Page 45 of The Love Simulation

I grimace. He must not be feeling well at all if he’s messing up his hair. I want to reach up and smooth it back down. Massage his temples to help him feel better. But I don’t dare. I clasp my fingers together behind my back.

“I didn’t know that you get migraines.” It feels like it’s something I should be aware of. But I can’t think of a day when he’s missed school or it seemed like he was in pain.

“I don’t get them often, and they’re usually not debilitating, just annoying, which can cause me to get irritated quickly…or act like a pain.” He looks at me and cocks an eyebrow.

I instantly feel bad, realizing he must be aware that the teachers call his dad Major Pain and him Major Pain Jr. While his dad one thousand percent deserves the nickname, I hate that Roman is aware of it, and even more that I haven’t put a stop to it. If I was aware that the teachers had some joke about my name, who knows what I’d do. Actually, I do know. I’d cry about it.

“You’re not a pain,” I say emphatically. “If you hear anyone calling you that, let me know, and I’ll put a stop to it right away.” That might have come off a little more feral than intended, but I try to tell myself that I would be just as protective of anyone who I thought might be getting their feelings hurt.

Roman salutes me. “Yes, ma’am.”

I smile and nod, confident he’ll take me up on the offer and assured in my capability to put a stop to the nasty name. I look around at the plants and sprinklers, then at the dandelion plot. We haven’t yielded any sprouts yet, and I’m beginning to get antsy. There is one lone dandelion from the old plot that has already lost its flower, with nothing left save for the wispy spores. I walk closer.

“How are we going to get these to grow?” I ask.

Roman stops next to me and plucks the old dandelion from the soil. It’s a straggler from what the crew before us had planted.

“Hey, don’t!” I begin, but it’s too late.

He holds it out to me. “Here. Make a wish.”

“I can’t. We’re supposed to keep whatever we can grow or put it with the compost. I heard Jordan say he wanted to make dandelion soup at some point.” Roman’s flat look tells me exactly what he thinks of dandelion soup. I shrug. “Look, those are his dreams, not mine.”

“It’s one dandelion,” Roman dismisses. “And if it makes you feel better, I’ll keep the stem when you’re done.”

“Jordan would kill us if he knew we were about to send more than a hundred seeds into the Hab.”

Roman looks very serious as he says, “If Jordan tries anything, let me know, and I’ll put a stop to it right away.” The half smile he lets slip is pure, unadulterated charm.

He holds the dandelion under my nose, waiting for me to comply. Finally, I suck in a deep breath and make a wish. Surprisingly, it’s not about my career or even the library—I wish for real, honest connections. I’m tired of being lonely.

I blow a stream of air directed toward the center, and about a hundred seeds fly out, swirling around Roman and floating in the air around us. I smile as I hold my hand out for any of the seeds to land in. I catch two, lift my palm toshow Roman, and freeze. As in awe as I am with the magic of this moment, he seems to be in awe of me.

My pulse speeds up and my stomach is a jumbled mess. Especially when his eyes land on my lips.

Never mind that just a few minutes ago I came in here to tell him directly, once again, that we can’t date. The Brianna who thought up that horrible idea was out of her mind. Because why can’t we? Why shouldn’t we?

Because you’re colleagues, you’re on camera, and the man clearly isn’t feeling well.I want to plug my ears, but that won’t drown out the voice of reason in my head.

“You need to stop looking at me like that,” I finally say.

“Like what?”

I swallow past my own desires to get the words out of my mouth. “Like you want to kiss me. We can’t date, and we certainly can’t kiss.”

“We’re not at school, and we’re both adults,” he says, and I have to admit he makes an excellent point. “And most importantly,” he continues, “I want to. I haven’t wanted anything like this in a long, long time.”

As I open my mouth to do something—repeat myself until I believe it, tell him to pucker up, who knows—an alarm begins blaring throughout the Hab. I initially think the people in charge of the simulationcanactually hear us in here. That they’ve been watching and, after deciding we’ve crossed a big line, are now calling us on it. But then I realize that loud hitting sounds can be heard. Are we being attacked? Roman and I look at each other with wild, surprised eyes before taking off out of the greenhouse.

Chapter Seventeen

“Aliens! Oh lawd, we’re being attacked by aliens!”

It’s a cacophony of alarms blaring, robotic warnings of imminent doom (or at least that’s what I think; who can tell with all the other chaos?), what sounds like hail raining down, and over it all, Angie’s voice reigns supreme with her shouts of aliens.

I stop in the middle of the Hab, looking around wildly as I stand in the doorway of the gym, from Angie to the comms and cameras that are showing nothing but dust and finally to Roman, who’s wincing while shielding his eyes. All this noise can’t be good for his headache.

Jordan comes barreling from his and Roman’s bedroom. “Meteor shower!” he exclaims, almost out of breath. “There’s a meteor shower, and the meteors are coming through the ceiling.”

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