Fake Dating The Bad Boy

Justin

My phone buzzes.

I glance at the screen.

June Matthews.

I let it ring.

Then I put it face down and go back to what I was doing.

She texts. Once. Twice. Three times.

June: We need to figure out the project.

June: Are you ignoring me?

June: Justin, seriously?

Seriously?

I smirk to myself.

She doesn't get it yet. I don't play by her rules. I don't owe her a response just because she's used to people dropping everything for her.

The thing about me is, I don't care.

And if she thinks she can force her way into my life just because some professor paired us up, she's in for a rude fucking awakening.

She calls.

I watch the screen light up, my thumb hovering over the decline button. But I don't press it. I just let it ring, knowing it'll piss her off more.

Then I turn off my phone.

I don't need her to do this assignment.

I don't need her at all.

I crack open my laptop, the glow of the screen the only light in my room. It's late—probably past midnight—but I don't care. I'd rather get this shit over with than waste another second listening to her whine about teamwork.

I type. Fast, efficient, perfect.

By the time the document reaches ten pages, I lean back, cracking my knuckles. Done. And I didn't need her for any of it.

She'll sign her name at the end. She'll take credit for something she didn't lift a damn finger for. That's all I need from her.

And if she has a problem with that?

That's not my problem.

Next Morning: Campus

I walk into class, tossing my bag onto the desk. She's already here. Arms crossed, legs crossed, eyes burning a hole through me.

She's pissed.

I smirk.

"Morning, partner," I say lazily, slumping into my chair.

June narrows her eyes. "Did you seriously do the entire project without me?"

I don't answer right away. Just pull out my laptop, open the document, and slide it toward her. "You're welcome."

She stares at it, then back at me. "You didn't even let me help."

I shrug. "Didn't need you."

Her jaw clenches. "That's not the point."

Oh, this is cute. She's mad.

I tilt my head, studying her, amused by how worked up she is over a stupid assignment. "You said you wanted to participate. I didn't."

She glares. "And what if I refuse to put my name on it?"

I smirk. "Then I guess you fail."

Her lips part slightly, like she can't believe I actually said that.

I lean in just a little, lowering my voice. "But we both know you won't let that happen, will you?"

She exhales sharply through her nose. "You're an asshole."

"Never said I wasn't."

She snatches the laptop, scrolling through the document, checking my work like she expects to find something wrong. She won't. It's flawless.

After a moment, she huffs, then glares at me again. "I'm still not signing it."

I chuckle under my breath. She's stubborn. I'll give her that.

But in the end? She'll cave. They always do.

************

After our first class, before I could disappear like I always do, she was there.

Standing right in front of my desk, arms crossed, blocking my way.

She was still pissed.

I could tell by the way her jaw was set, her fingers gripping the strap of her bag so tightly it looked like she wanted to swing it at me. But honestly? I didn't give a damn.

She still hadn't signed the damn project. Not my problem.

We still had a week to go. And hell, if she wanted to be stubborn, that was on her. Not me.

If the deadline hit and her name wasn't there, she'd be the one to flunk, not me.

I focused on packing my books, ignoring her entirely—like I expected everyone to do for me. But of course, June Matthews didn't take the hint.

"Can I help you?" I asked, raising an eyebrow.

She crossed her arms tighter. "I won't sign the stupid assignment if I don't contribute."

I looked at her lazily. Did she think this was some kind of negotiation? I didn't give a fuck. Either she signed it, or she didn't. Her loss.

I shrugged. "Suit yourself."

Conversation over.

At least, it should have been.

But she still didn't move aside.

"You do know that you won't get your marks if you submit without my signature, right?"

I stilled.

What the fuck?

"Who said so?" I narrowed my eyes.

"The lecturer." She didn't even hesitate. Didn't blink.

"That's stupid," I muttered. But this time—she smirked.

Cocky. Confident. Amused.

"Well, that's why it's called a 'paired' assignment," she said, tilting her head. "And I won't let you assume I'm dumb just because I'm a cheerleader."

There it was.

The assumption. The one everyone had. That cheerleaders and football players were just there for the school's reputation, that their grades didn't matter as long as they brought in the trophies.

She thought I saw her that way.

I huffed out a low, unimpressed breath. "I didn't assume you're stupid. You called yourself dumb."

Her lips parted slightly. Surprised.

Good.

"I did the work because you're either too busy at cheerleading practice," I continued, my voice calm, sharp, cutting, "or too busy smooching your stupid boyfriend in the bleachers."

Her mouth pressed into a thin line.

Good. She hated that.

I grabbed my bag and slung it over my shoulder. "I don't like wasting my time waiting for you to actually show up."

June clenched her jaw, fire in her eyes now.

I stepped past her—or tried to. But she moved into my path again.

Stubborn.

Annoying.

I met her gaze, unbothered. "When you're ready to sign, you have my number."

And with that, I walked right past her, not looking back.

Let her stand there. Let her fume.

I had better things to do.

Before I could walk out of the classroom, she stomped her foot.

Angrily.

Frustrated.

Like a spoiled little princess who didn't get her way.

Cute.

I didn't stop. I didn't turn around. But my lips twitched slightly as I pushed the door open and stepped into the hallway.

She could throw all the tantrums she wanted. I wasn't changing my mind.

If she wanted to sign the damn project, she had my number. If she wanted to be difficult? Not my problem.