9. Juliana

NINE

JULIANA

Thank God it's Tuesday, Mei's shortest day of the week. Which means I won't have to endure her prying gaze during my lunch break while I'm negotiating my terms for fake dating my brother's best friend.

Yikes. How could I ever say that out loud, especially to her? She'd check me into a psych ward.

It was bad enough that she yanked me right back into the storage room the instant Hayden went to his table, then shot me question after question. Did he come all this way for you? Does he work nearby? What did you two talk about? When's your next date? I dodged each one, offering vague answers, even though all I could hear were his words to me.

Sure, the whole comment about the stripper and my apron was just regular old Hayden Kingston shenanigans. Creative, straight-forward, and overtly sexual, meant for maximum shock factor—which he achieved and then some. But that's not what stuck with me; isn't what's been replaying in my mind on an endless continuum since and even now, as he sits across our tiny bistro table, sporting his signature smirk.

I like the sight of that.

You, swiping my card.

Before the butterflies in my stomach flap their wings, I shove the idea of being Hayden's spoiled plaything as far back into my consciousness as humanly possible, instead focusing on how ridiculous he looks in that chair.

While Hayden isn't excessively bulky and tends more toward a lean-muscle physique, he is rather tall. Six-foot-three, he'd say, even though I know he's actually six-two and a half. A detail he'll deny to his grave.

I bite back a laugh, noting how far his knees jut upwards, his legs much too long for that chair. But the farther my gaze rises, the more my grin falls and heartbeat escalates. Resting his chin on a clenched fist, he gazes out the window, his hair disheveled and wild yet somehow effortlessly stylish. And worst of all, his coat flaps open, the long fabric kissing the floor while his Rolex peeks out of his sleeve. Looking kind of like—no, exactly like—a model you'd spot on the cover of Men's Vogue or in a mainstream music video.

And he's here. Sitting across from me. The girl with four-day-old hair, chipped nail polish, and a stained apron to show for.

And no experience, that little devil adds.

I clear my throat, hoping to kick it off my shoulder—and curb my distracting thoughts. But when he turns his beautiful head, they come rushing back, anyway. I bury my face in my backpack, rummaging for my notebook.

"Well, dollface, you called for this meeting, so I think it's best you lead."

My cheeks burn. Does he really have to call me things like that?

When my nail catches against a dark blue color, I pull out my notebook, which I now realize looks like it belongs in a middle schooler's backpack—and honestly might've once been in mine. Donned in space suits, happy animals with oversized eyes dance across constellations, alongside planets, friendly aliens, colorful spaceships, and a smiling sun.

His eyebrow ticks skyward. "Space shit. Nice."

Could this day get any more humiliating? I zoom to the page I left off on.

"Wait..." Hayden leans over, his face twisting in horror. "You took notes for this?"

I raise a quizzical brow. "Yes. And?"

He scans over the words, even though they're upside down to him. When I flip the page, revealing two more, his face contorts in misery. "Gee, Juliana. When you texted me about establishing ground rules, I didn't think you'd write a book." He laughs, more to himself than at me. "Pen and paper. I couldn't think of a drier way to start a relationship."

"Fake relationship," I correct him quickly.

"Yeah, yeah." He waves his hand in the air. "You know what I mean."

"You see? This is why we need rules. You're already downplaying the seriousness of this arrangement." I flip through the rest of the pages. Specifically, five more. Seven in total. There would've been more, too, if it weren't for Mr. Show Up Unannounced here. "Unfortunately, I didn't have the time to reach ten."

With each flip, his grimace worsens, as if I'm some vindictive teacher assigning a massive project before winter break.

He whistles low. "Wow, how terribly misfortunate."

I shoot him a damning look.

Crossing his arms, he flicks his chin. "Let's get this show on the road, babe."

I huff a breath. "Fine, we'll start with that. Enough with the babe, babydoll, baby-whatever. It's unnecessary—"

His laugh roars across the busy café, the sound swallowed up by loud chatter. Apparently, my first rule is so hilarious, tears brim his eyes, as he slaps his palm down, rattling our table. "Oh! You did not just say that, Jules."

Steam shoots from my ears at his defiance. "What's. So. Funny?"

Eyes widening, he zips his lips, before another bark spews through them. "Oh my god, you're serious!" he sputters, slapping some more, until only a few chuckles linger.

"Yes. I am serious," I repeat, my jaw clenching.

