Like You Mean It: A Fake Dating Roommates Romance Read online

  If she accepted every invitation to a night out posted in the first-year discussion group, she would need a liver transplant by Christmas.

  Beer mixed with either lemonade or banana juice isn’t half bad.

  This is Berlin. If you think it’ll take you thirty minutes to get somewhere, think again.

  Her new basketball team means business. No one told her there was so much theory to the game.

  Three-hundred fellow students is an intimidating amount, but she ended up sitting next to a sweet, bookish girl named Kristen in two of her lectures, so she’ll consider it a start.

  Sarah and the girl downstairs are not dating, but they’re more than halfway there. They’re not as subtle as they think they are.

  Once Ben gets started on history, he could bore a pile of dead matter straight into the zombie afterlife. He makes great coffee though, courtesy of a mom who runs a hotel.

  Considering the amount of time Justin spends on the prowl, he might as well sublet his room.

  ***

  Gearing up for a competition is a novel experience for Nila—she won’t be playing so soon after joining the team, but she’ll do the warm-up and will cheer from the sideline along with the other newbies. Having to get up early on a Saturday is a price she’s willing to pay.

  She’s shoveling down some cereal with bits of fresh apple mixed into it, already dressed in her sports clothes, when Justin returns from his nightly escapade. Nila expects him to wave and continue straight to his room for either a nap or packing his bag for a day of learning, in line with previous mornings just like this. Instead, Justin utters a greeting as he joins Nila in the kitchen and helps himself, uninvited, to some of the coffee she’s got sitting on the stove as though they’ve established that kind of familiarity already.

  Spoon suspended in the air, she twists on her chair to watch him with a quizzical frown. “You’re welcome?”

  “I know, but thanks anyway.” Justin leans back against the kitchen counter, cup clutched in both hands, and one look at his face has Nila swallow whatever comeback she might have had: Justin looks terrible. By his standards, anyway—tired circles under hollow eyes, shoulders slumped, the angles of his face washed out in the gentle morning light.

  She holds his gaze for a moment before she shrugs and turns back to her cereal. The apartment didn’t feel this quiet a minute ago.

  “Remind me why I’m studying medicine?” Justin says, à propos of absolutely nothing. Huh.

  She pulls one foot up onto the seat of her chair and wraps an arm around her knee, studying Justin as she finishes chewing. “I don’t know. Why are you studying medicine?”

  “Fuck if I know.” Even the walls, painted yellow by some previous tenants, don’t add any color to his complexion. “Why are you?”

  Nila wishes she had a profound answer. Usually she strings together a few sentences about a desire to help, about meaningful work and leaving people in a better place than where she found them. It’s all true, but then she could have just as easily become a social worker or a garbage collector—who doesn’t love it when those stinky bags just disappear from the side of the road?

  Faced with Justin’s gloomy expression, she tells the truth. “It’s a family thing. My dad’s a surgeon, my brother’s studying medicine right now—same year as you, so you might have seen him around. Half of our dinner conversations was my dad presenting us with patients’ symptoms and letting us guess at what was wrong.”

  “How delightful. Daddy dearest must be so proud.” There’s a sarcastic edge to Justin’s voice. “Seriously, you guys should apply for Family of the Year.”

  “We wouldn’t even make it to the group stage, trust me.” Not anymore. And maybe Justin’s in a shitty place right now, but he’s also being a jerk, so Nila frowns around another bite of cereal. “Well, what’s your story, then?”

  “I don’t think my dad’s been proud of me for even a day of my life.”

  Not what she asked, but Justin’s matter-of-fact tone pulls Nila up short. “You’re serious?”

  He doesn’t answer, just slants his gaze away and takes a sip of coffee, then grumbles about it burning his tongue. If this was Julia, Nila would make a crack about how he’s apparently one of those people the ‘contents may be hot’ warning was designed for, but he isn’t Julia—is barely more than a stranger who sleeps on the other side of the wall.

  Sometimes. Not even all that often.

