After discovering that her boyfriend of three years is cheating on her with his girl best friend, Yasemin Hogan knows she can do way better than a little material revenge. Julian broke her heart, she will break his.
By fake dating his enemy.
Elija...
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**Now there are those bands above chapters because there will be Elijah's povs so I wanted to differentiate them**
Our goal was clear: to be seen together, by as many students as possible.
So Elijah naturally led me to theRoyal Diner. Not far from campus, the bar restaurant stood proud and welcoming, embracing the shapes and sounds of a forgotten era.
Indeed, the interior was reminiscent of a feverish and frenetic night in the heart of the 60's: white and turquoise striped vinyl booth seats, black and white checkered flooring, long aisles disguised as an art gallery, their walls covered in vintage posters and stickers.
In the middle of this parenthesis on another time, a jukebox reigned supreme, playing the most emblematic titles of these lost years.
Here, good humour was in everyone's heart; classes, a subject knock down at the door.
I fucking loved this place.
As soon as I got home from the library, I took the time to get ready properly, showering, putting makeup and straightening my hair.
My smokey eyes in reddish tones gave me a femme fatale look. I really felt pretty. Then I got into his Mercedes, and Elijah glanced at my eyes, frowning. "Got your ass whooped?"
That damn prick. Had he ever given me a compliment? Never. I wasn't looking for it but still.
We were standing a few feet away from the bar, our eyes wandering in its architecture, lost in our thoughts, when he finally said to me:
"You ready?"
As usual, he didn't show an ounce of nervousness. However, it seemed something was tormenting him and that he was trying to keep it buried under a layer of faked indifference. I could tell by the way he would occasionally zone out. If we were friends, I would have asked him what was wrong.
If we were friends.
"Yeah."
My insides were twisted into knots from apprehension, but it wasn't the apprehension that would freeze you and take your breath away; it was the apprehension that would push you forward so finally, something would happen. We were taking a big step, and the others would soon follow. Good thing.
"Do we need to hold hands?" he asked, a slight crease forming between his eyes.
"Just give me your arm," I instructed.
He held it out to me and I grabbed it, trying to pretend I wasn't fully aware of his forearm muscles against my skin. My lips curled up in a small smile.
"I like it better this way."
His eyes fell on my fingers wrapped around his arm, on my nails painted with a layer of blood-red polish, then he looked up on my lips, red as well. His jaw clenched. He quickly looked away and pushed open the large door of the bar.
