A Murderer's Guide to Fake Dating

12. do you hate me?

He's so infuriating, my blood boils to the max amount and I accidentally shout out the word, the one that starts with s and has three letters. 

There's a stunned sort of silence. Jack stares and dread slowly fills my stomach as I realize what I said. My face bursts into flames. 

The blankets covering my body are getting increasingly warm, so I yank off the sheets and get out of bed. "Okay," I say, pushing him towards the door. "Lovely seeing you—" 

A dizzy spell floods my body and I sway, nearly falling backward and cracking my head against my bed, when— 

Jack catches me, one hand wrapped around my waist. He's warm and my skin tingles and my heart beats so fast, I'm afraid Jack will hear. It's such a cliche romance scene that my face burns one degree hotter. "Sorry." I find my dignity again, standing up. "Stupid rug." 

He is irritated, full-on scowling. Maybe I'm such a mess, it gives him hives. I shrink away from the annoyance that radiates from Jack and say, "You shouldn't glare at sick patients." 

Jack releases a long suffering sigh like he's reflecting on his life decisions. Then he gently guides me to my bed and tucks me in. "You're going to accidentally kill yourself," he says. "You'll wake up at 2 a.m., fall out of bed, and crack your skull. I'm staying." 

"I can't sleep with you here," I protest. 

He gives me such a severe frown that I can physically feel a tiny part of my skin chipping away from his burning stare. "Coercing a young woman into this is bad," I say primly. 

Our eyes lock for a minute and it's so intense, I take an unsettling deep breath when Jack looks away first. I've won and exhilaration runs through my blood. 

"How about we make a deal?" Jack starts. "I'll leave right now and I'll come back later in the morning. To see if you're dead, of course." 

"Fine," I say tightly, slightly upset that I didn't entirely win our battle. Still, at least I can sleep peacefully for now. Jack will probably forget to come, anyway, as he does with things he deems unimportant. 

"Alright," says Jack, standing up and surveying my apartment once more to memorize all the details he can humiliate me with later on. "I'll see you later." 

Then he leaves. I sigh a breath of relief, slink out of bed, and lock the door. I slither back into bed and fall asleep promptly, exhausted. 

Although I sleep well, when a rapid fire of knocking jolts me awake, I instantly feel nauseous. I crawl deeper into my sheets, but when the knocking won't cease, I stumble blurry-eyed and fling open the door. 

I squint from the bright light. It's Jack. 

"I wasn't sure what time to come here," Jack says. "Eight was too early and at twelve, you could be burning up, so I went with eleven— oh." 

He stops abruptly when his eyes finally register what's in front of him. And even though I'm not Jack, I can only imagine what I look like. 

"How are you feeling?" Jack asks, placing the back of his hand against my forehead. His eyebrows pinch together. "You're burning up." 

"It's your fault," I mumble. "I was doing fine before you woke me up." 

"Sorry," he says insincerely, before pushing me in the direction of my bed. "You can rest up again." 

I feel embarrassed climbing back into bed so instead, I just perch on my bed and watch as Jack washes a cloth with water. He moves naturally around my apartment like this is normal. Unlike me, he doesn't appear to be freaking out. 

"Here," he says, handing me a cool towel. "Put this on your forehead and sleep." 

I timidly take the cloth. "What are you going to do in the meantime?" 

"Work." 

To prove his point, Jack sits on the couch, pulls out his laptop, and begins typing furiously. "You type so loud," I comment, mesmerized by his long fingers that dance hypnotically across the keyboard. "How fast can you type?" 

"I don't know," he says, irritated. 

I marvel at him. "You've never taken those typing tests before?" 

Jack looks up from his laptop. "I thought you were going to sleep. And no, it's a waste of time." 

"Everything is a waste of time for you," I grumble. 

He ignores me and resumes his typing. I close my eyes, listening to Jack's somewhat therapeutic typing fill the air. It feels like an eternity, and then I suddenly hear rapid, loud typing. 

I open my eyes a slit. He doesn't notice that I've awakened, so preoccupied with his screen. He also doesn't notice when I slither out of bed and tip-toe beside him. I peer at his laptop. 

Jack is doing a typing test and he's damn good at it, too. My slowpoke typist self scowls. Jack finally finishes his rapid typing and the results pop up: one hundred twenty-five words per minute. "What the hell?" I say, and Jack jolts. 

"Please don't do that ever again," Jack replies. "I nearly had a heart attack. Also, why are you out of bed?" 

He stares accusingly at me and I shrug. "Your typing woke me up." As Jack squirms, a wave of satisfaction settles over my body. I have something to tease Jack about. "So. You decided to take a typing test, huh? I thought it was a 'waste of time?'" 

"I was on my five minute break," Jack says stiffly. "Would you look at that? My timer has rang. I'm going back to work and you should sleep." 

I smirk. Oh no, he's not getting away so easily. "Are you embarrassed?" I coo, draping across the couch. "It's no shame being caught doing something that's a waste of time." 

"I'm not embarrassed." Jack resumes his laser focus on a spreadsheet, where he's busy typing numbers. 

"Sure you're not," I drawl. "Why are your ears red, then?" 

"My ears do not get red," Jack says, and I inspect his ears closely. They are, in fact, turning red. It's adorable. It makes me want to tease him more. 

"I should take a picture," I say, standing up to find my phone. "This is totally photograph worthy." 

Before I can look around for my phone, Jack dangles it in my face. "Now you can't take a picture." 

Jack's voice is tinged with triumph and to wipe away the smugness, I lunge for my phone. He dodges and jumps off the couch. I begin slowly circling the couch and Jack maintains the distance between us. "You're not supposed to steal from a person with a fever," I say, before barreling towards Jack at full speed. 

He releases a colorful swear, as I tackle him onto the couch. "I'll take that," I say sweetly, snatching the phone out of his hand. I frown down at his ears. "They're not red anymore." 

"Now you can't take a photo," Jack wheezes, and I realize I'm pressed against him. 

"Oh," I say. I try to stand, but embarrassment causes me to freeze and analyze the situation. We're both breathing heavily and warmth emanates from his body. My heart is racing like I've just run a marathon. "I'm sorry—" 

Jack leans closer, his eyes roaming across my face. Then he whispers something into my ear. 

***

author's note:

hi everyone~ one of my readers pointed out that it's been a year (ok and a few days) since i first started this book so that's exciting :) question: what do you think jack whispered?