Chapter 79 JUNIPER
Chapter 79 JUNIPER
JUNIPER
“Since when do chariots cost more than fifty grand?”
Knox slid into the driver’s seat and turned the key. The engine purred to life like it had been waiting for him all morning.
“No idea. I just swipe the card and try not to think about it.”
I stared at him. Of course he did..
“Must be nice.”
He glanced at me, a faint smirk tugging at his mouth. “What?”
“Nothing.” I looked out the window. “Just trying to imagine having so much money that spending fifty grand requires absolutely zero emotional processing.”
His smirk widened. “I told you. I don't think about it.”
“Exactly my point.” I snorted, shaking my head as I settled deeper into the leather seat.
But the amusement didn't last.
Slowly, the smile slipped from my face as last night crept back into my thoughts without warning
After Katy and Piper had finally hung up—after the last forced laugh and the careful “call us if you need anything”—the apartment had gone silent.
Too silent. I’d stood in the middle of the living room for a long time, arms wrapped tightly around myself, trying to convince my body that it was over.
The act held for almost twenty minutes. Then it cracked.
I remembered the hands. The way they had grabbed and shoved and held. The weight of them. The heat.
The disgusting breath against my cheek when one of them got too close, reeking of cheap beer and something sour that still made my stomach turn.
I’d scrubbed my skin raw in the shower afterward until it burned, but the memory lived under it—sticky, invasive, impossible to rinse away.
I hadn’t slept. Every creak of the old building had sent me out of bed to check the locks. Front door. Deadbolt. Chain. Windows.
Then again an hour later. And again. The bruises on my arms ached every time I moved, quiet reminders that the night hadn’t been a bad dream I could simply wake up from.
My hands were trembling in my lap now. I curled them into fists against the soft fabric of the dress, trying to force the shaking to stop before he noticed. He noticed anyway.
“Hey. What’s the matter? You’re shaking.”
I looked down at them for half a second, then forced a quick, practiced smile and turned my face toward the window.
“Nothing,” I said. “This dress just isn’t built for temperature regulation. Fashion over function at its finest—why bother with warmth when you can freeze stylishly instead? Truly the height of my current suffering. Very on-brand.”
The rest of the drive passed in silence. Knox didn’t push, and I didn’t offer anything more. I kept my eyes on the window, watching the streets blur past, until the familiar sprawl of campus came into view.
I stayed in my seat for a second after he killed the engine, staring through the windshield at the sea of students spilling across the quad. My stomach tightened.
This had seemed like a manageable idea only a few days ago—fake dating, simple enough on paper. Smile when required.
Hold hands if necessary. Pretend to be ridiculously into each other for the benefit of anyone watching. Easy.
Apparently nobody had mentioned the tiny detail where half the college would be present and looking.
“You ready?” Knox asked.
I“No.”
His mouth curved into a grin that was far too pleased with itself. “Perfect.”
“I’m serious.”
“So am I.” I sighed and looked down at myself, at the dress Katy had practically forced me into this morning.
The entirely too noticeable dress that made me feel like I was walking around with a spotlight attached to my chest. I tugged self-consciously at the hem, already regretting every decision that had led to this moment.
“I hate this.”
“You’ve said that approximately seventeen times,” he replied, clearly unbothered.
“Because it remains true.”
He chuckled under his breath and climbed out of the car. I watched him circle the car through the windshield, completely relaxed.
Of course he wasn’t nervous. Knox Reyes could probably walk into a courtroom wearing nothing but a towel, insult the judge, steal the prosecutor’s lunch, and somehow leave with an apology from everyone else for making him uncomfortable.
My door opened. I looked up. He held out his hand. "Come on."
I stared at it. Then at him. "Do I have to?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
"Because you're my girlfriend."
I narrowed my eyes. "Fake girlfriend."
His eyebrow lifted. "And we're about to make our official public debut as a couple."
"Fantastic." I let him pull me out anyway, all fake, breathless delight.
"I've always dreamed of my relationship status being confirmed via campus surveillance and secondhand gossip. Truly, every girl's fantasy. Should I wave? Do I get a tiara?"
His mouth twitched—just the barest flicker at the corner, gone almost before I could catch it.
“Do you want to look convincing or not?”
I sighed. “Unfortunately, yes.”
His fingers curled around mine. My breath caught.
A restless awareness prickled beneath my skin, racing up my arms and leaving goosebumps in its wake. My pulse stumbled before kicking into an embarrassingly quick rhythm.
His hands were rough in places, especially around the knuckles where the bandage still wrapped his skin. They were bigger than mine, too, swallowing my fingers almost completely.
Those were the same hands that had broken a man's nose without hesitation last night.
Yet now they held mine with startling care, his grip firm enough to keep me close but gentle enough not to hurt.
I swallowed, suddenly far too aware of the warmth between our palms.
It was ridiculous.
It was just holding hands. So why did it feel like anything but?
Something unreadable moved behind his eyes as our gazes locked. For a second neither of us spoke.
When I stayed silent, his fingers tightened.
The pads of his thumbs brushed the insides of my wrists, right over the frantic pulse I hadn’t realized was racing, and the touch lingered longer than it needed to.
He didn’t look away. Neither did I.
Slowly, deliberately, he drew me forward, guiding me out of the seat and into the open air.
His grip never loosened. One hand slid to the small of my back as my feet found the ground, steadying me even though I didn’t need steadying.
The warmth of his palm burned through the thin fabric of the dress like a brand.