"Who in their right mind is going to believe that I don't have pet names for my girlfriend?"

"They're not some dating prerequisite, so—"

"They are with me, baby girl." His voice lowers an octave, sparking a warmth right between my legs.

My breaths grow shallow. "Stop that."

"Stop what?" he murmurs, a tomcat toying with his prey. Beneath our cramped table, his knees graze my chair, and his thighs close in on the outer sides of mine, trapping my legs between his.

"Giving my girlfriend affection? Here's a little secret. What I call you should be the least of your concerns, because my favorite place to show off what's mine is in public..." He trails a fingertip up my bare arm, light and teasing, eliciting goosebumps and fanning the fire in my center. "...and I love to play with what's mine."

My legs squirm against the cage his built for mine, prompting a deep chuckle from his chest, as he tightens back against them.

"We don't want anyone thinking our relationship is anything but real now, would we?" Sweeping back down the length of my arm, his touch grows possessive, and I find myself drawing closer, leaning over the tabletop. "So, you better get used to my attention, baby." Lazily, he fiddles with the front of my apron, lightly tugging the drawstrings under my breasts. "Although, it seems you're already—"

I bolt backwards, my tailbone crashing against my chair, like a man freed from Medusa's seductive stare. My heart palpitates in powerful thumps, seeping the breath from my lungs. I look elsewhere, unable to meet his satisfied grin.

How am I so easy for him? He knows I still can't contend with him, even five years later.

If I take this deal, I'm doomed.

If? that little devil singsongs. Honey, you already did. You might as well buckle up and enjoy the ride. And by ride, I mean his—

My eyes dart between customers in the café's nooks and crannies, to the bustling streets outside, literally anywhere, desperately needing a distraction. But I come up with no such solace.

"I-I'm, uhm..."

"Mhmmm," he drawls.

Christ! How can a man so good-looking sound that hot?

Acting a fool, I dare a peek and regret it immediately. His eyes search mine. No, ensnare mine, holding them hostage without a single word. Dunking me in their crystal-blue, oceany depths, a composed dominance lying just beneath the surface, while teetering on a flirtatious edge that may be genuine or all a ruse.

A look I've seen once before...

I spring to my feet, my chair scraping with a harsh grating noise. Whether I draw the attention of nearby customers is news to me. Hell, I don't even know if there are customers anymore. "I-I'm g-gonna go get some..." My words taper off, gone with a whisper as I speed-walk toward the coffee bar.

Water... I need. Water.

The Caffeine Cove's newest barista, Rylee, gives me a strange look. I zoom past her without a glance and disappear through that annoyingly talkative door.

Ten minutes later, I'm back in my seat. Poised, professional, and hydrated as ever.

Fingers folded in his lap, Hayden reclines comfortably, curling his lips in a way that says I'll behave now. With a sigh, I trail a finger down the first page of my notes. Business meeting... this is just a business meeting.

I clear my throat. "No one can find out about us."

He rolls his lips together to stifle a chuckle. "The whole reason of a fake relationship—"

"No one unnecessary, I mean."

He blinks.

Oh my god, must I spoon-feed him everything? It's like geometry class all over again.

"No one we grew up with. Not Mei. My co-workers. My mom..." I squirm in my chair at the thought of my mother, the woman who practically raised Hayden, finding out about all of this.

Not only was she Mr. Kingston's nighttime nanny for years, but she taught—and still teaches—second grade at Riverside Prep on the Upper East Side. A private school Jeremy and I would've never attended alongside wealthy kids like Hayden, if it wasn't for our mother's dedicated involvement in school affairs.

So, while she does accept Hayden as one of her own, given the countless sleepovers he had growing up at our tiny apartment once the Kingston Estate was off the table, that wouldn't make her discovery of this any less mortifying. Her nickname for Hayden was troublemaker , a label that's still appropriate today. There'd be no escaping her questions... She'd make Mei's interrogations sound like small talk.

Steering clear of such a scenario, I add, "And your friends can't know, either."

He frowns. "That's just great, Jules. Makes total sense. You don't think my friends talk? Or that their families and mine aren't part of the same social circles? People talk. There's no avoiding my friends."

"What about my brother, then?"

"That's... going to have to be carefully managed."

