My Fake Boyfriend Is the School Bad Boy novel Chapter 9

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Chapter 9 “What Do I Get Out of It?”

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“There’s a rumor,” I said. The words tasted like ash. I hated saying them out loud. Saying them to him felt like stripping off my armor and

standing completely bare in the cold.

Ryder didn’t laugh. He didn’t look amused. He just waited, his heavy, bruising stare demanding the rest of the truth.

“Harper Vance started it,” I continued, my voice dropping to a harsh whisper. “She told her mother that I… that I’m sleeping with Mr.

Harrison to keep my class rank.

I squeezed my eyes shut for a fraction of a second, unable to look at him as I confessed the ugly, disgusting lie. The silence stretched. I

waited for the mockery. I waited for him to smirk, to ask for details, to make a crude joke at my expense. That was what guys at Crestview

did. They found a weakness and they dug their fingers into it until it bled.

‘And are you?”

My eyes snapped open. I glared at him, a sudden, hot spike of genuine anger cutting through my fear.

“No!” I snapped, my voice echoing off the metal beams above us. “No, of course not. He handed me a folder of extra-credit grading

yesterday and Sarah caught it through the door window. That’s it. That’s the entire foundation of the rumor. But it doesn’t matter what

the truth is. Harper’s mother called the counselor. If I don’t prove the rumor is entirely false by Monday morning, the alumni board is

going to pull my scholarship. They’ll expel me to avoid a scandal.”

Ryder digested the information slowly. He looked away from me for the first time, his gaze shifting to the cracked concrete beneath my

shoes. He reached up, his thumb brushing thoughtlessly over the split, bruised skin of his bottom lip.

“So tell them she’s lying,” he said, his tone flat.

“I have zero social capital,” I fired back, my hands curling into fists at my sides. “I don’t have a trust fund. I don’t have parents who can

threaten the school board with a lawsuit. If it’s my word against Harper Vance, I lose. Every single time. I need an alibi. I need proof that

my attention is somewhere else. On someone else.”

I took a deep, shuddering breath, filling my lungs with the smell of dry earth and exhaust. This was it. The cliff edge. There was no going

back once the words left my mouth.

‘I need a boyfriend.”

Ryder stopped touching his lip. He slowly turned his head back to me, the shards of green and gold in his eyes sharpening into tiny, lethal

points.

“A boyfriend,” he repeated. The word sounded entirely foreign coming from him.

“A fake one,” I corrected quickly, my heart throwing itself against my ribs. “Just an arrangement. A temporary distraction to shift the

narrative. If the school board thinks I’m involved with someone my own age, the rumor about Harrison dies. They drop the investigation.”

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12:37 Fri, Jul 10

Chapter 9 “What Do I Get Out of It?”

And you picked me.” It wasn’t a question.

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“I need a spectacle, I admitted, the ugly, blunt truth spilling out before I could filter it. If I pick someone normal, someone from the honor society, people will just say I’m cheating on him with the teacher. I need someone whose reputation is louder than mine. Someone who commands so much attention that the entire school won’t be able to look at anything else.”

I swallowed hard, forcing myself to hold his stare. “If the scholarship girl is suddenly dating the guy who puts people in the hospital and gets suspended on a Tuesday… that’s the only story anyone will care about. It completely eclipses the rumor.”

I stopped talking. My lungs burned. I had laid all my cards on the hood of his battered car. I had practically insulted him to his face, telling him his reputation was so terrible it could serve as a shield for my own.

I waited for the rejection. I braced my body for him to laugh, to tell me I was insane, and to walk away.

Instead, the rusted metal of the car hood groaned a deep, echoing protest.

Ryder pushed himself off the car.

He didn’t stand up straight. He moved with a slow, deliberate grace, uncoiling his tall frame and stepping away from the bumper. The dirt crunched under his heavy boots.

He took a step toward me.

I froze, every muscle in my body locking tight. My breath hitched, trapped in the back of my throat.

He took another step.

He was entirely too close now. The physical reality of him was overwhelming. He towered over me, broad and solid, blocking out the slivers of sunlight cutting through the bleachers. The scent of him washed over me-worn leather, the sharp tang of peppermint, and the

distinct, male heat radiating from his skin.

I had to tilt my head back to keep looking at his face. The fresh, dark purple bruise on his cheekbone looked painful up close. The split in his lip was raw. He was a portrait of violence, and I had just asked him to hold my hand in the hallway.

He looked down at me, his hazel eyes dropping from my wide, panicked eyes to my trembling mouth, and then down to the white- knuckled grip I had on the hem of my plaid skirt. He saw right through the blazer and the perfect grades. He saw the desperate, terrified girl underneath.

He leaned in.

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