The second my shoes hit the pavement, I felt it.
Eyes. Everywhere. Students crossing the quad glanced over. A couple of guys near the benches stopped talking mid-sentence.
Two girls whispered to each other while blatantly looking in our direction. Someone actually nudged his friend and pointed.
"Fantastic." I muttered under my breath, “They probably can’t believe I’m the same hoodie girl from the cafeteria.”
Knox’s mouth curved. “Good. Let them wonder how the hell I got this lucky.”
“Okay, smooth talker. Save the performance. Nobody’s listening.”
He glanced down at me, that infuriatingly cocky grin spreading across his face.
“Who said I was performing?”
I frowned. He shrugged. “Maybe I’m just stating the obvious.”
“Your ego is unbelievable.”
He squeezed my hand once. “If I’m going to fake being your boyfriend Speckles, I might as well make myself sound convincing.”
I rolled my eyes and immediately tugged at the hem of my dress again. I wanted to disappear. Preferably into the nearest shrub.
Okay, Juniper. I took a slow breath. You can do this. It was a dress. Just a dress. People were just people. And Knox was just Knox. Annoying, arrogant, ridiculously attractive Knox, who apparently had no concept of personal space—but still.
Walk. Smile. Don’t trip. Don’t panic.
Another breath. And for the love of God, do not accidentally look like you’re being held hostage.
Knox locked the car with a casual beep.
“Oh my God. Is that—” I turned my head and fought back a grimace as more people stared. “They’re looking at you,” I whispered.
“They’re looking at us.”
“That is somehow worse.”
He glanced down at me, clearly amused. “You’re nervous.”
“No.”
“You’re pulling your dress down every three seconds.”
“Because it keeps trying to betray me.”
His mouth twitched.I shot him a warning look. “Don’t laugh.”
“I didn’t.”
“You’re about to.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it.”
Liar. “Do they always stare at you like this?”
“Pretty much.”
“Why?”
He gave me a look. “Have you seen the car?”
I glanced at the Porsche.
“Yes.”
“And me?”
I looked at him. Unfortunately.
“Yes.”
His grin widened, completely pleased with himself. “Then there’s your answer.”
I stared at him. “Wow. You make arrogance look like a full-time career.”
He laughed. “I prefer confidence.”
“Of course you do. ‘Arrogance’ probably hurt your feelings.”
His grin widened.“You think I'm arrogant?”
“I think your reflection has probably filed for emotional exhaustion.”
He barked out a laugh. “That's not even possible.”
“With you? I'm willing to believe anything.”
He laughed, low and easy, and the sound somehow made the stares feel heavier.
I took another breath and forced myself to straighten. People would stare. They’d talk. Then they’d get bored and find something else to gossip about.
Probably. Hopefully. I looked toward the entrance.
“Okay,” I murmured. “Should we hold hands or something? I mean, is that what normal couples do when they arrive at college?”
Knox looked down at me. He tilted his head, studying us as though we were a particularly complicated science experiment.
“Actually, I think…”
“Think what?”
He didn’t answer. Instead, his arm slid around my waist, drawing me firmly against his side. The contact was solid and unapologetic, pulling me in until my shoulder brushed his chest.
I stiffened. “Knox.”
“What?”
“People are looking.”
“Exactly.” His voice dropped, amusement threading through it.
“We’re supposed to look like we’re together. Hands linked is fine. This—” he gave my waist a light squeeze,
“—looks like a bigger statement. Harder to fake. More convincing.”
I immediately looked up at him. His expression was far too pleased with himself.
“I think this is more convincing. More lovey-dovey.”
I stared at his arm around me. Then at the crowd. Then back at him.
“You’re just using that as an excuse to be touchy.”
“You wound me, Speckles. I’m just too committed to the role.”
“Oh, I can tell.”
I glanced around once more. A guy near the entrance looked at Knox, then at me, then back at Knox, like he was working through a math problem that refused to add up.
Somewhere, I was fairly sure, a girl was already pulling up the photo Knox had posted, zooming in like she was conducting forensic analysis on a crime scene.
His hand tightened on my hip, fingertips biting lightly into the fabric as he hauled my body closer still. “Hey,” he murmured against my ear. I only tensed more.
“Relax, Speckles.”
“Easy for you to say. You’re practically campus royalty.”
“Campus royalty?”
“You know what I mean.”
“I don’t.”
“You have a fan club.”
“I don’t have a fan club.”
Another group of girls looked over.
I raised an eyebrow. “Right.”
He pressed his hand more firmly against my lower back, pinkie sliding against the centimeter of bare skin that the dress left exposed.
The contact was light, almost casual, but it sent another jolt of awareness straight through me.
Then he lifted his other hand and brushed his knuckles gently along my cheek, the gesture so intimate it made my breath catch.
“What are you doing?”
“People are watching,” he murmured, low enough that only I could hear.
“I’m just giving them a show. Acting like I’m so infatuated with you that I can’t keep my hands off you.”
If this were real, I could probably dissolve into a pathetic little puddle of lovey-dovey goo right here in the middle of campus.
And that was precisely the problem.
I couldn't let myself get swept up in the illusion—not when I already knew how dangerously easy it was to forget where the pretending ended and reality began.
Before I could say anything, the distinct roar of another engine cut across the parking lot. Then another.
Two ridiculous sports cars—one matte black, one a deep, gleaming red—pulled into the spaces beside Knox’s Porsche like they were arriving at a photoshoot instead of a university.