Page 30 of Faking It with the Bad Boy

Say no. Remember the mentoring contract. Remember your reputation. Remember—oh god, he's doing that thing with his eyes again.

Instead, I took the helmet.

"Just this once," I said, climbing on behind him. "For purely historical purposes."

"Of course." I could hear the smile in his voice. "Wouldn't want to ruin your scary dental tool girl reputation."

As we rode through empty streets, my arms around his waist and my head resting against his back, I realized something: maybe some things were more important than maintaining reputations.

Like the way Jack Morrison read medical texts just to understand my world better.

Like how he showed up at midnight because Dex mentioned I was working late.

Like how he looked at me in the moonlight, past all the careful walls we'd both built.

The night air was cool, but Jack was warm against me, solid and natural and nothing like the reputation he wore like armor. His leather jacket smelled like old text and possibility, and I found myself holding on tighter than strictly necessary for safety.

This isn't how the story was supposed to go, I thought as we curved through campus. The bad boy wasn't supposed to quote medical history. The uptight academic wasn't supposed to enjoy motorcycle rides. We weren't supposed to find ourselves here, in this strange space between who we pretend to be and who we are.

But maybe that's exactly where we needed to be.

In the space between expectations and truth.

In the quiet moments after midnight, when masks slip, and walls fall.

In the gentle way he handled both rare books and my carefully constructed defenses.

As his motorcycle carried us through the sleeping campus, I realized I didn't want to be anywhere else.

He parked by my apartment, but neither of us moved immediately. The engine ticked as it cooled, marking seconds that felt heavier than they should.

"Sophie," he said, still facing forward. "About what almost happened—"

Tell him it was a mistake. It was just the moonlight, horror movies, and too much coffee. That you can't be the girl who falls for her mentee, no matter how perfectly he fits into every space you didn't know was empty.

"I know," I said quickly. "Late night, strange atmosphere. We should probably—"

"I was going to say I've been wanting to do that for weeks."

He turned then, and even in the dim streetlight, I could see the vulnerability in his expression. This was just Jack looking at me like I was a first edition, and he was afraid of damaging it.

"Since that first day in the museum," he continued. "When you spent twenty minutes explaining the evolution of dental practices, and you were so passionate about it that you didn't notice you were still wearing those ridiculous safety goggles."

"The goggles were mandatory," I managed.

"They were adorable." His hand found mine in the dark. "Like how you mouth along to old horror movies. Or how you organize everything by date and subject, even your coffee cups. Or how you look at old medical books like they're love letters."

"Jack—"

"I know all the reasons this is complicated," he said softly. "The mentoring contract. Your academic reputation. My hockey career. But maybe..."

"Maybe what?"

"Maybe some things are worth complicating."

The streetlight above us flickered, casting shadows that made everything feel dreamlike. A cat wandered past, pausing to judge our life choices before continuing its nightly rounds.

"I'm not good at complicated," I whispered. "I like order. Categories. Clear boundaries."

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