Fake Dating The Bad Boy-Chapter 9: Staying Over

Justin

"Why me?" I asked, leaning back in my chair, arms crossed. "You could have any guy in this school dying to be your boyfriend. So why the hell would you pick me?"

She hesitated for a second before answering, her gaze fixed somewhere past my shoulder. "Because the girls at school actually rated you as the most attractive guy. Bart came in second."

I raised a brow. Seriously?

She continued, still avoiding my eyes. "But because of your attitude, no girl dares to approach you. If I date you—even fake date you—Bart will be the one embarrassed. Because I'll have traded up."

I let out a short, amused breath. Me? An upgrade?

This girl was delusional.

But I didn't correct her. She'd figure it out soon enough.

Without another word, I stood, went to my room, and grabbed the assignment along with a pen. When I returned, I dropped them in front of her.

She picked up the pen and signed with a muttered, "This better be A-material."

I raised a brow, watching as she signed her name at the bottom of the assignment. This girl was delusional.

She thought dating me—even fake dating me—would make Bart jealous? That I was some kind of prize?

I almost laughed. Almost.

Instead, I leaned against the counter, crossing my arms. "So let me get this straight. You think Bart will be embarrassed because you're dating me?"

She capped the pen and set it down, finally looking up. "Not just that," she said simply. "I want him to regret it. To see that I moved on to someone better. Someone he could never measure up to."

I snorted. "And you think that's me?"

She shrugged, like it was obvious. "According to most of the girls at school, yeah. You just don't realize it because you scare them away."

I smirked. "Good."

She rolled her eyes. "See? That's exactly what I mean. You're not interested in anyone, you don't chase, you don't care. That makes you even more appealing. If I show up with you, Bart won't just be mad—he'll be humiliated."

I leaned in slightly, watching her reaction. "And what do you get out of this, princess? Besides revenge?"

Her jaw tensed for a fraction of a second before she forced a small smile. "I get to win."

I tilted my head. "Win what?"

She didn't answer.

Instead, she pushed the assignment toward me, tapping the paper. "This better be an A."

I chuckled under my breath, taking the paper and flipping through it lazily. "You doubting my skills?"

She lifted a brow. "I don't know, Justin. You could be a dumbass. You barely talk in class."

I smirked. "If I were a dumbass, you'd be failing this class right now."

Her lips pressed together, like she wanted to argue but couldn't.

Smart girl.

I folded the paper and set it aside. "Fine. You got what you wanted. But don't expect me to play prince charming."

She scoffed. "Wouldn't dream of it."

I watched as she stood, running a hand through her still slightly damp hair. "I should go."

Something about that annoyed me. Not because I wanted her to stay—I didn't.

But because I realized I had let her invade my space, sign her name on my work, and drag me into her ridiculous scheme.

I wasn't used to people getting this close.

And I sure as hell wasn't used to letting them.

She moved toward the door, but before she could leave, I called out, "Matthews."

She turned, raising a brow.

I smirked. "This fake dating thing? It's gonna be my way. No complaints."

She narrowed her eyes. "As long as it works."

I chuckled. She had no idea what she'd just signed up for.

The rain was still coming down hard, drumming against the windows like a warning. I wanted to stop her, maybe offer her my jacket or at least wait until it let up—but I refused. I'd broken enough of my own damn rules today. No need to add more.

June stood at the door, arms crossed. "Are you not walking me out?"

I didn't even look up. "No."

Silence.

When I finally glanced at her, she was frowning, clearly expecting some grand gesture, like I was supposed to be some kind of gentleman.

Tch. Told her before—I ain't Prince Charming.

I turned on my heel, heading to the kitchen. "Figure it out, Matthews."

I heard her scoff before the door shut behind her.

Good.

I grabbed a bag of chips and slumped onto the couch, turning on the TV. Something mindless, something to distract me from the fact that I'd just ruined my goddamn life by agreeing to fake date June Matthews.

I could already hear the whispers. See the stares. Feel the irritation of people suddenly thinking they could talk to me just because I'd let the queen bee into my space.

Fuck.

I ran a hand through my hair, annoyed as hell.

But then—my mind drifted to something else. Something... better.

That little smirk she had when she told me she wanted to get back at Bart. The way she had looked at me when she signed the damn assignment, almost like she respected me for calling her out.

And, yeah... those lips.

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I'd been wondering what they'd taste like for a while now.

And at least now, I'd get to find out.

I had just settled in, stretching out on the couch, remote in hand, ready to spend the night binge-watching a series when I heard it—a knock on my door.

I ignored it.

Then the door creaked open.

I didn't even bother looking. I already knew who it was.

June Matthews.

I wasn't sure if I should be annoyed that she was back, disturbing my peace, or relieved that she hadn't just disappeared into the night.

"The rain is still pouring hard. I can't go when it's like this," she said.

I didn't respond. Just kept my eyes on the screen, pretending like her presence didn't throw me off.

She sighed, then closed the door behind her. The soft shuffle of her footsteps as she moved across my apartment made something tighten in my chest. She shouldn't be here.

She sat next to me on the couch, close enough that I could feel the warmth of her body.

"Mind if I stay the night?" she asked.

I shrugged. Didn't look at her. Didn't answer right away because—what the hell was I supposed to say?

She waited.

Eventually, I sighed and muttered, "I'm not giving you my bed."

"Wasn't asking for it," she said, smirking slightly as she pulled her legs up onto the couch. "The couch is fine."

I glanced at her, finally, and saw the way her damp hair clung to her face, the hoodie I'd given her swallowing her small frame.

She looked... out of place here.

And yet, at the same time—she didn't.