Chapter 4 Terms and Conditions
L ena arrived at the athletics media room with two coffees, three pages of printed rules, and the very strong suspicion that Nico Reyes would hate all of them.
Not dislike.
Not question.
Hate.
She knew this because Nico seemed to have a rare gift for taking any reasonable suggestion and treating it like a personal attack.
Smile for photos?
Violation of human rights.
Show up on time?
Government oppression.
Pretend to like her?
Well.
That one was going to be a problem for both of them.
The media room was empty when she unlocked it, which gave her approximately ninety seconds to pretend she had control over her life.
She set the coffees on the table. One iced vanilla latte for herself because today required emotional support in beverage form. One black coffee for Nico because she could not imagine him drinking anything with joy in it.
Then she arranged the printed pages in front of the chair across from hers.
TEMPORARY RELATIONSHIP COMMUNICATION PLAN.
She stared at the title.
No.
Absolutely not.
That sounded like a contract for emotionally constipated robots.
She picked up a pen and crossed it out.
Above it, she wrote:
TERMS AND CONDITIONS.
Better.
Still ridiculous, but at least honest.
The door opened behind her.
“You made paperwork,” Nico said.
Lena did not turn around right away.
She took one slow breath, picked up her coffee, then faced him with her brightest professional smile.
Nico stood in the doorway wearing black athletic pants, a dark gray Westbridge Tennis shirt, and the expression of a man who had come prepared to be tortured.
His racket bag was slung over one shoulder.
His hair was damp again, curling slightly near his forehead, like he had come straight from a shower or a fight.
Possibly both.
“You’re late,” Lena said.
His eyes dropped to the papers on the table. “You made a syllabus for fake dating.”
“I made a strategic outline.”
“You titled it Terms and Conditions.”
“Yes. Because fake dating syllabus felt too intimate.”
A muscle jumped in his jaw.
Not a smile.
Not yet.
But close enough to be irritating.
He stepped inside and shut the door behind him. “I’m not signing anything.”
“I didn’t ask you to.”
“Good.”
“But if you want to sign something, I can draft a behavior agreement.”
“No.”
“A cooperation pledge?”
“No.”
“A personal promise not to sabotage your own life before breakfast?”
Nico looked at her.
Lena sipped her latte.
His gaze lingered on her mouth for half a second too long before he looked away, scowling like her lip gloss had personally offended him.
“This is already a mistake,” he said.
“Probably.”
That brought his attention back.
Lena sat and gestured toward the chair opposite her. “But it is now our mistake, so we might as well organize it.”
He did not sit immediately.
Of course he did not.
He looked at the chair like it was an accusation.
Then he dropped his racket bag beside the wall and sat across from her, long legs stretching beneath the table. He picked up the coffee she had brought him and narrowed his eyes.
“What is this?”
“Coffee.”
“I know what coffee is.”
“Then why did you ask?”
His stare flattened.
Lena smiled sweetly. “Black. No sugar. No cream. No evidence of happiness.”
He took the cup.
“Thanks,” he muttered.
It was so quiet she almost missed it.
Almost.
“You’re welcome,” she said, and immediately hated how soft her voice sounded.
Nico heard it too.
His fingers tightened around the cup.
For one strange second, they just looked at each other across the table, with printed fake-dating rules between them and too much awareness in the air.
Then Talia Morgan walked in and saved them from whatever that had been.
She had a tablet tucked under one arm, sunglasses on top of her head, and the brisk energy of a woman who had decided this situation was absurd but useful.
“Good,” she said. “You’re both here.”
“Nico was late,” Lena said.
Nico lifted his coffee. “Lena brought poison.”
“It’s coffee,” Lena said.
“Could be both.”
Talia did not even blink. “Wonderful. Chemistry.”
Lena choked on her latte.
Nico looked offended. “No.”
Talia set her tablet on the table. “That reaction needs work.”
“There is no chemistry,” Nico said.
Lena reached for the first page. “Actually, disagreement can read as chemistry online if framed correctly.”
He stared at her. “Do not frame my hostility.”
“It’s one of your most consistent assets.”
“That is not a compliment.”
“It wasn’t meant to be.”
Talia pointed between them. “This. Less murder, more banter. Campus will eat it up.”
Lena looked down at her notes because she refused to enjoy that sentence.
Nico leaned back in his chair. “I hate this.”
“Yes,” Lena said. “We’ve added that to the brand.”
His eyes sharpened.
She looked up.
Another almost-smile threatened the corner of his mouth, and Lena felt a tiny, stupid flicker of victory.
Then the door opened again.
Her father entered.
And the room changed.
It always did when Coach Hart walked into it.
