Page 17 of The Love Simulation

Lance uses one arm to secure Zara to his chest and the other to tickle Camille, and I slide off my stool to give the happy family their privacy.

I try to tell myself not to be jealous and that one day the time will come when I’m expressing my love language to a partner through fun and games. But I can’t help but wonder,when? When will it be my turn? I force back the image of standing beside Roman and looking up as he went to town on his turkey leg. It wasn’t adorable, and he’s not the man for me.

I look out the back door window and see Sheba standing there patiently, her brown eyes barely visible through her golden fur. Camille agreed to watch her while I’m gone. When I open the door, she politely walks in and comes to me for some cuddles.

“Who needs a partner when they have the best girl in the world anyway?” I whisper as I bend down and scratch behind her ears.

Sheba and I have come a long way since she was a curious puppy I had no idea what to do about. If anyone saw her, they’d never guess the same well-behaved dog once attacked someone. Well,attackis a strong word. More likemauled with love. I’ll never forget the day a year ago when we went hiking with my family and my brother’s now-fiancée, Amerie, jogged away from the group to catch up with Vincent, who’d taken off like the Lone Ranger. Sheba managed to slip free from me and ran after Amerie,causing her to fall and sprain her ankle. Amerie held no grudges, realizing Sheba only wanted to give her kisses, but I felt horrible.

After the trip I spent two thousand—yes,thousand, as in the cardinal number that is the product of ten and one hundred—for a personal behavior specialist and trainer. As it turns out, I was the one who needed training in how to deliver consistent and confident commands. The difference is night and day.

I didn’t think I’d ever be one of those people harping on about their dogs being their babies, their dog being the one to rescuethem, or how petting their dog helped them relax after a long day, but…yeah. Sheba has been all that and more. Especially this year as I’ve adjusted to a life more isolated from coworkers and friends. I can’t always show up on Camille’s doorstep since she’s got her family to take care of, but I can always count on coming home to someone happy to see me.

“Don’t forget about me while I’m gone,” I tell Sheba before standing up.

It seems Lance has taken Zara upstairs and is probably getting ready to conduct some meetings from his home office. Camille is alone in the kitchen, back to making me uncomfortable as she studies me with her arms folded over her chest.

She pushes off the counter and walks over to me, then reaches out to smooth my braids and sighs. “If you’re determined to see this through, just be careful. You’re smart and capable of anything you set your mind to. Including kicking ass in the simulation. But you’re also sweet and gentle and led by your heart. I’m worried that with Roman around, it’s going to lead you right into heartbreak. ThenI’llhave to get involved because he hurt my little sister.”

“I’m not a little girl who needs her big sister watching out all the time.” I shrug my shoulders high up to my ears, and Camille gets the hint to stop messing with my hair. Before she can take a step back and call me a brat, I grab one of her hands and squeeze. “But I appreciate your concern. Even if I don’t show it, I always have and always will. I am going into this with every single one of my guards up, focused on nothing but making it through the next six weeks. And don’t worry about my heart, because I haven’t, nor will I ever, give it to Roman to break.”

Chapter Eight

As I wait to load my bag into our “shuttle,” I will my heart to stop beating so hard.

Really, it’s a mixture of nerves and excitement. We’re about to set out, and our little adventure to save the library will officially begin. There is so much riding on this being a success. So many kids whose lives will be impacted—in good or bad ways—depending upon our ability to complete each objective before the six weeks are up. We can’t mess this up. I won’t let us.

The increase in my heart rate may also have something to do with the fact Roman is standing right behind me.

While Angie works on fitting her bag, which is clearly double the size we were instructed to bring, into the back of the fleet van we’re being transported in, I strike down the urge to glance over my shoulder at Roman. It’s not even that he’s standing close to me, because he’s not. Each time I’ve taken a step forward, he’s remained rooted to his spot on the asphalt like some silent sentry. But among Angie’s grunts and curses and the excited chatter coming from Jordan and Simone, who are already strapped in and ready to go, Iknowhe’s looking at me. I feel his eyes on me. On my hair, my back, my ass where the extra helpings of enchiladas migrate to.

It’s some special sensory superpower I gained after noticing Roman’s reaction to seeing me in workout clothes. I’m painfully aware that with every step I take or each time I shift my weight to the other hip, he’s watching the movement. It’s making the tiny hairs on the back of my neck stand on end and grating on my nerves.

I don’t want to, nor can I afford to, feel any kind of excitement from his attention. We may not be at school, but I’m still his vice principal, and if that isn’t reason enough to ignore whatever is going on between us, I also don’t trust his reason for joining the simulation. If only turning off your attraction to someone could be as easy as flipping a switch. My brain knows he’s the enemy and will most likely try to ruin this whole experience for everyone, but my body’s response to his nearness says,Okay, and?

I reach up to the top of my head and unwrap the strands of braids I used in lieu of a scrunchie to keep it all in a bun. The braids tumble down my back like some physical barrier between me and his gaze. There, no more hair-raising awareness.

Angie gets her bag situated and clears out. There’s not much space left when I step up to the doors of the van. Duffel bags and containment boxes filled with supplies and uniforms have pretty much taken up any extra room. With a little maneuvering, though, I manage to get my bag loaded and head in to grab a seat.

“Do y’all think the whole school will be watching the livestream?” Simone asks when I step into the van.

“I don’t know about the school, but my family will,” Jordan says, trying to get comfortable as he’s somehow landed between Angie and Simone.

I’m not pleased to see the last row will be just Romanand me, but when Jordan tries stretching his legs, with a “Nuh-uh, no manspreading,” I keep it moving.

“I know at least half the teachers will be watching,” Angie then says. “They told me.”

As if I don’t have enough to stress about. Every move we make—every single one of our interactions and reactions—will be recorded for all to see. I want to make my family proud. I want to inspire the students. I want to show Superintendent Watts, who’s given me so much of her time and wisdom, that she made the right choice in backing me. But I’m scared. If we lose, my failure will live on forever. I’ll only be known as the not-good-enough Rogers child.

In the middle of my downward spiral, Roman steps into the van.

“I hope you don’t mind this here,” he says to me as he sets his bag between us and sits down on the right side of the row. “There’s no more room in the back.”

With him so close, I have no choice but to notice how delectable he smells. It’s this kind of spicy scent with notes of chocolate, which I freakin’ love. He’s wearing blue coveralls like the rest of us since he was finally able to find a size that wasn’t too tight, though it’s still snug on his chest and biceps. But what really gets me is the fact that he had the nerve to show up with a fresh haircut and trimmed beard. He’s here looking all fresh and sexy, and I can’t in good conscience enjoy it knowing he has ulterior motives.

I look at his hand resting on top of his bag. I wonder just what he’ll do to try and stop us. What exactly were Principal Major’s directives?

“Hey,” Roman says to me. “You good?”

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