Page 45 of Faking It with the Bad Boy

"Dare what? Point out that you've been looking for an excuse to run since this started? That it's easier for you to believe I'mplaying some elaborate game than admit you might actually matter to me?"

"Like I mattered during midterms?" The words tasted like ashes. "When you were too busy with hockey to see me but had plenty of time for Sarah's recital?"

He flinched. "That was—"

"Let me guess. Not what it looks like?" My voice cracked. "You know what the worst part is? I actually believed you. All those late nights in the museum, all those conversations about literature and history, all those moments when you seemed so genuine. I really thought I was different."

"You ARE different!" The words exploded out of him. "You think I spend hours researching Victorian medical practices for fun? Do you think I write about dental tools because they're part of some master plan?"

"I don't know what to think anymore." I picked up a surgical catalog from 1856, running my fingers over its worn leather cover. "I used to think I knew you. The real you, not the campus bad boy or the hockey star. But now..."

"Now what? Would you rather believe Sarah's version? The one that makes me into some kind of calculating player, collecting girls' interests like hockey trophies?"

"Your texts—"

"Were real!" He strode forward, closing the distance between us. "Every damn one of them. Yes, I cared about Sarah's music. Yes, I appreciated Emma's art. Yes, I learned French with Kendra. Because that's who I am, Sophie. I get invested. I care. I try to understand what makes people passionate about things."

"And then you move on."

"Is that what you think this is? Some kind of, what, cultural tourism? Sampling different interests until I get bored?"

"Isn't it?" My voice was barely a whisper now. "The reformed bad boy act, the gradual revelation of hidden depths, the poetry that just happens to perfectly align with each girl's interests..."

"You want to talk about acts?" His laugh was harsh. "What about your perfect student act? Your 'everything must have rules' facade? Do you think I don't see how you use those rules to keep people at a distance? How you hide behind academic protocols because you're scared of letting anyone close enough to matter?"

The words hit home with devastating accuracy. "That's not—"

"Not what? Not true? You made a rulebook for us, Sophie. An actual laminated rulebook. Because God forbid something happen that you can't categorize and control."

"Better than pretending to be something I'm not!"

"You mean like pretending you don't care? Like you're doing right now?"

"I'm not the one with a history of playing roles!"

"No, you're just the one too scared to admit this might be real!"

The words echoed through the museum, bouncing off glass cases and Victorian implements. We stood there, breathing hard, surrounded by artifacts of medical history and our own breaking hearts.

"Real?" My laugh was sharp enough to cut. "Was it real with Sarah too? With Emma? With Kendra? How many girls have thought this was real, Jack?"

"At least they gave me a chance to explain!"

"Explain what? How you're different with me? How I'm not just another girl you're pretending for?" The tears were coming now, hot and angry. "Save it for your next project. I'm sure she'll find your reformed bad boy act very convincing."

He flinched like I'd struck him. "Is that really what you think of me?"

"I don't know what to think anymore." I turned away, unable to look at him. "Maybe Sarah's right. Maybe this is just what you do – find girls who are passionate about something, learn enough to make them feel understood, then move on when it stops being interesting."

"Sophie." His voice cracked on my name. "Look at me."

I didn't. Couldn't.

"Fine." The word was quiet, defeated. "Believe what you want. It's easier that way, isn't it? Safer to think I'm just playing a role than to admit this might actually mean something."

"Jack—"

"You want to know the real difference?" He moved to the door, his hand resting on the frame. "They saw parts of me. Pieces I thought they'd like. But you... you saw all of me. The hockey player who reads poetry. The bad boy who loves literature. The guy who's trying to figure out who he is beyond everyone's expectations." His laugh was hollow. "My mistake was thinking you'd be brave enough to let me see all of you too."

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