004

Melina’s POV

I stared at him like he’d just suggested we rob a bank together using only plastic spoons and pure delusion.

“I’m sorry,” I said slowly, “I think the tequila is still rotting my brain, because it sounded like you just asked me to be your ‘girlfriend’.”

Jace didn’t blink. “Fake girlfriend. Sixty days. Strict contract. We sell it so hard the entire campus, the brand sponsors, and Tristan’s fragile ego all buy it.”

I laughed. It came out sharp and a little hysterical. “Oh, fantastic. Because the last time I trusted a guy with my heart, he was balls-deep in my best friend on our anniversary. And this is clearly the perfect time to enter a legally binding performance of romance with his mortal enemy?”

“It’s not about hearts,” Jace said, voice low and steady. “It’s about optics. Your scholarship board wants you clean. My sponsors want me stable. Tristan wants both of us ruined. We give the world a love story so loud they can’t hear the scandal anymore.”

I paced the length of my tiny living room, which took approximately three and a half angry strides.

“Let’s say I agree,” I said, spinning to face him. “What exactly does this… ‘arrangement, look like?”

Jace leaned against the kitchen counter, arms crossed, looking far too calm for a man proposing mutual career suicide. “Public appearances. Hand-holding. Selective PDA. We post the right photos. We attend the right events. We make Tristan watch us be disgustingly happy until he chokes on it.”

“And the private side?”

“Zero strings. Separate beds. No overnight stays unless the cameras force it. We don’t sleep together again.” His jaw flexed once. “Last night was a one-time mistake. It doesn’t happen twice.”

Something petty and bruised inside my chest flinched at the word ‘mistake’, but I shoved it down hard. “Agreed. One night of bad decisions is plenty. I’m not looking for a sequel.”

“Good.” He pulled his phone out, unlocked it, and started typing. “I’ll have my lawyer draft something simple. Non-disclosure. Clear end date. Mutual benefits. You get to keep your scholarship and rebuild your reputation. I keep my sponsors and make Tristan look like the jealous ex he is.”

I snorted. “You’re enjoying the Tristan part way too much.”

“I’ve been waiting three years to watch him lose something that actually matters to him.” His ice-blue eyes met mine. “You just happen to be the something.”

The honesty was brutal enough to make me respect him a little more and trust him a little less.

I dropped onto the couch, scrubbing both hands over my face. “Sixty days. That’s it. When the clock runs out, we stage a clean, amicable breakup and walk away like functional adults.”

“Sixty days,” he confirmed. “Not a day more.”

I looked up at him. The afternoon light cut across his scarred eyebrow and the hard line of his mouth. He was still the same mountain of a man who’d rescued me from a creep in a dive bar less than twenty-four hours ago. Only now he was offering me a different kind of rescue—one that required me to pretend I was falling for the one person on campus guaranteed to make my life even louder.

“Fine,” I said. “But I have conditions.”

One dark brow lifted. “Of course you do.”

“No actual feelings. No jealousy. No checking up on each other outside the script. If either of us starts catching feelings, we call the whole thing off immediately.”

“Done.”

“And I get final say on any public statement that involves my name or my scholarship.”

“Also done.”

“And if Tristan comes for either of us, we handle it together. No solo revenge.”

Jace’s mouth curved, just barely. “Look at you, already thinking like a teammate.”

“I’m thinking like a girl one more disaster away from becoming a group-chat story.” I stood up and stuck out my hand. “Shake on it before I come to my senses.”

He stepped forward, wrapped his much larger hand around mine, and shook once. The heat of his palm still managed to travel all the way up my arm.

“Welcome to the most public relationship of your life, Townley.”

“I already regret this,” I muttered.

“Good. Means you’re paying attention.”

He opened the door, paused. “Coffee shop on campus. Tomorrow, eleven. Wear something that looks good in photos. We’re making an entrance.”

Then he left. I stood there with the leftover scent of his cologne and the sound of my common sense having a full meltdown.

…..

The next morning

I stood in front of my closet.

Gemma was still asleep, which was a small mercy. I put on high-waisted black jeans, a soft white crop sweater and the kind of boots that said I could kick someone if necessary. Minimal makeup. Hair down and slightly messy so it looked like I’d just rolled out of a loving boyfriend’s bed instead of a night of existential dread.

At 10:52 I pushed through the glass doors of the busiest coffee shop on campus—the one that always had a line of influencers and athletes and people who wanted to be seen near both.

Jace was already there.

He leaned against the counter in a fitted black henley and dark jeans.

The moment he spotted me, his entire posture shifted. The cold, controlled hockey captain disappeared. In his place stood a man who looked like he’d been waiting for this exact second all morning.

He crossed the space between us in three long strides, slid one big hand to the small of my back, and leaned down so his mouth was right against my ear.

To anyone watching, it looked intimate. Soft. Possessive.

What he actually said was, “Smile like you didn’t just consider running in the opposite direction.”

I smiled. It felt sharp and a little feral. “I hate you.”

“Save it for later. We’ve got an audience.”

His hand stayed at my back as he guided me to the counter. He ordered my usual without asking—oat-milk latte, extra and his own black coffee. The barista practically vibrated with excitement. Phones were already coming out.

We claimed a table by the window. Jace sat close enough that our knees touched under the table. He reached over, tucked a strand of hair behind my ear with deliberate gentleness, and kept his voice low.

“First public appearance. We need at least three solid photos and one viral moment. Tristan is somewhere on this campus right now. He’ll hear about it within the hour.”

I lifted my cup, took a slow sip, and kept my eyes on his. “Then we better make it count.”

That was when the local campus photographer—some kid with a long lens and zero shame—spotted us through the glass. The shutter started clicking like machine-gun fire.

Jace didn’t hesitate. He leaned in, cupped the side of my face with one large hand, and kissed me.

It wasn’t the frantic, tequila-fueled crash from two nights ago. This one was slower. Calculated. His mouth moved against mine like he had all the time in the world and zero intention of letting anyone forget what they were seeing. One of his hands stayed at my jaw while the other settled possessively on my waist.

I kissed him back like my scholarship depended on it—because it did.

When he finally pulled away, just far enough to rest his forehead against mine, the entire coffee shop had gone quiet except for the furious sound of phones recording.

Jace’s voice was a rough murmur only I could hear. “Day one. Contract officially in progress.”

I opened my eyes and found Tristan standing on the sidewalk outside the window, green eyes locked on us, face drained of every drop of color.

He looked like someone had just set fire to everything he thought he still owned.

I smiled against Jace’s mouth, just for him, and whispered back, “Day one. Let’s ruin him.”