Page 24 of Faking It For Real

Chemistry? No. That's just nerves, I told myself firmly.

"That's asking a lot," he finally said. "My dad's connections aren't something I trade on lightly."

"And my public persona isn't something I fake lightly," I countered. "We're both asking for significant favors here."

Another pause. Then, unexpectedly, he smiled—a real smile that transformed his usual serious expression into something almost boyish.

"You're tough, you know that?"

"I prefer 'determined,'" I replied, allowing myself a small smile in return.

"Determined," he repeated, nodding. "I like that." He seemed to come to a decision. "Alright, Mia. You've got yourself a deal."

Relief washed over me so intensely I nearly sagged against the wall. "Really?"

"Really. But we need to work out the details. This has to be convincing."

"Agreed."

"Are you free tonight? We should probably discuss the parameters."

"Parameters," I echoed, amused despite myself. "Very romantic."

That earned me another smile. "Hey, you're the one who called it a business arrangement."

"True." I considered my schedule. "I have a late lab session until 11 PM. After that?"

"Midnight MunchiesDiner?" he suggested. "Open 24 hours, and they have decent coffee."

"I know it," I nodded. "Midnight, then."

"It's a date," he said, then immediately winced. "I mean, not a date-date. A meeting. A business meeting."

I laughed, surprised by his awkwardness. "I know what you meant."

"Right. Good." He ran a hand through his hair, leaving it slightly disheveled. "So, midnight. Midnight Munchies. I'll be there."

"See you then," I said, turning to leave before I could second-guess myself.

"Mia?" he called after me.

I looked back over my shoulder. "Yes?"

"I'm glad you reconsidered."

There was something in his voice—relief, maybe, or genuine gratitude—that made my stomach do a peculiar flip.

"Don't get too excited," I warned him. "We still have to pull this off."

"We will," he said with surprising confidence. "See you at midnight."

As I walked away, I could feel his eyes on my back. What had I just gotten myself into? Four months pretending to date Ethan Wright, hockey captain and embodiment of everything I'd claimed to despise about college sports culture.

It's just business, I reminded myself.A means to an end. Nothing more.

But as I pushed through the gym doors into the crisp evening air, I couldn't quite shake the feeling that I'd just crossed a point of no return.

The Midnight Munchies Diner was exactly as I remembered from late-night study sessions: vinyl booths in faded teal, checkerboard floor tiles, and the perpetual smell of coffee and pancakes. At 12:07 AM, it was sparsely populated—a couple of taxi drivers at the counter, a group of students surrounded by textbooks in the corner, and now me, sliding into a booth by the window.

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