  Nila gets up and takes her bowl along to rinse in the sink. When she passes, Justin glances over, and he still looks so exhausted and unhappy that she can’t help but feel a twinge of sympathy. She doesn’t want to veer into annoying-little-first-year territory, should probably leave him alone, but... “So, bad night, I take it?”

  “Just some asshole father who thinks that the old ‘walked into a door’ excuse still fucking works.” Justin’s tone is laced with acid, and Nila sets her bowl down with a clink.

  “What happened?”

  “My shift tonight—”

  “Your shift?” Nila interrupts.

  “I work as a paramedic.” Justin’s forehead wrinkles, his eyes narrowing in on her. “Where do you think I am most nights?”

  Test-driving the beds of Berlin?

  Nila has just enough presence of mind not to say it. Really, though—a paramedic? She’s heard stories from other students who did gap years to earn bonus points for their applications, and they made it pretty clear that while in theory, night shifts can be quiet and allow for studying or sleeping, in practice they rarely are. Is Justin that desperate for money? Are things that bad with his father?

  Even though her parents and brother aren’t talking, even though Nila can’t so much as bring up Vivaan’s name for fear of starting a fight: the monthly transfers to him haven’t stopped.

  Justin’s expectant look stops Nila short. “Don’t know. I thought a girlfriend, maybe?”

  He snorts. “Yeah, no.”

  Wow, someone’s being dismissive. “What’s wrong with that?”

  “Nothing. I just don’t have time for that kind of drama.” He continues before she can react. “Anyway, so last night, right, we got called to this place in Charlottenburg—huge apartment, stucco ceilings and chandeliers and all that shit. And this asshole—it’s the mom who called us—and from the moment we get there it’s just clear he pushed his son into a table, and not just once.” Justin’s face twists. “Kid was nine. Head wound, possibly a broken arm. And so the asshole dad, right?” He gesticulates sharply with one hand, the other white-knuckled around the cup. “That fucker honestly thought we’d buy that his oh-so-clumsy son walked into a fucking door.”

  Nila swallows and turns to face him fully. “That sounds really shitty.”

  “But wait, there’s more!” Justin’s voice rises, then drops suddenly, tiredness whittling away at its edges. “Mom backed daddy dearest up. How’s that for a glimpse behind the mask?”

  “Did you call the police?”

  “Fuck yeah.” Justin cracks a joyless grin. “Almost got a fist to the face for my trouble, but the fucker won’t be touching his son anytime soon.”

  “That’s good, right?” Nila pauses, and Jesus, Vivaan had some stories too from his gap year in a hospital, but most of them were funny. Some sad ones too, sure, but nothing quite this raw and immediate, helpless anger still lingering in the lines of Justin’s face.

  Maybe Vivaan had those stories too, and was protecting her.

  “I guess that is good.” Justin pauses. “Doesn’t feel good, though. Not right now.”

  “It will.” If he was someone else, Nila would offer a hug. She doubts Justin is the hugging type, though. “Just—you helped a little boy, right? How can that make you doubt your decision to study medicine?”

  “There are too many shitheads like that for me to make any kind of difference.”

  “You made a difference last night, even if it’s just to the life of that little boy.” Nila reaches for a smile, slightly nervous with the full weight of Justin’s gaze. “Whoever saves a life saves the world, right?”

  A moment of silence settles between them. Then Justin exhales, something loosening about the line of his shoulders. “Right.”

  “Right,” Nila echoes weakly. She thinks about telling Justin to get some sleep, but that’s not really the relationship they have—they don’t have much of a relationship at all, really.

  He ends the slightly awkward quiet when he seems to take a proper look at her for the first time since he walked in. “Going somewhere?”

  “Basketball match. I’m too new on the team to play today, but I’ll cheer for everyone else. I should probably get going, actually. Still not used to how long it takes to get from point A to point B in this city.” And that’s almost certainly more information than he needed or even wanted. She takes a step back and tries for another smile. “You’ll be okay?”

  “I’ll be fine.” It carries a trace of doggedness. Then he hesitates, gaze sweeping over her face. “Hey, thanks.”

  “You’re welcome.” This time, the smile feels real, and after a beat he smiles back—it’s just this small thing, barely a quirk of the lips, but it eases the strain around his eyes and mouth. She looks away first.

