Justin
I dished out some food, sliding a plate across the counter toward her. She hesitated for a second before stepping forward, picking it up, and settling onto one of the stools at the kitchen island.
I watched as she picked at the food, pushing it around with her fork before finally taking a bite.
Silence.
Not awkward. Just… there.
For once, June Matthews wasn't running her mouth, wasn't flashing that overconfident smirk, wasn't acting like she had the entire world at her feet.
Instead, she looked… tired.
Like she had nothing left in her to fight with.
I didn't like it.
Not that it was my business.
I turned back to my own plate, forcing myself to eat, even though my mind wouldn't shut the fuck up.
She was sitting in my apartment. Wearing my clothes. Eating my food.
And I didn't feel the urge to kick her out.
That was new.
And I didn't like new.
I liked routine. I liked control. I liked knowing exactly what to expect from people.
June? She wasn't fitting into any of those categories right now.
She cleared her throat suddenly, setting her fork down. "You're not gonna ask?"
I didn't pretend to be stupid. I knew what she was talking about.
Her break-up. The public humiliation. The betrayal.
I met her gaze lazily, leaning back in my chair. "Ask what?"
Her jaw clenched slightly, as if she was waiting for the inevitable I told you so.
I shrugged. "I saw you crying. That's all I need to know."
She blinked, like she hadn't expected that. "So, you're not gonna ask what happened?"
"Would you tell me if I did?"
She looked away. Exactly.
I took another bite, letting the silence stretch again.
I wasn't gonna push her. I didn't do that shit. If she wanted to talk, she would.
If not? Not my fucking problem.
But for some reason, a part of me wanted her to.
Because if she was talking, then at least she wouldn't look so damn... broken.
She sighed heavily, shaking her head. "It's stupid anyway."
I raised an eyebrow. "That why you cried in the rain like some sad movie cliché?"
She shot me a glare, but there was no real heat behind it. "Screw you, Black."
I smirked. "Now that sounds more like you."
Her lips twitched slightly, like she was fighting a smile.
For the first time that night, she looked a little less wrecked.
And I didn't know why, but that made me feel a little less pissed off about bringing her here.
"I'm still not signing the assignment," she said, now eating more like herself.
I shrugged, not bothering to argue. Her loss.
"Unless..." she added, and that got my attention.
I looked up, curious. She had that look—the one she got when she was thinking. I knew it well because I'd watched her enough to notice. It was the same face she wore during exams, brows slightly furrowed, lips pursed in thought.
"Unless what?" I prompted.
She set her fork down, meeting my gaze head-on.
"Unless you help me get back at my ex."
I let my fork drop against the plate, narrowing my eyes at her. The fuck did she just say?
"Come again?"
She was eating like she hadn't just said something completely insane, her usual confidence slipping back into place. "You heard me," she said, swallowing a bite of food. "I want to get back at Bart."
I leaned back, arms crossing over my chest. "And what exactly does that have to do with me?"
She met my gaze head-on, no hesitation. "I want you to pretend to date me."
I blinked. Once. Twice.
Then I laughed. Actually laughed.
Because there was no way she was serious.
But June Matthews didn't look like she was joking.
I tilted my head. "Let me get this straight. You want me—Justin Black—to play the role of your loving, doting, picture-perfect boyfriend?"
She scoffed. "Not picture-perfect. Just enough to make Bart jealous."
I stared at her, waiting for the punchline.
It never came.
"You're serious."
She took another bite, nodding.
I huffed a laugh, shaking my head. "No fucking way."
Her brows furrowed slightly, like she hadn't considered that I might actually say no.
"You need me to sign the assignment," she reminded me, lifting a brow.
I smirked lazily. "And you need me to fake-date you. Sounds like we're both screwed."
She groaned, setting down her fork. "Come on, it's a win-win. You don't even like people. You won't have to do anything extra. Just be you—silent, broody, scary as hell. Walk me to class, let me sit with you, maybe wrap an arm around me every now and then."
I narrowed my eyes. "That last part sounds pretty fucking extra to me."
She rolled her eyes. "Fine. No arm wrapping. But at least make it look real."
I didn't respond, just studied her.
She was desperate. That much was obvious. But what got me was why.
"Why do you care so much?" I asked, tilting my head.
Her jaw tensed slightly. "Because he dumped me like I was nothing."
Like I was nothing.
Something about the way she said it made my chest feel weird.
I didn't do feelings. Didn't do attachment.
But I understood what it was like to be discarded.
Still. That didn't mean I was about to agree to this insanity.
"Not my problem, princess," I muttered, picking up my fork again.
She exhaled sharply, frustrated. "You hate Bart, don't you?"
I paused. She had a point.
I fucking hated that guy.
The idea of watching his smug face crumble when he saw June on my arm? Yeah. I wasn't gonna lie. That sounded fun as hell.
Still, letting her win this easily would be boring.
I smirked, leaning in slightly. "You really want my help?"
She nodded.
I dragged my tongue over my teeth, then tilted my head. "Then beg."
Her lips parted slightly in shock. "Excuse me?"
I leaned back with a lazy grin. "You want me to play boyfriend? Make it worth my time."
She scowled. "You're an ass."
I shrugged. "And you're the one asking for my help."
For a moment, she just sat there, contemplating.
Then, to my absolute fucking surprise, she sighed, placed her hands together, and muttered, "Please, Justin. Will you help me make my ex jealous?"
I wasn't sure which part of that made me more amused—the fact that she actually said it, or the fact that she looked like she wanted to strangle me while doing so.
I smirked. "Fine."
Her eyes widened slightly. "Wait, seriously?"
"Yeah, sure." I leaned back again, stretching my arms. "But I don't do half-assed."
She looked at me warily. "What does that mean?"
"It means if we're gonna do this, we do it my way."
She narrowed her eyes. "Which is?"
I smirked darkly. "You'll see."