Chapter 5: The "Babe" Protocol
807 Words
Liam's POV
"Again," I said, leaning against the lockers in the deserted West Wing corridor.
Megan groaned, dropping her head back against the metal with a dull thud. "Liam, we've been here for twenty minutes. My face muscles are starting to twitch."
"You look like you're smelling sour milk every time I get within three feet of you," I pointed out, crossing my arms. "If we're going to survive the weekend gala, you have to look like you actually want to be near me."
"I'm an academic, not an actress," she shot back. "And stop standing like that. You're doing the 'brooding prince' thing again. It's intimidating."
"It's called presence, Foster." I stepped into her space, watching her eyes widen.
"Now, try it. Say my name. Not like you're accusing me of a crime, but like... you know."
Megan took a deep breath, her chest rising and falling. "Fine. Liam."
"Better. Now add a nickname. My mom is going to expect something 'sweet' when she hosts us for dinner."
She winced. "I am not calling you 'pookie'."
"If you call me pookie, the deal is dead," I deadpanned. "Try 'babe.' It's standard. Low effort."
Megan cleared her throat, her dark skin flushing a beautiful shade of rose.
"Hey... babe."
It sounded like she was choking on a marble. I couldn't help it; I started laughing. "That was pathetic. You sounded like you were being held at gunpoint."
"Because I am!" she hissed, though a small, traitorous smile tugged at her lips. "Social gunpoint!"
Megan's POV
I hated that his laugh was actually kind of nice. It wasn't the arrogant smirk he wore in the halls; it was the real one. The one that used to make me feel like we were the only two people in the world.
"Okay, expert," I said, poking him in the chest. "You try. Make it believable."
Liam's expression shifted. The humor vanished, replaced by something intense and focused. He reached out, his hand hovering near my waist before he settled it gently on the locker beside my head. He leaned in, his scent; that mix of expensive cologne and laundry detergent; overpowering my senses.
"Don't worry about the math test, babe," he murmured, his voice dropping into a low, silky register. "You're the smartest person I know."
My heart did a somersault. For a second, I forgot we were in a dusty hallway. I forgot about the scholarship. I forgot I was supposed to be mad at him.
"See?" he whispered, his amber eyes locked onto mine. "That's how you do it."
"Wow," a voice chirped from the end of the hall. "I give that performance an 8 out of 10. Needs more tongue, but the tension is delicious."
We both jumped apart so fast I nearly tripped over my own feet.
Stella was standing there, holding a bag of chips, with Elena leaning against her shoulder, typing furiously on her phone.
"Stella!" I gasped. "How long have you been there?"
"Long enough to see Prince Charming over here practicing his lines," Stella said, popping a chip into her mouth.
"Is it true?" Elena asked, looking up from her screen with a mischievous glint. "The school forum is taking bets on whether this is a 'rebound' or a 'true love' arc. I have twenty bucks on 'enemies-to-lovers trope.'"
"It's private," Liam snapped, though his ears were tinged with red. "And don't you two have a class to be failing?"
"We have a free period," Elena teased.
"And honestly, Liam, if you're going for the 'devoted boyfriend' look, you might want to stop sweating so much. You look like you're having a minor heart attack."
Liam wiped his forehead, looking genuinely flustered. "I'm not sweating. It's the humidity in this wing."
Stella winked at me. "Sure, Jan. Come on, Megan. Let's leave the 'babe' to his humidity. We need to talk about what you're wearing to the sports gala."
As they pulled me away, I looked back at Liam. He was still standing by the lockers, looking completely thrown off his game. For the first time, I realized that I wasn't the only one struggling with the "fake" part of this.
Liam's POV
I watched them turn the corner, my heart still racing.
"Babe," I muttered to myself, shaking my head.
I looked down at my hands. They were actually shaking. I told myself it was just the adrenaline of almost being caught.
But as I walked toward the gym, I couldn't shake the feeling that the script we were writing was starting to write itself.
And I wasn't sure I liked where the story was going.
- Writer
