Page 74 of Reckless Hate

“She doesn’t accept drinks from strangers either.”

The guy looked annoyed. “What’s your problem, dude?” he demanded. “I know you are Ved Simha. Just because you are used to bossing around in your university, it doesn’t mean you can boss around here at mine.”

Her enemy stepped forward and leaned in towards the guy. “Newsflash. I boss any fucking where I want. Now get out.”

The guy looked pissed. He glared hard, but knowing he could get kicked out of the Simha hotel, he eventually backed off. Grumbling, he picked up his beer and left.

Her enemy took the recently vacant barstool next to her. “What the hell is wrong with you, Sam?” he demanded, looking pissed. “You don’t know the guy. You could have been drugged.”

She was equally pissed, especially because she saw him hanging out with girls who weren’t from Simha University. They were strangers to him too.

“I wasn’t planning to drink,” she snapped. “And even if I was, it’s none of your business. I’m not your responsibility.”

His jaw clenched, and they glared at each other. His chiseled face looked harsh with anger.

What was he so angry about?

And why the hell did he care whether or not she might be drugged again? He hated her, and she hated him too. He had literally spread rumors that made her seem like a slut and even threatened her many times to leave the university. Why the hell was he behaving now as though he cared for her well-being? Her enemy was a damn contradiction. He looked at her with hatred but would kiss her like she was the only girl he desired on the damn planet.

Feeling angry and oddly breathless, she turned towards the bartender. “Soda with lime and salt, please.”

The older man behind the counter nodded. While her drink was being made, her enemy watched the bartender like a hawk. And when the drink was finally done, it was placed in front of her.

She took it before her enemy could grab it and took a long sip. The tiny bubbles burst on top of her tongue. It was perfect with the right amount of lime and salt.

Her enemy was watching her. “Why were you talking to that guy? I never saw you talking to any guy before?”

His statement irritated her even though it was true. She didn’t want to tell him about her experiment to check if she could feel the buzzing awareness and attraction towards another guy or that the result of the test was negative.

“You don’t know anything about me,” she snapped. “And why shouldn’t I talk to him? He’s quite good-looking, and he is a tennis player like me. We have a lot in common.”

Her enemy scowled but didn’t say anything. The fluttering awareness was magnified by his nearness.

“Don’t you have fangirls to hook up with tonight?” she asked irritably.

She recalled his words about not hooking up right before or during the game nights. He only hooked up after. Since it was the last day of the championship games, he would definitely take a couple of girls to his hotel room that night.

His mouth twisted into a smirk. “You seem obsessed with my sex life.”

“I’m not! I just want you to leave me alone and carry on with your hookups. We have to wake up early tomorrow to catch the flight back to Simha.”

“Hookups don’t mess with my schedule. I can wake up however early without a problem.”

She rolled her eyes. “I’m sure you are quite the expert.”

His smirk remained, but he didn’t say anything. His eyes slowly ran over her, leaving a trail of fire. His gaze lingered over the hem of her short dress and then at her high heels before returning to her face.

“Is this dress one of your creations?” he asked.

Pushing away the odd breathlessness she felt, she pulled herself together. “How do you know I make my own dresses?”

He shrugged. “It’s obvious. There are no designer labels, but your clothes fit you perfectly. I’ve seen a sewing machine in your room.”

She didn’t say anything.

“You’ve always loved making clothes. I recall your dolls and my action figures had quite a few changes of clothes.”

Her heart jerked at the memories. Although they were crudely stitched, she had loved to make clothes for their toys. His mother had always kept needles and thread and pieces of cloth ready for her to mess around with.

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