  After a glance at the clock, she dashes into her room to gather her stuff, and when she leaves five minutes later, Justin is on the couch, still sipping his coffee with the TV on although he doesn’t seem to be watching. Her goodbye receives a quiet response, his head turning just enough for their eyes to meet and hold for a second.

  When Nila returns some four hours later, Justin’s door is closed, and Nila hopes he caught up on some sleep after all—he looked like he needed it.

  Not that they’re friends or anything.

  Chapter Two

/>   “C

  ome on, help a brother out: A, B or C?” Vivaan leans forward, pushing the three brochures closer to Nila. “We need to decide by the end of the week.”

  “That’s because most people plan their weddings with months to spare,” she tells him, but she picks up the first one. “Not in early November when they want to get married just after Christmas.”

  “We started planning in spring.”

  “Then maybe you’re just terrible at making decisions. You should get that looked at.”

  Vivaan rolls his eyes, and it’s strangely comforting to think that even though he’s twenty-four now, even though he’ll be a husband soon, some things haven’t changed since he was a bratty twelve-year-old. He’s sprawled on the couch in her kitchen, a faint smile lingering around his eyes. Engaged is a good look on him.

  “One would think,” he says, all easy drawl, “that you’d display more enthusiasm about the prospect of a free holiday.”

  Nila would—if that free holiday didn’t include being trapped on a small Maldivian island with He Who Shall Not Be Named, and if it wasn’t an island designed for happy couples and their dream vacation while Nila will be the only dateless loser.

  But it’s Vivaan’s wedding. She will make an effort for that.

  “So these two resorts would be water villas, and that one are beach villas?” she asks.

  “Yep. Sunrise or sunset views for all of them, direct access to the lagoon, infinity pools, private butler service, dedicated area to ourselves. The works.”

  The resorts do look spectacular: white sandy beaches and clear blue sea, wooden villas with plenty of light, sun decks, and privacy. Simon’s going all out for this, and Nila knows that there’s some guilt at work here for how things turned out with his prospective in-laws. Both Nila and Vivaan keep telling Simon it really isn’t his fault, but each time they do, Simon nods, smiles, and then asks whether they should have everyone flying Business, or just the older generation.

  Nila helps herself to more hummus, made fresh by Vivaan just this morning because a stressed Vivaan takes to the kitchen—and really, she should have known much earlier that he’s gay. As she mentioned on multiple occasions, whenever she felt like being a pest.

  “Okay, so which place has the nicest honeymoon villa for you guys?”

  “They’re all nice.”

  Well, they better be: by Nila’s uneducated guess, this wedding will cost what would be an annual salary for most people. “Fine,” she says. “You’re not helping with narrowing it down, just so you know. How about the best house reef?”

  “Good question. I’ll check.”

  “See that you do.”

  Behind them, the bathroom door opens with a quiet snick. Nila glances over her shoulder just in time to catch Justin cross the corridor to his room—clearly fresh out of the shower, naked but for a towel wrapped around his waist. Yep, he’s hot, but what else is new?

  When Nila turns her head, Vivaan is already looking at her with an appreciatively quirked eyebrow. The moment Justin’s door closes, they burst into quiet laughter.

  “Damn,” Vivaan whispers, grinning, and it’s nice to see him so at ease with himself now when he was close to tears the day he came out to her. “I know this is a cheap student place and the rooms are small, but it comes with a view.”

  “Says the guy about to marry an Armani model.” Nila is grinning, too. “And that was Justin, by the way. He should be in your year.”

  “Yeah, I’ve seen him around. Keeps to himself, mostly.”

  Ah, so it’s not just Nila, then. Good to know. It’s been a week since Justin got back from that night shift looking like death warmed over, and while their interactions since have been cordial, they’ve also been few and far between.

  “Anyway,” Vivaan says loudly. “Back to the issue at hand: which resort shall it be?”

  Nila snorts. “Some people have real problems.”

