Crush Me Softly

8: Fake It Like You Mean It

I stared at myself in the mirror like I didn’t recognize the girl looking back.

Too much eyeliner. Not enough lip gloss. My hair wouldn’t curl right, and the one cute black top I owned clung to me like it was scared of commitment.

“You look… fine,” I muttered to myself.

Fine. As in painfully average. As in the opposite of what Roman’s type would be — whatever that was.

He hadn’t said much about what I should wear. Just texted:

“Pick you up at 8. Be ready. We’re going to cause a scene.”

Casual.

I grabbed my phone and checked the time for the third time in ten minutes. 7:44 PM.

My stomach was a mess of knots. I wasn’t nervous about going to a high school party — I’d been to a dozen with Jake. It wasn’t even about seeing him or Margo. It was the fact that I was going with Roman. As a couple.

Fake couple.

Right.

This was just part of the plan. Show up. Keep up the illusion. Get under Jake’s skin. Smile through Margo’s fake compliments. Leave before anyone realized I had no idea what I was doing.

A knock at the door made me jump.

My mom popped her head in, raising an eyebrow. “Going out?”

“Just a party,” I said, grabbing my jacket.

“Who with?”

Roman’s name felt sharp on my tongue. “A friend.”

Her eyes narrowed slightly. “That the same ‘friend’ who picked you up yesterday after school?”

I didn’t answer.

She stepped into the room fully, leaning against the doorframe. “You’re smart, Kira. Don’t pretend to be someone you’re not.”

I didn’t have the energy to explain that pretending was literally the whole point.

Instead, I said, “I won’t be out late.”

She nodded and left without another word.

By 8:01, Roman’s car pulled up.

I stood on the porch for a beat, letting the cold air bite at my skin. Then I opened the door and walked straight into the part of the night I couldn’t take back.

Roman leaned against the side of his car, looking… annoyingly good. Black hoodie under a denim jacket, dark jeans, and rings on his fingers like always. His fringe was down, almost in his eyes, and he looked at me like he wasn’t expecting me to clean up well — but was impressed anyway.

“You clean up okay,” he said, opening the passenger door.

“You don’t look awful either.”

“Charming.”

I climbed in, and he started driving.

The music in the car was soft, something instrumental. Unexpected.

We didn’t talk for the first few minutes. Just the hum of the engine and the occasional glance when we thought the other wasn’t looking.

“You nervous?” he asked eventually.

“About pretending to like you in public?” I teased. “Not at all.”

He grinned. “Good. Just follow my lead.”

———

Tanner’s house looked like every high school movie party rolled into one — red cups already scattered across the lawn, music pounding through the windows, lights strobing from the inside like the place had swallowed a nightclub.

Roman parked a little down the street. Smart move. He didn’t even comment on the crowd, just killed the engine and looked at me.

“You ready to fake it like your life depends on it?” he asked.

I exhaled. “More like my reputation, but yeah.”

He held out his hand.

I stared. “What?”

“If we’re gonna sell this, we have to commit. That means walking in together. Holding hands. You know. Couple stuff.”

I hesitated — and then took it.

His fingers were warm. Solid. My heart betrayed me immediately, fluttering like an i***t.

We walked up to the house, hand in hand, and the second we stepped through the door, heads turned. Whispers started almost instantly.

Roman Reyes. With me.

A girl near the kitchen actually dropped her cup.

The living room was packed. Tanner, the host, nodded at us like we were VIPs. People cleared a path. Roman didn’t even blink — just kept walking, fingers locked with mine like we’d been doing this for months.

We stopped near the drinks table, and I grabbed a soda just to have something to hold.

“You okay?” Roman asked, eyes flicking to mine.

“I think I just became school famous.”

He smirked. “Told you we’d cause a scene.”

Before I could answer, a voice sliced through the music.

“Well look who decided to show up.”

Margo.

She stood in front of us like the queen of a burning castle — a tight red dress, lip gloss shimmering, and Jake right behind her, looking like he wanted to be anywhere else.

Margo’s smile was poisonous. “Didn’t think you’d actually come.”

Roman stepped in smoothly. “We wouldn’t miss it. Kira loves a good theme party.”

She blinked. “Theme?”

He shrugged. “You know. Jealous exes. Petty new girlfriends. Tragedy disguised as glitter.”

Jake coughed behind her, trying to hold back a laugh.

Margo’s smile faltered, just slightly.

I jumped in. “Love the dress, Margo. Very try-hard dominatrix Barbie.”

