Fake Dating The Bad Boy-Chapter 33: She Likes Older Men

JUSTIN POV:

I got to school earlier than usual. I didn’t even bother with breakfast. My stomach was too tangled in knots to care about food anyway.

I couldn’t wait to see her. Not in the clingy, desperate kind of way—I just needed to know. Know what yesterday meant. Know what we were now. After everything that happened over the weekend—her staying over, us tangled in sheets, the way she fit into my space like she’d always belonged there—I needed to see if it was just a moment... or the start of something real.

But at the same time, I was scared. Scared of what I’d find in her eyes when she saw me again. Would she smile like she did when she was wrapped in my sheets? Or would she act like none of it happened at all?

I waited for her at the gate. Posted up like an idiot, trying to look casual but feeling anything but. Every second that passed stretched like a rubber band pulled too tight.

Then she appeared. freēwēbηovel.c૦m

Not the girl I spent the weekend with—not the quiet, vulnerable, sweet June who curled into me like I was the only safe thing in her world.

No. This was June, the golden girl.

Perfect makeup. Perfect walk. Perfect fake-ass smile for the people around her.

Her mask was back on.

And just like that, I felt the shift. Like she’d flipped a switch and the weekend got shoved in a box and locked up tight. The version of her I held in my arms didn’t exist anymore. And I hated it.

She looked right past me. Not cruelly. Just... carefully. Like she couldn’t let it show. Like I was a threat to whatever life she was desperately trying to hold together.

Yeah. I guess she chose to forget the weekend.

And I guess I was just stupid enough to hope she wouldn’t.

She greeted me like nothing had changed.

That same honey-sweet voice, that practiced smile that lit up her whole face—yeah, the one she wore for her fans. For the students who looked up to her. For the teachers who adored her. For the crowd that had no idea what lived beneath her skin.

"Hey, babe," she said, all sunshine and gloss like we’d been together forever, like we hadn’t spent the weekend baring our broken pieces in the dark.

And then, just like that, she linked her arm through mine. Smooth, seamless. As if this were normal. As if we were the perfect couple.

I stared at her for a moment, trying to find her—the real June, the one who curled into me like I was her anchor, the one who whispered things in her sleep that broke my heart. But that girl wasn’t here.

She was buried deep beneath the mask.

So I played along.

I gave her a nonchalant nod, like this was just another Monday morning. Like I hadn’t been up all night thinking about her. Like I hadn’t wanted to keep her locked in my apartment forever just to make sure she’d be okay.

I let her walk beside me, still clinging to my arm, still smiling that perfect smile that wasn’t meant for me.

And just like that, we were back to pretending.

Pretending to be the golden couple.

Pretending like nothing happened.

Pretending we weren’t both breaking inside.

The students stole looks as we passed by—whispers behind hands, curious glances, outright stares.

I hated it.

The stupid attention she was drawing. The way everyone’s eyes followed us like we were some kind of royalty walking down the damn red carpet. I’ve always hated crowds, hated people looking at me like I was something worth noticing. And now, with her on my arm, I was suddenly visible again in all the wrong ways.

And the worst part?

She looked like she was basking in it.

June smiled like she was born to be admired, like the hallway was her runway, and the applause was in the form of wide eyes and gossiping lips. Her posture was perfect. Her stride confident. That golden girl mask was glued on like it had never come off.

Like the girl from the weekend—shaking in her sleep, clinging to me like I was the only thing keeping her grounded—didn’t exist.

And me? I’ve never been so glad to be in class in my entire life.

Anywhere but this hallway.

Anywhere but beside this version of her.

Did I tell you how much I hate it when June fakes?

Because I do.

I hate it more than anything.

That smile? That practiced ease? It’s not real. And knowing what’s underneath it now, after everything we shared this weekend... it makes watching her wear it again feel like betrayal.

Not to me.

But to herself.

Not once all day did June mention the weekend. Not even a hint. Not in passing, not in private, not in the way she looked at me.

She laughed like nothing had happened. Sat through lunch like she hadn’t buried her face into my chest the night before. Walked the halls with me like I wasn’t the same guy she clung to in the dark, trembling, as if I was the only thing keeping her from falling apart.

It frustrated the hell out of me.

Scratch that. I was pissed.

At her.

At myself.

At this whole stupid game.

By the end of the day, my head was already a mess, my thoughts spiraling back into that dangerous place they always tried to drag me to. The place with voices and old scars and far too many questions I wasn’t ready to face.

And then, just when I thought I was done for the day, June tossed a breezy goodbye at me like we were back in some rom-com fantasy.

"I’ll see you later—I’ve got cheer practice," she said with a smile, already halfway out the door, waving like I was a classmate, not the guy who had held her through her nightmares two nights ago.

I didn’t say anything back. Just gave a nod and shoved my hands in my pockets, trying to hold in the storm.

That’s when she appeared.

Army.

June’s ex-best friend. The traitor. The snake who slept with Bart and wore betrayal like a badge of honor.

I tried to walk past her. Ignored her. Pretended she didn’t exist.

But she moved right into my path, standing there with that smug smirk like she knew something I didn’t. Like she wanted to be punched.

"Not even curious why Bart broke up with June?" she asked, blocking my way, arms folded like she had a secret worth knowing.

"I don’t care. Now get out of my way," I snapped, my voice flat, eyes narrowed. I didn’t need more bullshit today—not with how June had spent the whole day acting like our weekend never happened. The last thing I needed was Army adding fuel to the fire.

She didn’t budge. "Come on, Justin. You gotta be a little curious. No?"

Her tone dipped lower, voice almost sultry, and I realized with disgust that she was trying to flirt. Her lashes fluttered like that’d work on me. Like I was Bart—weak enough to fall for a touch and a smile.

Good God. This bitch was really out of her mind.

She reached toward me, and I stepped back instantly. I don’t like being touched. Especially not by someone like her. She was the kind of girl who smiled while stabbing you in the back.

Now I understood how Bart had left June—he’d been seduced by this empty, manipulative shell of a human being.

"I won’t say it again," I told her, my voice lower now, sharper. "Get out of my way. Or I won’t be gentle when I make one for myself."

Still, she didn’t flinch. She actually smiled—like this was some kind of game.

The voices started hissing in my head again. Loud. Sharp. Sinister. They loved this kind of chaos. They fed on it.

I tried to shut them down, but with her standing there, so close, I couldn’t think clearly.

So I shoved her aside. Not hard enough to hurt—just enough to get her out of my way. I wanted to leave. I needed to leave.

But then her voice followed me, sharp and venomous.

"You should at least know—she prefers older men."

I froze.

My hand clenched, half-yanked from her grip. My jaw tightened.

"What the hell are you talking about?" I snapped, turning to glare at her, my body already tense.

"She likes older men. Does it every Tuesday and Thursday," she said, watching my reaction like she was hunting for weakness. "Bart broke up with her because of this."

What kind of sick lie was this?

Did she think I was stupid?

Did she really believe some twisted rumor would break me? This wasn’t even creative—it was pathetic.

I yanked my arm away fully, stepping back from her as disgust surged up my throat.

But she wasn’t done.

"Meet me tomorrow," she said quickly, her voice quieter now, but serious. "Lakeside Avenue. Number 24. I’ll prove it."

I didn’t say anything. Didn’t give her the satisfaction of a reaction. I just turned and kept walking, fists clenched, blood roaring in my ears.

I didn’t want to believe her. I couldn’t believe her.

But something in her tone...

The timing...

The way June had gone cold the second Monday hit...

The way she dreaded Sunday evening...

That whisper in the back of my mind started asking questions I didn’t want to hear.

And the voices?

They were laughing now.