I shrug. "If it's a problem, I know it'd be super weird, but I could just come clean to him about it. I'm sure he'd under—"

"No, no." He sits up, all the color draining from his face. "No, that's not a good idea. We'll figure something out. I'll make sure you're out of my apartment when he comes over. Maybe hide your things and..." he mumbles to himself.

My lips dry. "Why would you need to hide my things?"

His brows cinch in confusion. "Obviously, because I can't risk my best friend seeing his sister's toothbrush on my bathroom counter or her shirt in my hamper."

"M-my... What?" I shake my head, grappling for my words. "I'm not living with you."

Amusement flashes in his eyes. When he doesn't respond, my heart lurches.

He can't seriously think I'm going to move in with him. I get that it would make us appear more serious, but I can hardly withstand his flirtatious remarks in public. What in the world would become of me behind closed doors? My mind wanders, lying me beneath Hayden's masterful touch atop a New York City luxurious apartment, no doubt overlooking some glistening view of Central Park at night. In the main bedroom, there's not a curtain in sight. Same goes with the kitchen, even the living room...

My palm smacks onto the table, yanking myself from that ridiculous fantasy. "It's... It's right..." I frantically search through the notebook, my finger dragging across the paper as my words quickly spiral into some chicken-soup mess. "Here!" I yelp, then turn the page to him. I double tap the rule written in bold red ink, like it proves anything at all.

Lips pursing, he reads aloud blandly, "During the duration of the arrangement, the two parties will not cohabitate under the same roof." He pinches the bridge of his nose. "Parties...? Cohabitate...? What're you, a lawyer now?"

"No, but I mention hiring one in another rule." His eyes bulge. "I can show you. I think it's on the next pa—"

He snatches the book from my hands. "Give me that."

"Hey!" I lurch over the table, failing to swipe it back.

"What other nonsense do you have in here?" He flips back and forth between pages, holding the notebook at different depths, squinting like he's deciphering a morse code transcription. One by one, he reads them off, each rule more embarrassing than the last.

"No sleepovers."

My cheeks flame when he snickers.

"No sharing a bed. Ever." His eyes flicker to mine, delight glinting in them. "Very definitive in your statements, aren't you?"

I cross my arms. "With you, I need to be."

"I'll have you know, you'd be very comfortable in my bed."

My lips part.

"It's an Alaskan king," he adds quickly.

"An Alaskan king, really?" I drawl. "Don't you think that's a bit overkill? Why would you need a bed that sleeps, like, four pee-oo-pleee....." The word contorts and fizzles out on my tongue, as graphic images flash before me.

His lips curl into a wolfish grin. "Tell me, sweet Jules. Have you slept on Egyptian cotton?"

Lord, help me.

"No. And I don't plan on it."

"Well, seems we're in a bit of a predicament, then."

"How so? I said I'm not moving in. End of discussion."

"Yes, that's your non-negotiable. But this is mine."

Now it's my turn to blink. "What's there to negotiate? I'm not moving in, so there's no way I'm sleeping in your bed."

Rubbing his jawline, he hums in thought. "Exactly. Now you're getting it. We're at a standstill. Seems we'll have to..." He lets his sentence drop off open-endedly.

Is this man speaking in riddles? I'm about to make another grab at my journal, lest he continue with my torture, when the answer smacks me upside the head. "Compromise," I whisper, dread pooling in my core. We'll have to compromise.

"Ding, ding, ding." He shoots me a wink, full of amusement. "But, don't you worry. Turn that frown upside down, baby. Compromise is the first key to a strong relationship—or so I've heard. I've never actually stuck around long enough to confirm that. You could say I have a slight commitment problem..." His musings drift to the outer regions of my mind, alongside his laughter.

Oh, no. I nibble my lip nervously. He's making sense. He never does that... Why, why, why, of all the times, is he now making sense?

What's worse, is a part of me finds itself agreeing with his insanity. If we're really in a believable relationship, one that's serious enough to reveal to his own father, convincing him of Hayden's maturity and commitment, then we can't do this halfway. I have to move in. But not into his bed. That's where I draw the line.

Which leaves only one plausible compromise...

I avoid his heavy gaze, aware that my next words will likely book me a one-way ticket to his den of temptation. "I'll move in..."

His ramblings stop, and I can already sense the onset of his smug aura going off like a disco ball, radiating triumphant rays across the table, laughing as they touch my skin.

"...but I'm taking a guest room."

His lights go out.

"That's not the compromise I had in mind."

