Page 42 of Faking It with the Bad Boy

"I was going to say interesting." He smiled that smile that made my heart forget how to beat properly. "Though I could have done without my grandmother's dramatic readings."

"Your sonnet about library late fees was quite good."

"Just wait until you hear my epic poem about card catalogs."

"Jack."

"Complete with heroic couplets."

"You're ridiculous."

"Says the girl who color-codes dental tools."

We were both laughing now, the tension of the evening dissolving into something warmer. He moved closer, one hand coming up to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear.

"You know," he said softly, "my grandmother's right about one thing."

"Your talent for iambic pentameter?" Your secret talent for figuring out Shakespeare’s rhythm?

"No." His thumb traced my cheekbone, sending electricity through my skin. "About not hiding anymore."

"Jack—"

"I'm serious, Sophie. I'm tired of pretending I don't write poetry. That I don't love literature as much as hockey, that I don't—" He took a breath. "That I don't feel what I feel for you."

The museum was quiet except for our breathing and the distant hum of fluorescent lights. Through the window, moonlight painted silver patterns across nineteenth-century medical displays.

"Our families—"

"Will adapt. Just like we did."

"The mentorship—"

"Ends in three weeks."

"Your hockey career—"

"Can coexist with everything else I am." His other hand found mine, fingers intertwining. "Just like your medical history obsession can coexist with breaking rules about after-hours museum access."

I laughed despite myself. "That was one time."

"Three times this week."

"For academic purposes!"

"Is that what we're calling it?"

He was closer now, close enough that I could see the gold flecks in his eyes, count his eyelashes, and feel the warmth radiating from his skin.

"Your grandmother probably has this whole conversation documented in her scrapbook already," I whispered.

"Probably. She's surprisingly stealthy for someone who wears that much hockey merchandise."

"Jack."

"Sophie."

"Are we really doing this? Risking everything?"

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