Wear them.”

“Now?”

“You’ve been going on and on about how you’ve been waiting to spar with Mihir or me. Well, you get your wish.”

“I’m not sure this is a good idea. Especially when you’re in this mood.”

“Wear the damn gloves, Vedant.”

Removing his glasses, Vedant stepped on the mat, striking his hands together, testing the weight of the gloves. The two of them circled one another, hands raised in defence.

“How are you?” Armaan asked, watching him closely.

“I’m good.”

He hadn’t even finished his sentence when Armaan punched him in the face. Hard. Vedant’s head snapped to the side. Shit. His brother was in quite a foul mood. Vedant shifted on his feet, maintaining his balance.

“Navya got a call late last night,” Armaan began. “And I was told to listen in. Do you know what I heard?”

“You do know that there are two sides to a story,” Vedant said.

His words further enraged his brother because Armaan lunged forward, fists swinging furiously. Vedant blocked several of his strikes, until Armaan landed a vicious upper cut that sent Vedant reeling. Annoyed by him, Vedant retaliated with a flurry of punches that caught Armaan off-guard. They continued trading blows, anger accentuating every punch and strike that Armaan levelled on him.

“What is going on here?” Mihir’s loud voice boomed in the gym. From the corner of his eyes, Vedant found Mihir watching the two of them, arms crossed, a frown painted on his face.

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