"Too bad."

"Is it? I don't have a guestroom."

"Are you saying your apartment isn't big enough for one?" I challenge.

He sucks in a breath, charged for another attack, before his lips clamp shut, letting pride get the best of him. "Fine." Nodding toward the notebook, he exhales heavily. "Let's just get through the rest of this garbage..."

"No lovey-dovey social media posts— yuck," he mumbles to himself. "Who does she think I am?"

Flipping to the next page, a quiet laugh escapes him. "No handholding." A knot twists in my stomach, but I let his mumbles continue, something along the lines of yeah fucking right, has she ever dated before?

No, I most definitely don't say. No, I have not.

"No heated intimacy?" He rolls his eyes. "It's called sex, Jules.

I ignore the burn creeping up my neck. "A lawyer wouldn't write that word on a contract."

That word? I kick myself. Seriously?

He gives me a knowing smirk, before returning to my rules. "No falling in love." All the humor slides off his tongue, leaving behind not a single witty remark. Only a confused glance, that I'd say, if I didn't know any better, looks rather forced. "Now that's unnecessary."

My heart sinks— but only a centimeter.

I laugh awkwardly. "I'm just covering our bases."

"No need. Men like me don't fall in love." The word sounds foreign yet definitive on his tongue, sparking a sudden sadness within me. Not for me, of course. For Hayden. But maybe I'm too quick to pity, not having been in love myself.

Not true love, anyway.

After at least twenty more minutes of bickering, confusing innuendos, sideward glances, successfully convincing Rylee to cover for my long lunch break, debating which rules to keep, and going back and forth on whether to call a lawyer, I compromised yet again.

Hayden looks over the single piece of college-ruled paper with a permanent scowl. My makeshift contract may be amateur, but it only needs his signature across the dotted line to become legally binding.

FAKE DATING TERMS & AGREEMENTS

Party 1: Hayden Kingston

Party 2: Juliana Brooks

Both parties will entertain a fake relationship, for the benefit of Party 1, until Party 2's indie game, Cosmic Kitty Defense, is showcased at DreamScape with the help of Party 1's familial connections.

GROUND RULES:

Both parties agree to...

1) Act as a couple around Party 1's friends and family.

2) Keep this a secret from Jeremy Brooks.

3) Not post about the other on social media.

4) Share a residence.

5) Not throw a party or use illegal substances in the shared residence.

6) Sleep in separate beds. Always.

7) Remain romantically exclusive.

8) Practice sexual abstinence. This includes with other people.

"You added things," Hayden complains, heaving a massive sigh, exactly how a first grader would when forced to sit for a long period of time.

I hide a smirk. "Oh, did I?"

"Yes. Seven and eight."

"Oopsie." I twirl a loose strand of hair between my fingers. "I wrote them on a whim. Just little additions."

He taps his pen atop the table impatiently. "How is remaining romantically exclusive for a fake relationship a little addition?"

I have my answer charged and ready the moment he goes silent. "Well, you said it yourself. You've never entertained anything romantic, including a relationship, before. So, I thought it'd be easy for you."

His jaw ticks. "It would be if I didn't have to refrain from sex, as per your last little rule. Please, explain the thought process behind why we can't have sex with other people, even though this is all fake."

I shrug. "The thought of not being exclusive makes me... uncomfy." I leave it at that, not wanting to figure out if my real reasoning is more deep-rooted. A long string of curses hisses under his breath, and he looks prepared for another sparring battle, until I say sweetly, "But we can keep negotiating, if you'd like."

In two seconds flat, he scribbles his signature across the dotted line beside mine. And for the first time since Hayden walked back into my life, I feel like I've won. Bested him at something .

Maybe this whole thing will be easier than I thought. Hayden will keep his distance. He won't push boundaries, and he'll stick to the contract. Before I know it, my game will be the front of gaming news, at least for a time, gaining me exposure and players and revenue. Hell, I'll be out of this apron in no time and—

Hayden fishes something from his pocket, stopping my thought dead in its tracks. That look in his eyes... satisfaction swirls through them, as if he was the one who watched me sign the contract, somehow knowing he'd come out on the better side.

Hidden beneath his palm, he pushes something across the table, the sound of metal against metal my only clue. Until he retreats, revealing a single key. It takes me a moment to put two and two together. The key must be for his apartment. A spare key. But...

The initial J is already engraved on it.