My Fake Boyfriend Is the School Bad Boy novel Chapter 14

Chapter 14 Our Love Story Is a Lie

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I stood at the edge of the cracked asphalt in the empty parking lot behind the community swimming pool. It was closed for the season, the massive concrete bowl fenced off with rusting chain-link and padlocks. The sun was dipping below the tree line, casting long, warped shadows across the pavement. The March wind whipped through my thin denim jacket, biting into my skin, but I didn’t zip it up. I needed the cold. I needed the sharp, physical sting to keep my brain from spiraling into a complete panic.

Tomorrow was Monday. Tomorrow was opening night.

I clutched a thick, green plastic folder to my chest. It contained Ryder’s syllabus packet for the week. Outlines, reading summaries, and a

completed study guide for his AP European History exam. I had spent six hours at the kitchen table drafting it, using the work to block

out the ticking clock in my head.

A low, guttural roar echoed down the empty street.

The sound vibrated through the soles of my sneakers before I even saw the car. A second later, Ryder’s matte-black muscle car turned the

corner, the tires gripping the asphalt with a harsh screech. The car didn’t belong in my quiet, working-class neighborhood. It looked like a

bruised knuckle.

He pulled into the parking lot, the headlights cutting through the growing dusk. He didn’t park in a spot. He just killed the engine in the

middle of the empty lot, right in front of me.

The silence that followed was heavy. I swallowed the dry lump in my throat and walked toward the passenger side. I wrapped my fingers

around the cold metal handle and pulled.

The heavy door creaked open. The interior of the car smelled exactly like him.

I climbed into the passenger seat, pulling the heavy door shut behind me with a solid thud. The seats were covered in cracked black

leather. The dashboard was bare, save for a pair of scratched aviator sunglasses.

Ryder sat behind the steering wheel, his long legs cramped in the low space. He was wearing a faded black hoodie, the hood pulled down,

his dark hair messy and falling across his forehead. The bruise on his cheekbone had darkened to a deep, sickly yellow-purple in the

center, blending into the shadows of his jaw. He didn’t look at me right away. He just stared out the windshield at the empty pool.

“You’re late,” I said. My voice sounded too loud in the confined space of the car.

“Traffic,” he muttered, resting his bruised knuckles on the steering wheel. He turned his head slowly, the shards of green and gold in his

eyes catching the fading light. “You have the packet?”

I held out the green plastic folder. He took it, his rough fingers brushing against mine. A sharp, hot prickle of electricity jumped across my skin. I pulled my hand back quickly, tucking it under my thigh.

Ryder dropped the folder onto the center console without opening it.

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12:38 Fri, Jul 10

Chapter 14 Our Love Story Is a Lie

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‘Aren’t you going to look at it?” I asked, my anxiety spiking. “The European History test is on Wednesday. You need to start reviewing the

timeline tonight.”

“I’ll look at it later.” He leaned back against the headrest, closing his eyes for a fraction of a second. He looked exhausted. The tension in

his shoulders was pulled tight, like thick steel cables ready to snap.

“Ryder, we don’t have time for later,” I pushed, my pulse drumming a frantic beat against my collarbone. I reached into the front pocket

of my backpack and pulled out a stack of three-by-five white index cards. “Mrs. Gable is going to corner me tomorrow. Harper Vance is going to interrogate me. We need a script. We need to know exactly what we are saying when we walk through those doors.”

Ryder opened his eyes. He looked at the index cards in my trembling hand. His jaw tightened.

‘Put the cards away, Petrova.”

“No,” I insisted, my voice rising. I flipped to the first card, my eyes scanning my neat, perfectly aligned bullet points. “If we don’t have a synchronized timeline, the story falls apart. I drafted three options. Option A is the tutoring angle. We met in the library, I offered to help you with Chemistry, and—”

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