My Fake Boyfriend Is the School Bad Boy novel Chapter 120

Chapter 120 Burgers On The Rooftop

Ryder pulled a keyring from his pocket. He sifted through the jagged metal pieces. He found a brass key and shoved it into the lock. He

turned his wrist. The heavy deadbolt clicked open.

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“You have a key to an abandoned building?” I asked.

“My father owns the property,” he said. He pushed the heavy door inward. “The company bought it three years ago. They plan to demolish it and build high-rise condos. The project is stalled in city planning. No one comes here.”

We stepped into the dark, cavernous interior. The air smelled of dust, dry concrete, and old iron. Faint light filtered through the cracks in

the plywood boards.

Ryder closed the door behind us. The lock engaged. The city noise vanished, cut off by the thick brick walls.

“There is no elevator, Ryder noted. He pointed to a concrete stairwell in the corner. “We have to climb.”

We started the ascent. The stairs spiraled upward, wrapping around a hollow central shaft. Our footsteps echoed in the silent shaft. My scuffed loafers slapped the concrete. His heavy combat boots created a steady, rhythmic thud.

We climbed past the second floor. The third floor. The fourth floor.

My legs began to burn. My breathing turned shallow. The climb demanded physical effort. It stripped away the lingering panic from the school hallway. I focused on the burn in my calves and the broad expanse of his back leading the way.

We reached the seventh floor. The air grew colder.

“Almost there,” he murmured. His voice echoed down the stairwell.

We reached the top landing. A heavy metal door stood at the end of the short corridor. A thick iron bar served as the handle. A small, square window set into the metal allowed a sliver of gray daylight to pierce the gloom.

Ryder set the paper bag on the floor. He pushed the heavy iron bar with both hands. The metal groaned in protest. The hinges shrieked.

He pushed the door wide open.

The cold April wind rushed into the stairwell. It whipped my dark hair across my face.

Ryder picked up the food. He stepped through the threshold. I followed him out.

The sheer scale of the view hit me with staggering force.

I stopped in my tracks. My breath stalled in my lungs.

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13:11 Fri, Jul 10

Chapter 120 Burgers On The Rooftop

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We stood on the flat, sprawling roof of the seven-story building. Tar and crushed gravel covered the surface. A low brick parapet wall ran

along the perimeter.

The city stretched out before us in every direction. The towering skyscrapers of the financial district pierced the gray clouds to the west.

The dense grid of streets formed a massive, sprawling concrete maze. Cars looked like tiny metal toys crawling along the pavement. The

river wound through the eastern edge of the city, reflecting the dull silver light of the overcast sky.

We stood above the noise. We stood above the judgment.

“This is incredible, I breathed. I walked toward the edge. I placed my hands on the rough brick of the parapet wall. I looked down at the

massive drop.

Ryder walked to the center of the roof. He unfolded the thick wool blanket. He spread the dark gray fabric over the crushed gravel. He set

the paper bag and the cardboard drink carrier on the corner of the blanket.

He did not set up a romantic display. He did not bring dark dahlias. He did not perform a grand gesture for an audience. He brought

burgers and a blanket to an empty, forgotten space.

He sat down on the wool. He crossed his long legs. He looked at me. The wind ruffled his dark hair. The harsh daylight highlighted the sharp angles of his face. The tension from the morning vanished. He looked calm. He looked entirely present.

I left the edge of the roof. I walked over to the blanket. I sat down beside him. Our knees brushed. The contact sent a familiar spark

through my veins.

No one knows about this place, Ryder said. He opened the paper bag. He handed me a foil-wrapped burger. “I come up here when the house gets too loud. When my father starts demanding perfection. I sit up here and watch the traffic.

I took the warm foil package. You brought me to your hiding spot.

‘I brought you to a place where we do not have to pretend, he corrected. His hazel eyes met mine. The dark, consuming fire returned, tempered by a profound, aching vulnerability. A place where Trent Lawson cannot see us. Where Harper Vance cannot whisper. Where Julian Hayes cannot send you notes.”

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