  “I think” —Vivaan scoops up some hummus with a piece of bread and acts like he didn’t hear— “I’m leaning towards the one where we’d get one beach villa with three bedrooms, another one with four, plus the honeymoon villa, of course.”

  Jesus Christ. If Nila ends up sharing a villa with Christian and whatever woman he’s currently dating, she’ll break something. His nose, possibly—about time she gets to benefit from those self-defense lessons she took a while back, after all.

  “Don’t you think it’d be better to have individual villas? We’ll all be spending a week on top of each other, so some privacy might be a good thing. Unless it’s way more expensive?” Then something else occurs to Nila, and she inhales, heart heavy. “I thought we’ll need seven bedrooms, yours included? Not eight.”

  Vivaan averts his eyes, frowning at the small slice of gray sky visible through the window, largely caged in by two neighboring buildings. “Can’t hurt to have one extra, right?”

  She holds herself very still, voice low. “So you’ll invite them?”

  “They won’t come.” His tone is hardly above a whisper, and she matches it.

  “They might.”

  Lips pressed together, he shakes his head, but stays silent. Neither of them moves for a moment, then she sighs and reaches for another slice of bread and some hummus, picking up the next brochure.

  “Hey, this one’s got free morning yoga.”

  Vivaan’s mouth quirks. “They all do.”

  She’s about to comment on how tough it must be to choose between luxury, decadence, and opulence when Justin emerges from his room and joins them in the kitchen, dressed casually in a pair of jeans and a T-shirt that clings in all the right places. He stops just beside the couch.

  “Is that hummus?”

  “Viv,” Nila says dryly, “meet my roommate Justin. Justin, meet my brother Vivaan who’s in your year and makes hummus when he’s stressed out.”

  “Hi.” Justin tilts his head before he grins, and Nila notices that his hair is still a little wet, curling around his ears. “Pretty sure I’ve seen you around, not sure we’ve ever spoken. But I do love hummus.”

  Vivaan exhales on a small laugh. “Have at it.”

  “Thanks.” Justin glances at Nila before helping himself to a slice of bread that he dips into the bowl, scooping up a generous amount. “This is good,” he mumbles around his first mouthful, then indicates the brochures spread on the couch. “Big holiday plans?”

  “Wedding, actually. Trying to pick the place.” Vivaan keeps a watchful eye on Justin’s face as he continues in what Nila recognizes as his ‘gauging reactions’ tone. “I told my fiancé I’d be happy with just a small B&B in the countryside, but there’s no stopping him. So destination wedding it is.”

  Justin’s expression registers mild amusement mixed with a trace of something Nila can’t quite name. “Must be nice, being able to blow that kind of money on, what—a week?”

  “Followed by a honeymoon, yeah.” Vivaan is still watching Justin closely. “And trust me, I know what you mean. It’s my fiancé believing he needs to compensate for me not getting a big Indian wedding with five-hundred people that lasts for three days.”

  Justin considers it, then nods. “Fair enough. Sorry for your loss, I guess.”

  “I’m not,” Nila puts in. “In my book, any wedding without Cousin Jo asking me why I don’t have kids yet is a relief.”

  “Aren’t you, like, nineteen?” Justin leans in to help himself to another scoop of hummus, and Nila tries to ignore the distant smell of his aftershave, the shift of muscles under his T-shirt. Whatever he’s doing to stay fit, it’s working.

  “Almost twenty,” Nila says. In two months, but details. “Jo had her first kid when she was eighteen—proudly so—and she’s been popping them out like clockwork for the past six years.”

  “Sounds like a delightful woman,” Justin says, wry.

  “If by ‘delightful,’ you mean ‘trying to convert everyone to her way of life,’ then yes, sure. She’s delightful.”

  “Don’t think she’ll try that with me anytime soon,” Vivaan says, grin just a little off around the edges, and Nila curses herself. She shouldn’t have brought up the idea of big family gatherings. “Anyway, since you’re no help, I’d better get going.”

  Justin glances up from a brochure he snagged along with his serving of hummus. “‘Each water villa comes with its own private infinity pool and mood-controlled state-of-the-art lighting.’ People care about mood lighting?”