My Fake Boyfriend Is the School Bad Boy novel Chapter 21

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Chapter 21 Blushing Was Never Part of the Plan

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I leaned in. The distance closed. The scent of peppermint mixing with the hot, salty smell of the food scrambled my senses.

I kept my eyes locked on his. I didn’t dare look down. If I looked down, I would break the connection. I parted my lips a fraction more, the

air catching in my dry throat.

Ryder didn’t shove the food into my mouth. He moved with agonizing, deliberate slowness. He guided the fry past my lips.

My teeth bit down softly on the warm edge of the potato. At the exact same moment, the rough, calloused pad of his index finger grazed

the soft fullness of my bottom lip.

A massive jolt of electricity shot straight from my mouth down to the very center of my chest.

I gasped, a tiny, fractured sound that was completely swallowed by the noise of the room. The contact was brief but it burned like a

brand. His skin was so hot, the texture coarse from split knuckles and fading scars. The contrast against my own skin was startling and

entirely overwhelming.

He pulled his hand back slowly, letting his fingers drag against my chin for a lingering second before returning his arm to his side of the

table.

I chewed the fry mechanically. I couldn’t taste the salt. I couldn’t taste the oil. All I could taste was the heavy, chaotic static electricity he

left behind in the air.

My heart was slamming against my ribs with brutal, punishing force. The rhythm was so fast it made me lightheaded. I gripped the edges of my plastic chair, my knuckles turning stark white, desperate to anchor myself to something solid because the floor felt like it was

dissolving beneath my feet.

Ryder didn’t say a word. He didn’t smirk. He didn’t look proud of himself for putting on a good show for the audience.

He just watched me. His chest rose and fell with a slightly uneven breath, his dark eyes tracking every single micro-expression on my face.

He saw the frantic pulse beating at the base of my throat. He saw the way my fingers dug into the plastic chair.

And then, a sudden, burning heat rushed up the sides of my neck.

It spread like a wildfire, sweeping across my jawline, blooming hot and heavy across my cheeks, and settling high on my cheekbones. My

skin felt like it was standing entirely too close to an open furnace.

I dropped my gaze instantly, staring down at the half-eaten green apple on my tray. My chest heaved as I fought to pull oxygen into my

completely starved lungs.

I was blushing.

I wasn’t just flushed from the warm room. I was burning, a deep, full-body blush that completely betrayed the clinical, controlled facade I

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12:39 Fri, Jul 10

Chapter 21 Blushing Was Never Part of the Plan

had maintained for three years.

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I squeezed my eyes shut, a fresh wave of panic crashing over me.

I didn’t plan this. The thought echoed in my head, loud and terrifying. When I sat down at this table, I had planned to fake a smile. I had

planned to angle my body toward his, to tilt my head, to manufacture the visual cues of a relationship. I was ready to act.

But there was no acting in this reaction.

My heart wasn’t racing because I was terrified of Harper Vance seeing through the lie. My heart was racing because Ryder Steinmann’s

finger had brushed my mouth. My face wasn’t burning because of the cafeteria lights. It was burning because the way he looked at me

made me feel entirely exposed, raw, and completely seen.

I wasn’t performing.

The realization hit me with the force of a physical blow, knocking the remaining air straight out of my lungs.

The contract, the rules, the desperate alibi-it was all supposed to be a shield. A transaction. I was supposed to be completely immune to the boy sitting next to me. He was a means to an end. A prop in my survival strategy.

But as I sat there, my skin tingling and my face burning with a completely genuine, undeniable flush, the absolute truth settled heavy and terrifying in my stomach.

I couldn’t fake the way my body reacted to him.

“Raisa.”

His voice was a dark, rough stroke against my completely frayed nerves.

I slowly opened my eyes. I forced myself to lift my head, dragging my gaze up from the plastic tray to meet his stare.

Ryder was leaning forward again. The heavy leather of his jacket brushed against my forearm. The space between us was completely gone. He was so close I could see the individual, golden shards in his irises, and the tiny, sharp cut just below his left eyebrow.

He wasn’t looking at Harper. He wasn’t checking to see if the audience bought the performance. He was looking only at me, studying the dark red flush staining my cheeks with an intensity that made my stomach flip completely over.

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