Roman choked on his drink.

Someone near us gasped.

And then Jake — Jake — actually laughed.

“Wow,” Margo said coldly, turning to him. “You think this is funny?”

He sobered fast. “No. I just—”

“Whatever,” she snapped, turning back to me. “You can play your little games all you want. But no one actually believes this is real.”

Roman stepped closer to me, his voice low and dangerous. “If it’s not real, why are you so bothered?”

Margo opened her mouth — then closed it.

And for the first time since we walked in, she had no comeback.

She grabbed Jake’s hand like it was a weapon and dragged him off into the crowd.

I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding.

Roman looked at me. “That went well.”

“She hates me.”

“She’s obsessed with you. Different thing.”

I looked up at him. “You didn’t have to defend me like that.”

“Yeah, I did.”

For a second, it wasn’t fake. None of it was. We were just… two people standing too close at a party that suddenly didn’t matter as much as the space between us.

“I should thank you,” I said.

“For what?”

“Making this look believable.”

Roman stared at me for a beat longer than he should’ve.

Then he said, “Who says I’m faking?”

His words echoed between us.

Who says I’m faking?

I stared at him, unsure if I was supposed to laugh, deflect, or lean in.

But Roman didn’t give me time to figure it out. He just tilted his head slightly, his lips twitching into something between a smirk and a challenge.

Then he said, “Dance with me.”

I blinked. “Here?”

“Why not?”

“There are like fifty people—”

“And they’re already watching,” he said, his hand brushing against mine again. “Might as well give them something to talk about.”

Before I could overthink it, he tugged me gently toward the living room where a slower song was cutting through the party playlist — not romantic, exactly, but moody and magnetic, like it belonged in a movie montage of two almost-lovers pretending not to fall apart.

Roman’s hand slid to my waist. My fingers laced behind his neck, awkward at first. We swayed.

Slow. Close. Too close.

“This is weird,” I whispered.

His lips brushed my ear. “Then why does it feel so easy?”

I didn’t answer. Because he was right.

Everything about this should’ve been awkward. I wasn’t the kind of girl who slow danced in front of crowds. Roman wasn’t the kind of guy who danced, period. And yet, here we were — bodies pressed together like we’d done this a hundred times.

Somewhere near the kitchen, I spotted Jake and Margo watching. Jake looked conflicted. Margo looked furious.

Roman followed my gaze. “They’re watching.”

“I know.”

“Do you want him to be jealous?” he asked quietly.

“I wanted him to regret losing me,” I said. “Now I don’t know what I want.”

Roman’s thumb brushed a circle against my side. “You should want more than just being someone’s regret.”

I swallowed hard. “What if I don’t know how?”

He didn’t answer.

But his hand found the small of my back. And suddenly, my breath caught.

This was spiraling into something else.

Not fake. Not staged.

Just us.

I pulled back slightly to look up at him — and his expression shifted. Like he was thinking about closing the space between us. His eyes dropped to my lips.

And for one suspended second, I thought he was going to kiss me.

Then—

“Excuse me,” a voice snapped. “If you two are done dry humping in the middle of the party, I’d like to cut in.”

Margo.

Of course.

She stood with a cup in one hand and venom in the other, flipping her hair over her shoulder like she’d rehearsed it.

“I didn’t realize this was the Sad Girl Redemption Tour,” she said, eyes locked on me. “Or that Roman had a charity project.”

Roman stepped forward, but I grabbed his arm.

“I’ve got it,” I said.

I faced her head-on. “Funny. You spend a lot of time obsessing over people you claim not to care about.”

Her smile went tight. “Just looking out for the school. Would hate for you to embarrass yourself.”

“Too late,” I said. “You’re already doing that for both of us.”

Around us, a few people gasped. Someone whispered, “Oh my god,” like this was the highlight of their night.

Margo stared at me, nostrils flaring. Then she turned to Roman.

“I don’t know what she’s doing to get your attention, but don’t mistake her silence for depth. She’s just a blank wall with good lighting.”

I didn’t flinch.

But Roman did.

“Yeah?” he said coolly. “Well, I’d rather dance with a blank wall than a shallow puddle.”

The crowd exploded.

Margo’s face turned a dangerous shade of red. She hissed something under her breath, then stormed off, dragging Jake with her — though he gave me one last glance before disappearing into the crowd.

I stood frozen.

Roman turned to me. “You okay?”

I nodded, even though my heart was a riot in my chest.

He offered his hand again. “Then come on. Let’s give them something real to gossip about.”