Not because he demanded attention. He did not have to. He carried authority like some men carried cologne—subtle, expensive, impossible to ignore.
His gaze moved from Lena to Nico to the papers between them.
The look on his face made Lena sit a little straighter before she caught herself.
She hated that reflex.
“Let’s make this quick,” Coach Hart said.
Nico’s shoulders stiffened.
Lena noticed.
She wished she had not.
Talia tapped the tablet screen. “We have a narrow window. The story is still moving, but it hasn’t fully hardened. If we introduce a counter-narrative today and reinforce it consistently over the next two weeks, we have a chance to soften the reaction before the championship.”
Coach Hart’s eyes stayed on Lena. “And we’re all clear this is temporary.”
“Yes,” Lena said.
Too quickly.
Nico looked at her.
She ignored him.
Her father’s gaze narrowed slightly. “Temporary and public-facing.”
“Yes.”
“No private confusion.”
The words landed between her and Nico like a third person at the table.
Lena kept her face pleasant.
Private confusion was an incredibly specific thing for a man to warn against when nothing had happened except one hallway photo, one terrible idea, and the way Nico’s eyes kept doing inconvenient things when they dropped to her mouth.
“No confusion,” she said.
Nico made a sound low in his throat.
She kicked him under the table.
His knee jerked.
Talia cleared her throat very loudly. “Let’s review boundaries.”
“Gladly,” Lena said.
She slid the first page toward Nico.
He did not touch it.
She turned it so he could read.
“Rule one,” she said. “Public appearances only.”
“Fine.”
“Rule two. We do not lie unnecessarily.”
Nico looked up. “That feels like a weird rule for a fake relationship.”
“It means we keep the story simple. We don’t invent elaborate details that can be disproven. We let people assume more than we confirm.”
Talia nodded. “Smart.”
Lena tried not to glow under the praise.
Her father noticed anyway.
His mouth pressed into a thin line.
“Rule three,” Lena continued. “No unscripted posts.”
Nico pointed at the paper. “That one is for you.”
“For both of us.”
“I don’t post.”
“You glare in public places where other people post.”
“That’s not the same thing.”
“It is when your face has its own weather system.”
Talia’s lips twitched.
Coach Hart did not look amused.
Lena moved on quickly. “Rule four. No unnecessary touching.”
Nico leaned back. “Define unnecessary.”
Her brain stopped.
Just for one humiliating second.
Because the way he said it was not flirtatious. Not exactly. It was dry and challenging and probably meant to irritate her.
It irritated her.
It also made her think about his hand yesterday at the edge of the tunnel when he had leaned over her phone, close enough for her to feel heat coming off him.
Which was not useful.
“Necessary touching,” she said, keeping her voice calm, “includes situations where public believability requires basic couple behavior.”
“Basic couple behavior,” he repeated.
“Yes.”
“Like?”
She should have prepared for this question.
She had prepared for this question.
Unfortunately, preparation and saying the words while Nico Reyes watched her like that were two different sports.
“Hand-holding,” she said.
“No.”
“Standing close.”
“I already regret asking.”
“Sitting together at events.”
“Tragic.”
“Possibly one arm around shoulders or waist if there are cameras.”
His gaze dropped briefly to her waist.
There went the temperature of the room.
Lena’s hand tightened around her pen.
Coach Hart stood straighter.
Nico looked away first.
“Fine,” Nico said. “No kissing.”
Lena nodded quickly. “Exactly. No kissing.”
“Unless absolutely necessary,” Talia said.
Lena’s head snapped toward her. “What?”
Nico said, “No.”
Coach Hart said, “Absolutely not.”
For once, all three of them agreed.
Talia lifted both hands. “I am not suggesting it. I am noting that public narratives evolve.”
“They can evolve without anyone’s mouth on anyone,” Lena said.
Nico looked at her again.
The almost-smile returned.
Traitorous thing.
“Anyone’s mouth on anyone,” he repeated.
“Don’t.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You were thinking loudly.”
“I can’t help what you hear.”
Talia’s eyes brightened like she had just found gold in a drainage ditch.
Coach Hart looked like he was five seconds from canceling the entire arrangement.
Lena cleared her throat and returned to the paper. “Rule five. No real dating other people while this is active. It creates confusion.”
Nico’s expression went unreadable.
“What?” she asked.
“Nothing.”
“That was not nothing.”
“I didn’t realize I was signing up for exclusivity.”
Something sharp and ridiculous pinched inside her chest.
Jealousy?
No.
Absolutely not.
Professional irritation.
That was what they were calling it.
“Only for optics,” she said.
His gaze held hers. “Right.”
Talia typed something on her tablet.
Lena refused to ask.