2: The Rules Of Pretending
1238 Words
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Roman wasn’t kidding when he said we were starting right away.
By lunch, everyone was already whispering. Whispers that slid between locker doors and skated across cafeteria tables. People weren’t just curious—they were stunned. Me? Dating Roman Vexx? The goth loner who sat in the back of every classroom like he was waiting for the end of the world?
I wasn’t even sure I believed it, and I was the one who started the lie.
Roman walked beside me, half a step ahead like he always did, his fingers wrapped around mine with casual ownership. Like he’d held my hand every day for the last year and not just five minutes ago in the hallway while everyone stared.
He was cool in a scary kind of way. Silent. Sharp. Like a blade someone forgot to sheath.
We sat at a table near the back of the cafeteria—his usual spot, I assumed. I used to sit in the middle of the room with the fake-laughing, shiny-haired popular kids. Now I was at a chipped plastic table next to the boy who once poured hydrochloric acid into a Bunsen burner for fun.
I opened my mouth to say something—anything—but he slid a juice box across the table to me.
“Seriously?” I raised an eyebrow. “What am I, five?”
Roman shrugged. “It’s strawberry kiwi. Don’t say I never do anything for you.”
I tried not to smile. “You’re weird.”
He pulled a lollipop from the pocket of his hoodie, unwrapped it with one hand, and stuck it in his mouth. Cherry, I guessed. It matched the streak of red in his black-on-black outfit.
I leaned in, lowering my voice. “Okay. We need rules.”
He tilted his head, curious.
“If we’re doing this fake relationship thing, there have to be boundaries. Guidelines.”
Roman didn’t say anything. Just watched me with those deep, unreadable eyes.
“First rule,” I said, holding up a finger. “No kissing. At least not on the lips. Unless absolutely necessary.”
He popped the lollipop from his mouth. “Define necessary.”
“You know what I mean,” I snapped.
His lip twitched like he was holding back a smirk.
“Second,” I went on. “No real feelings. None. Nada. Zilch.”
His gaze lingered on my face longer than necessary. “Of course.”
“Third rule—this ends in two weeks. After Homecoming, we break up. Publicly. Clean and easy.”
Roman nodded once. “And fourth?”
I leaned closer. “No one can know it’s fake. Not your friends—if you even have any. Not mine. No one.”
He nodded again. “Done.”
I leaned back, sipping the juice box like I hadn’t just made a deal with the school’s scariest outcast.
Roman tapped his lollipop against the table. “I have a rule.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Oh yeah?”
He leaned in so close I could see the silver ring in his bottom lip, glinting under the cafeteria lights. “While we’re pretending,” he said quietly, “you’re mine.”
I blinked. “What does that mean?”
“It means,” he said, “no looking at your ex. No flirting. No hesitating when I touch you. You’re mine, Kira.”
His voice was calm. Flat. But something about it sent a chill down my spine.
I forced a laugh. “Wow, possessive much?”
Roman popped the lollipop back in his mouth and shrugged. “I’m committed to the role.”
But that wasn’t it. I saw it in his eyes. He wasn’t just playing.
Neither was I, apparently, because when Jake looked our way from three tables over, I reached across the table and laced my fingers through Roman’s. His thumb grazed mine slowly.
Jake looked away.
And I felt victorious.
⸻
Later that week, everything felt surreal.
Roman walked me to every class. Held my backpack for me when my hands were full. Waited outside the girls’ bathroom like some creepy-but-considerate shadow. The whole school was buzzing.
Kira Dawson, freshly dumped by golden boy Jake Halter, was now dating Roman Vexx—the guy who once got suspended for punching a vending machine.
I wasn’t sure if people were more shocked by the pairing… or how good we looked together.
And we did look good together. Roman had that tall, lean build. His black fringe fell over his forehead and brushed his lashes when he looked down. And under the sleeves of his hoodie, I’d noticed the subtle outlines of muscle—his arms were stronger than I’d expected.
I started to wonder if this was even fake anymore.
Then came the night that changed everything.
⸻
11:17 PM.
My phone buzzed.
ROMAN: Come outside.
ME: Are you insane? It’s past 11.
ROMAN: You said you liked reckless things.
I hesitated, staring at the screen.
The house was dark. My parents were asleep. The risk of getting caught was real.
But I slipped on a hoodie, grabbed my phone, and crept downstairs.
Roman was waiting outside, leaning against a matte black motorcycle. His hoodie was zipped halfway up, the chain around his neck glinting in the streetlight. A lollipop dangled from the corner of his mouth.
“Are you trying to get me grounded for life?” I whispered.
He tossed me a helmet. “Live a little.”
“I could die a little, too,” I muttered, but climbed on behind him anyway.
The engine roared to life, and we tore down the empty street like we were escaping something. Maybe we were.
He took me to the edge of town, to a cliff that overlooked the lake. I’d never been up there before. The water below shimmered under the moonlight.
We sat on the hood of his car in silence.
“I don’t get you,” I said finally.
“Good.” His voice was calm.
“I don’t get why you agreed to this.”
Roman looked at me, eyes unreadable. “Because you needed me. And I liked the idea of being needed.”
That shouldn’t have made my heart flutter. But it did.
He leaned back on his elbows. “Besides… pretending doesn’t feel so different from real life.”
I turned toward him. “What do you mean?”
He looked at me. “Most people fake who they are every day. At least we’re honest about it.”
I didn’t have a response to that.
The wind picked up, rustling the trees.
“Do you think Jake’s jealous yet?” Roman asked.
“I think so.”
“Then our job’s working.”
I turned to face him fully. “You’re really good at this.”
He grinned. “What can I say? I’m a method actor.”
We stared at each other for a moment too long.
Then he leaned in.
His lips brushed the side of my jaw, not quite a kiss, but enough to make my skin burn.
“Roman,” I whispered, “we said no kissing.”
“That wasn’t a kiss,” he said. “That was a warning.”
My throat tightened. “A warning?”
“Yeah.” His smile was sharp. “I don’t like sharing.”
⸻
- Writer
