Ethan
I woke up the next morning with a pounding headache and a sense of impending doom. For a moment, I couldn't place it. I chalked it up to the questionable quality of the beer at the Delta Tau party. But then, it came rushing back to me, in horrifying detail: the conversation in the kitchen, the glint in Olivia's eyes, the handshake.
The bet.
I sat bolt upright in bed, my head spinning. What had I done? What had she done? Olivia Chen, the human spreadsheet, the queen of risk-aversion, had agreed to a reckless, high-stakes bet to fake a relationship with me. The prize? The presidency. The penalty? Utter political annihilation.
It didn't make sense. It was completely out of character for her. Unless… unless she was a better gambler than I gave her credit for. Maybe she saw this as the only way to break our stalemate, a high-risk, high-reward maneuver to seize control of the narrative. The thought was both terrifying and deeply impressive.
My phone buzzed. It was a text from an unknown number.
"Good morning. I trust you haven't forgotten our agreement. We need to establish the terms. My dorm, study lounge, one hour."
It wasn't signed, but it didn't need to be. The brisk, no-nonsense tone was pure Olivia Chen.
I dragged myself out of bed, my mind racing. I had to get out of this. It was too crazy, too dangerous. My father wanted me to win, not to become embroiled in a campus-wide deception that could blow up in my face.
I arrived at her dorm's study lounge to find her already there, sitting at a table with a laptop and a legal pad. She looked as if she'd been up for hours, fresh-faced and focused. I, on the other hand, felt like I'd been run over by a truck. She'd brought a pen and paper to a duel of hearts. I was so out of my league.
"Morning, sunshine," I said, attempting my usual breezy charm. It felt hollow.
"Let's dispense with the pleasantries, Brooks," she said, not looking up from her pad. "I've been thinking about the parameters of our arrangement."
"Look, Chen, about last night…" I began, ready to call the whole thing off. "Maybe we were both a little… carried away."
She finally looked up, her gaze sharp and unwavering. "Are you backing out?"
There was a challenge in her voice. A dare. And my stupid, prideful brain couldn't resist it. Backing out now would be admitting defeat. It would be proving her right—that I was all talk.
"No," I said, my voice firmer than I felt. "Not a chance. Just wanted to make sure you were still on board."
"I am," she said, a flicker of something—relief? triumph?—in her eyes. "But if we're going to do this, we need rules. This is not a game. It's a strategic partnership."
"A fake dating scheme," I corrected.
"A mutually beneficial public relations initiative," she countered, without a hint of irony. She slid the legal pad across the table. It was a list. Of course, it was a list.
I picked it up. It was titled: Project Co-Habitation: Rules of Engagement.
"'Project Co-Habitation'?" I asked, raising an eyebrow.
"It's a working title," she said defensively. "Read the rules."
I read them. They were as meticulous and devoid of romance as a prenuptial agreement.
Rule #1: Public Displays of Affection (PDAs) are for public consumption ONLY. This includes, but is not limited to: hand-holding, casual touches, and one (1) chaste kiss per public outing, if strategically necessary.
Rule #2: All 'dates' must be pre-approved by both parties at least 24 hours in advance. All dates must serve a strategic purpose (i.e., be highly visible).
Rule #3: Communication outside of official 'couple' activities will be limited to logistical and campaign-related matters. No late-night texting. No personal calls.
Rule #4: There will be no discussion of our real feelings. About each other, about the bet, about anything. This is a business arrangement.
Rule #5: There will be absolutely, under no circumstances, be any actual romantic or physical involvement. This is the most important rule. Breach of this rule results in immediate forfeiture.
I looked up from the list, a slow smile spreading across my face. It was the most ridiculous, unromantic thing I had ever seen. It was so perfectly, beautifully her.
"You made a list of rules for a fake relationship," I said, a real, genuine laugh escaping me for the first time that day.
"It's necessary to ensure there are no misunderstandings," she said stiffly, a faint blush rising on her cheeks.
"A chaste kiss? One per outing?" I teased. "You've really thought this through, haven't you? What if the moment calls for a passionate, soul-searing embrace?"
"The moment will not call for that," she said, her voice firm. "We are selling a story of two rivals who have found a surprising, tender connection. Not a cheap romance novel."
"Right." I was still grinning. This was insane. But it was also the most interesting thing that had happened to me all year. It was a game, a challenge, and my partner was the most fascinating, frustrating woman I had ever met.
"So, what's our story?" I asked, getting into it now. "How do we launch this… 'public relations initiative'?"
She was all business again. "I've identified the perfect opportunity. The library's annual 'Read-a-Thon' charity event is tonight. It's low-key, but always covered by the student paper. We'll make our first appearance there. Together."
"The library? Our first date is in the library?" I groaned. "Can't we do something with a little more… flair?"
"The library is my territory. It will seem more authentic if I'm the one to draw you into my world," she explained, her logic impeccable and infuriating. "We'll be seen studying together, maybe share a coffee. I'll laugh at one of your jokes. It will be subtle. It will plant the seed."
She had it all mapped out. Every move, every step. I was both annoyed and deeply impressed.
"Fine," I said, leaning back in my chair. "We play it your way. For now."
I signed my name at the bottom of her ridiculous list of rules with a flourish.
"But Chen," I added, sliding the pad back to her. "Just remember. Rules, like hearts, are made to be broken."
She looked at my signature, then up at me, her expression a mixture of disapproval and something else I couldn't quite decipher. It looked a little like fear. And a little like excitement.
"Not these rules, Brooks," she said, her voice quiet. "Not ever."
As I walked out of the study lounge, I felt a thrill of anticipation. The bet was on. The rules were set. And I had a feeling that this fake relationship was about to get very, very real.