Shobhana's POV

"I'll see you guys at the stadium," I said, swinging the door open and getting out of the car with Shubman following right behind me.

"Give me the keys. I'll drive," he said, holding out his hand like a king expecting a sceptre.

"It's okay, I'll drive Shub," I replied, already reaching for my keys, but he just looked at me. 

Not in a "we're friends" kind of way—more like a "you're giving me those keys whether you like it or not" kind of look.

"Shobi. Keys." His voice had that "I'm a professional athlete and can easily convince you to do whatever I want" vibe.

"Fine, fine!" I muttered, handing him the keys.

He grinned. "Good girl," he said, taking the keys like he had just won a trophy. 

He slid into the driver's seat and I reluctantly climbed into the passenger seat, resisting the urge to look at his arms. 

Why do men have to look so good doing mundane things?

As we drove, I couldn't help but notice the veins in his forearms. Oh. My. God. Who knew veins could be sexy? 

Honestly, his driving was probably a distraction for safety reasons, because I was this close to losing my concentration just from staring at his hands. 

Shobhana, pull yourself together. Focus. Focus on the road, not the muscles.

We finally pulled into the hotel parking lot.

"Okay, I'll meet you here in a few?" he asked, his deep voice suddenly sounding even more... well, deep.

"Yep, see you soon," I replied, trying not to be a total mess around him.

It was 5:20 PM, and we rushed upstairs to change.

Once in my room, I made the decision to go all-out with the outfit tonight. I knew I had to look professional (obviously), but I also knew Shubman would be there, and why not be a little extra?

I washed my face, did my hair in soft waves (very "I woke up like this"), and slipped into my outfit—an elegant red shirt with a scoop neckline, black high-waisted pants that were borderline criminal in their tightness, and my favourite heels that screamed, "I'm a photographer, but I'm also stunning."

Camera? Check. Phone? Check. Keys? Check. Confidence? Check.

I stepped out of my room, feeling like I was about to step onto a runway. 

When I got to the elevator, I was on the verge of breaking into a dance. Yes, I was THAT confident.

As the elevator doors opened, I headed straight for the car. But instead of seeing Shubman casually leaning against it like some Bollywood hero waiting for his heroine, he wasn't there yet. Classic.

At 5:40, I heard footsteps and turned to see Shubman walking towards me.

Oh. My. God.

He was wearing a black shirt, black pants, and a red jacket.

The jacket fit him perfectly like it had been tailored just for him, while the black shirt clung to his broad chest in a way that made me forget how to breathe for a second. 

His jawline? Sharp enough to cut glass. 

His hair? Messy, but in that way that made me want to run my fingers through it. 

He looked like a walking, talking dream. He looked so sexy.

"Sorry I'm late," he muttered, adjusting his watch, which was probably more expensive than my car, and I didn't even care.

 I was too busy trying not to drool.

"It's alright, get in," I said, trying my best to sound unaffected, even though my voice cracked a little. 

Smooth, Shobhana, real smooth.

Shubman's POV

I spotted her from a mile away, and honestly, I didn't even care that I was late. She was standing there, looking like she had stepped out of an Instagram ad. 

She was wearing this red shirt that hugged her curves just enough to make my brain short-circuit, paired with black pants that somehow managed to look professional and seductive all at once. 

Her hair cascaded in soft waves down her shoulders, and the light was hitting her in all the right ways.

Shubman, you are literally about to crash this car into a pole because of her.

I walked over, and when she looked at me, her eyes—those eyes—just about knocked the wind out of me. I could feel the heat rising to my face. 

No. Not now. You're a professional athlete. You've been in press conferences with people in high places. 

This is just Shobhana. Just... Shobhana.

But, no. I couldn't help it.

"Sorry I'm late," I muttered, not entirely sure if I was apologizing for being late or just for the fact that I was staring at her like an idiot.

Her response? "It's alright, get in."

I swallowed. "You look... stunning," I said before I could stop myself. It was supposed to be a casual comment, but it sounded way too intimate.

She smirked. "You look pretty good yourself, Shubman."

And there it was. The little rush of satisfaction from her compliment that sent a jolt of warmth through me. 

She noticed me. She actually noticed me.

I quickly slid into the car, trying not to think too much about how my heart was racing. 

Just a drive. Just a normal drive to the stadium. Don't overthink it, Shubman.

But I couldn't help it. As I started the engine, my brain was screaming, You have the most beautiful woman sitting next to you. Focus on the road. Focus on anything but the way she looks.

The drive to the stadium was going to be torture. I knew it.

But what a sweet torture it was.