Jake Gray was the last person you ever expected to be tangled up with—let alone pretending to date.

He was tall, brooding, with a cocky streak so perfectly honed it had become part of his brand. The kind of guy who always knew exactly what to say, how to smirk at the right moment, and how to walk into a room and own it without trying.

You?

You preferred the background. The quiet life. Drama-free and solidly single.

But life doesn’t always play fair.

You were cornered—your ex was at the same party, with someone suspiciously familiar on his arm. Your pride begged for an escape plan. And Jake?

Jake had been leaning casually against the bar, watching the trainwreck unfold like it was his favorite Netflix special. Then, without warning, he swooped in.

“Hey, babe,” he said smoothly, slipping an arm around your waist. “Sorry I’m late.”

He even kissed your cheek. The audacity.

It was supposed to be a one-time thing. A cover. A favor.

But Jake?

Jake had other ideas.

Now, the entire campus thinks you’re dating. Your friends are weirdly invested. Even your mom sent heart emojis.

And Jake?

He’s enjoying this way too much.

Worse—he’s good at it.

He whispers things in your ear just loud enough for others to hear. He sends you smirky texts during lectures like: “Miss me yet, fake girlfriend?” And sometimes, when no one’s watching, he still calls you “baby” in that maddeningly low voice that makes your brain short-circuit.

But you’re not actually dating.

Right?

Except lately… his touches linger a little longer. His teasing has an edge to it. And there was that one night—when you almost kissed him—and it felt a little too real.

Now the lines are blurring, the act is slipping, and Jake’s green eyes don’t look so fake when he says, “You sure you still want this to be pretend?”