Dating Dr. Dil (If Shakespeare was an Auntie #1)(11)

Probably because she’d never met the right guy.

She groaned when his mouth returned to hers, and he commanded her lips like a general commanded an army.

“More,” she whispered into the kiss when he pressed her firmly against the wall of the dark office. “More.”

His hand fumbled before gripping the hem of her sweater vest. She saw a flash of his determined expression before the sweater vest came up and over her face.

“Ouch!” she yelped. The fabric of her vest caught on her earring and a sharp pain immediately had her pulling back. Her arms were straight up in the air, and because the vest was snug, she was wrapped up like a spring roll. A wave of embarrassment hosed over her desire.

“Oh my god,” he said. “What is it? Are you hurt?”

There was another painful tug, and she winced. “I wore earrings today for the first time in a while, and I think one is caught on my clothes.” Of course, something like this could only happen to her. She sputtered when she got a mouthful of high-quality knit fabric again.

“Here, let me—”

There was a distinctive cell phone ringtone, and then a muffled curse. Before Kareena could ask him what the holdup was, she heard sound of footsteps then the office door opening and closing.

“Uh . . . Prem? Hello? Are you . . . are you there? Oh my god.”


Twelve Hours Later . . .




Aunty WhatsApp Group



Mona Aunty: Darling, your grandmother told us about your father’s retirement.

Farah Aunty: If we had the money, we would give it to you for the house for sure.

Sonali Aunty: We’ll do pooja for you.

Falguni Aunty: Now is an excellent time to get married! For the money, of course. We can help you.

Kareena: Uh, thanks, aunties, but I think I’m going to search on my own first.

Falguni Aunty: Well, at least send us your information so we can put together a biodata. Your height, occupation, allergies, blood type, interests, and preferences. Just in case.

Kareena: Okay, maybe after I recover from this hangover.

Mona Aunty: Pedialyte, darling. Drink some Pedialyte and eat roti with ghee. You’ll be fine.

Kareena: . . . I’m not getting out of this matchmaking scheme you’re all thinking about, am I?

Sonali Aunty: Nope.

Mona Aunty: Nope.

Falguni Aunty: Nope.

Farah Aunty: Nope.

Kareena: Damn it.





Kareena pressed the cold bottle of Pedialyte to her forehead.

“You’re supposed to drink it, not hold it,” Bindu hissed. “You look absolutely ridiculous.”

Kareena glanced up at the bustling Jersey City TV studio. It was smaller than she expected it to be and filled with South Asian camerapersons, assistants, producers, and directors all bumping into one another. To think this was what her math professor-turned-content-creator sister wanted to do on a Saturday afternoon.

It could’ve been more interesting if she wasn’t nursing the worst headache.

“Can’t you at least pretend to look sober?” Bindu whispered. “The makeup helps, but people can hear you groaning.”

“Shut up, Bindu.”

Kareena closed her eyes and leaned her elbows on her knees. It was as if she turned thirty and she couldn’t handle her alcohol anymore. She wanted to stretch out and get a hold of the pinpricks behind her eyeballs but the aluminum benches she was told to sit on were not conducive for relaxing.

“Kareena—”

“Bindu, if you’re about to lecture me, stop right now. You’re lucky I drove you out here as a favor, when I would rather be at home, in my shed in the backyard, nursing my hangover.”

Bindu’s nose crinkled. “Why would you want to be in your shed?”

“Because after hours of feeling like shit, and the aunties blowing up my phone, all I want to do is hide, rebuild my rear axle, install it on the frame, and then change all the outlets in the house.”

“You’re so weird.” Bindu smiled as one of the producers walked by, talking into her headset. “How are you going to find a man in four months, even with the aunties’ help, if you’re going to spend all your time covered in grease or working?”

I found one last night, even though he was a total douche and left me stranded.

“Stop pushing my buttons,” Kareena said, and gingerly uncapped her Pedialyte for another gulp. “God, this is disgusting.”

Bindu sniffed and made a gagging sound. “Reeks, too. Well, it serves you right. Especially after you put me in that position with your birthday gift.”

Kareena glared at her sister. “You deserve it for trying to embarrass me first.”

“I thought it would be funny.”

“Well, it wasn’t. Especially after Dad told me he was getting rid of Mom’s house.”

Bindu rolled her eyes. “I don’t get why you’re so obsessed with the house.”

“To each her own.”

Even though Bindu had been young when their mom died, she was more like their father anyway. She didn’t see the house as their mother’s legacy. As Kareena’s legacy.

Kareena waited for someone with a long back wire to walk past them. “How long is this going to take? I want to go home.”

“An hour tops.” Bindu checked the time on her phone, then reached into her purse and pulled out a tripod. She began deftly unfolding it, until it stood about five feet tall. She pulled out her cell phone and attached it to the clip at the top. “There. Now while you help me livestream on my channel today, hopefully you’ll learn something about dating and finding your true love.”