Dating Dr. Dil (If Shakespeare was an Auntie #1)(12)

“What is that supposed to mean?”

Bindu smirked at her. “I mean you need all the help you can get—”

“You keep insulting me, you can forget getting my help ever again.”

Bindu held up her hands in surrender. “All I’m saying is that you’re going to need to take some advice if you want to find love like Mom and Dad had.”

Kareena looked down at her maroon sweater vest and adjusted her glasses. “And who exactly am I supposed to take advice from?”

“Dr. Dil, of course. And me.”

Before she could ask who Dr. Dil was, a woman with dark kohl-lined eyes, a hoop nose ring, and audio equipment in one hand stopped in front of Bindu. “Bindu Mann, right? From the YouTube channel Mann Your Business?”

“Yes, that’s me!”

“Cute name. I need to mike you up. Once you’re ready to go, then you’ll wait here. Dr. Verma will call you.”

“Great!” Bindu stood and let the woman clip the receiver to her waist and explain how the mic system worked.

“It’s still okay to livestream my segment on my YouTube channel, right?”

“Of course. When Dr. Verma calls you to the stage, you can just step up onto the platform from here, and your uh . . .”

“Assistant,” Bindu said. “She’ll be here to record, yes.”

“Great. We’re starting in less than a minute, and you’re the first guest, so stay ready.” The woman eyed Kareena’s Pedialyte bottle and turned to leave.

“Assistant?” Kareena said. She’d be more offended if her head didn’t ache so much.

“Every major influencer has one,” Bindu said as she sat back down. “I didn’t want to seem like an amateur. Just go along with it.” She waved a hand in dismissal, and her row of bangles clanged musically.

“Whatever,” Kareena said. She couldn’t wait for this to be over so she could go home. Her stomach roiled, and she groaned again.

The overhead lights dimmed, and various members of the cast began calling out time, and camera positions. The circular platform in the center of the studio lit up, focusing on two red high-back chairs angled toward each other. The screen behind the chairs said The Dr. Dil Show: Focusing on the Holistic Health of the Heart.

“What garbage show are you making me sit through?” Kareena mumbled.

Bindu shushed her. “I’m starting to record on my phone. Now watch and be quiet.” She repositioned her cell in the tripod and tapped a few buttons on the screen. The red record button appeared in the corner.

A woman’s voice filtered through the speakers with a heavily Mumbai-accented voice. “Welcome to the Jersey City South Asians News Network and a very special Saturday episode of The Dr. Dil Show!”

Fake applause ricocheted through the studio speakers.

“Please welcome Dr. Prem Verma, our very own Dr. Dil!”

Prem?

Kareena’s shoulders went ramrod straight when Dr. Dil appeared from behind the set backdrop.

Oh no.

She could’ve sworn she heard doom music as she took him all in. Dr. Dil was tall, lean, and broad chested. His suit fit him like a glove, and when he adjusted the cuffs of his sleeve, she had to remember to breathe.

And damn, that jaw. That really fantastic angular jaw.

That familiar jaw that she had kissed and touched just the night before.

Her failed hookup from the restaurant, Prem Verma, was Dr. Dil. What’s worse, this confirmed that he was an official desi fuckboy.

Desi fuckboy. Definition: a gorgeous brown snack of a man with a dream body, a pedigree that would make a traditional aunty sell her soul for a marriage rishta, and the ability to use charm and influence to make her regret all her life decisions. Like leaving a crowded bar with him so they could make out in someone’s office.

“This is the worst thing that has ever happened to me,” Kareena whispered.

“It’s just for an hour,” Bindu said. She leaned back and scanned Kareena’s face. “Are you okay? You look like you’re going to be sick.”

“I just may,” she whispered. With all the Indians in the state of New Jersey, why did she have to run into the same one for a second time in one weekend?

Kareena’s pulse jumped when he turned to her direction. She knew the moment he spotted her. Prem’s eyes widened like saucers, and his mouth fell open.

Yeah, I’m as surprised as you are. This wouldn’t have happened if you told me that you were actually a talk-show host.

She looked down at the Pedialyte in her hand and immediately tucked it between her ankles. This man could not know that she spent the rest of her night drinking because of him. She had her pride.

Despite the humiliation he put her through, the embarrassment that would plague her forever, Kareena was not going to look like a coward. He was the one who screwed up and left her in an awkward position! What gentleman did something like that?

The studio’s fake applause quieted to a whisper. Then, Dr. Dil opened his mouth, and his voice sparked a trail of goose bumps up her spine to the back of her neck. She could still feel the imprint of his palm where he’d held her for a kiss.

Then he turned away from her in a smooth move that felt so dismissive her mouth fell open in shock.

“Thank you, everyone, for tuning in for another episode of The Dr. Dil Show. I’m your host, Dr. Prem Verma, a cardiologist here in Jersey City. And as many of our Hindi-speaking South Asian viewers know, prem means love, dil means heart, and this show is about the holistic health of the heart.”