Page 144 - The World's Best Boyfriend

uncharacteristically hard and often at the expense of the time they used to spend
together and talk about Dhruv’s unending hatred for his parents and for Aranya
or Dhruv’s time in school which Ritika noted was riddled with stories of

disgruntled parents of other kids, three-day suspensions, rustications, and
bloodied noses of his classmates. Dhruv had failed thrice and changed three
schools but not before leaving an indelible mark on the schools/students, his rate

of disfiguring faces of young men higher than celebrity plastic surgeons.
The sheer amount of time Dhruv spent with Sanchit, the creep, discomfited
her. Sanchit’s hatred for Ritika radiated from him even though they hadn’t

exchanged a harsh word. Not that she liked him but it would have been good to
have the approval of Dhruv’s only friend in college, no matter how dirty his bed
sheets and his mind were.

Speaking of bed sheets and dirty minds, Ritika hadn’t been able to keep her
hands off Dhruv. She often felt he was turning her into a nymphomaniac but
there was something in the way Dhruv made love to her that kept her thinking

about it for days, reliving the moments repeatedly. Physiologically and
mechanically, everything was still the same, in fact sometimes it was
uncomfortable because of his muscular arms and rough hands, but there was

something incredibly sexy in the way he kept saying that he loved her, that he
would never let her go, and that he would kill anyone who would try to wrest her

away from him. Quite frankly, the first time he said these things she thought of
him as a clingy psychopath, which he was, but slowly she started warming up to
his fiercely protective demeanour. And then got addicted to the angry, scorching
sex they had.

She had started missing it now; Dhruv was studying too hard and their stolen
sessions in empty classrooms, the corners of the library and the far end of the

football field had come down to a trickle.
Two weeks before the exams had started Ritika dragged Dhruv to the
cavernous hall in the basement of the electrical department which doubled up as
the table tennis room to a host of shirtless boys in boxers playing matches for

money. But that day it was empty, and their voices echoed and it was a bit sexy
and thrilling and wrong. Sitting on a bench in the far corner of the hall where it

was the darkest, her arms wrapped around Dhruv, she felt shamelessly aroused.
But no sooner had she started to nuzzle against his shirt and into his rock hard
pectoral muscles, trying to be adorable, than a screeching sound pierced through