Rival Lovers

| 016 |

Lucas

The garage smelled like spilled beer and cheap cologne. The overhead light flickered like it was trying to decide whether to commit to the evening or call it quits.

I leaned back on the beaten-up leather sofa, my legs sprawled out as Jake lined up a shot at the beer pong table. His tongue stuck out in concentration like this was the Olympic finals and not a stupid game fueled by watered-down beer.

"Man, you're useless," I called as his ping pong ball bounced off the rim of a cup and rolled under the table.

"Like you'd do better, Reed," Jake shot back, glaring at me before turning to his partner. "Hey, grab me another ball."

The garage roared with laughter as someone else missed their shot, and I took another sip of my drink, trying to focus on the chaos around me. But my mind kept drifting—back to the bar, back to her.

Zaara.

She had this way of taking over a room, not with some fake, attention-seeking performance, but with sheer, unapologetic audacity. Tonight? Prime example. The way she threw that drink at Kian—hell, the way she even argued with him in the first place—it was like watching a storm roll in.

And damn, it was hot.

Fuck, I can even feel my dick twitching a little remembering it.

I wasn't proud of it. There was something deeply wrong with finding someone's full-blown rage attractive, but here I was. Watching her stand there, eyes blazing and chest heaving, I'd felt a flicker of heat low in my stomach.

And groin.

Okay, not a flicker. A full-on flame.

I shifted uncomfortably on the couch, running a hand through my hair and cursing under my breath. It wasn't like I wanted to think about her like that. We hated each other. Or, at least, we were supposed to.

But then there was the way her voice rose when she was mad, that sharp edge cutting through the air like she didn't give a damn who heard her. The way she didn't back down, even when Kian—who could intimidate most people with just a glance—tried to bulldoze her.

And when she threw that drink? God, that was the nail in the coffin. The confidence, the sheer spite—it was ridiculous. And yet here I was, sitting in the garage with my friends, still thinking about it, still feeling... things.

"You good, man?" Jake asked, plopping down on the couch beside me and snapping me out of my thoughts.

"Yeah," I said quickly, taking another sip of my drink. "Why?"

"Because you're sitting there like someone kicked your dog," he said, chuckling. "You've been off all week, dude. And now you're spacing out in the middle of a game. What's up?"

"Nothing," I said, maybe a little too forcefully.

Jake raised an eyebrow. "Uh-huh. Sure. Definitely doesn't have anything to do with you ogling Zaara at the bar earlier."

"I wasn't ogling," I snapped, sitting up straighter.

"Right," he said, grinning like he'd just caught me in a lie. "You were just... admiring her technique. What was it, the way she threw that drink? Or how her voice gets all high-pitched when she's mad?"

I glared at him, my jaw tightening. "Shut up, Jake."

He laughed, leaning back and throwing an arm over the back of the couch. "Relax, man. I'm just messing with you. But seriously, if you're gonna keep mooning over her, at least do something about it. It's painful to watch."