Page 38 of The Love Match

“So… Sammi Afa sure is something,” I venture.

He snorts. “You can saythatagain.”

I worry my lip at the undercurrent of irritation in his voice. “Sorry you got stuck with her. And me. I’m sure you had better things to do on a Friday night.”

I’d be working, babysitting, or sleeping if I weren’t here, but he could have been going out onactualdates to mend his supposedly broken heart if we didn’t have to carry on with this ruse. In spite of his hang-ups, plenty of girls would line up for a chance with his chiseled good looks.

Including stunning blondes, apparently.

But he shakes his head, dragging a hand over his face. “No. It’s not your fault. We’rebothstuck doing this to make our parents happy.” His voice dips lower as a smirk quirks his lips, his eyes meeting mine. “Besides, you’re not as bad as I thought when we first met.”

“Uh, thanks.” My stomach does a nervous flip that I blame on hunger.

Harun must be feeling something too, because he goes back to focusing on the menu and adds hurriedly, “Neither is Sammi Afa.”

“What?”

“Not that bad, I mean,” he says. “She’s always been there for me, like a big sis. And her brother Shaad is probably my best friend. Oh, and Afa can hand us all our asses atMario Kart. She made Hanif Bhaia cry last Eid, though he blamed it on fasting all month.”

I giggle. “That’s cute. She must really love you guys if she’s practicingMario Kartin her spare time.”

“Yeah, yeah.” He rolls his eyes. “But honestly, I think she acts like this to blow off steam. She and her husband are both neurosurgeons at Mount Sinai.”

My jaw hits the metaphorical table. “Neurosurgeons? She’s likeGrey’s Anatomy–level gorgeous.”

“Are you bragging about me again, cuz?” Sammi drawls, sliding into Harun’s side of the booth to give his curly hair a good muss before releasing him.

Harun looks adorably disheveled and murderous.

Sammi then aims her inquisitive eyes at me. “It’s true, though. Our parents introduced me to Bilal while I was in my last year of medical school and he was completing his residency. I wassooonot into the whole arranged marriage schtick, but then we met and it was love at first sight.”

“Wow…”

That she can have a careerandloveandher parents’ approval, while being so completely herself, fills me with both envy and awe. Even Harun looks at her in a way that betrays the childish hero worship beneath his standoffish veneer.

As if sensing she’s gotten back into his good graces, she flags down the waitress who shows up to take our orders and says, “Can you please add us to the karaoke list?”

“Us?” demands Harun. “Speak for yourself.”

Sammi juts out her bottom lip. “Comeon, cuz. Don’t you remember the Bengali folk dance class Pushpita Sasi enrolled you in as a kid? You were so cute. It’ll be just like that!”

I whip my head toward him, delighted.Folk dance?!

“I’ve been trying toforget, thanks,” he grits out.

“Don’t be such a spoilsport,” she says. “These places always have a long wait for your food. We may as well have a good time. Zahra will do it. Won’t you, Zahra?”

My grin freezes into place. “I, that is—”

She slams me with the full force of her persuasive gaze, until I crumble and nod.

Maybe arguing onstage and embarrassing our families in front of a bunch of hangry people will be the final nail in the coffin of our relationship? But my date scowls like I’ve taken the butter knife off the table to stab him in the back.

I don’t realize the ramifications of my actions until I find myself standing next to a petrified Harun onstage, ready to perform a duet before an apathetic audience—and Sammi Afa,who already looks prepared to give us a standing ovation.

“You justhadto volunteer us, Bollywood,” he hisses.

“Oh, shut up. I don’t want to do this either!”

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