The Love Simulation

Chapter Nineteen

Waking up in my bed, in Roman’s arms, is…strange. A good strange.

Roman’s hand caresses my back, and I smile to myself. Everything in this simulation has gone haywire, but in an unbelievable turn of events, here I am, with him.

He’s shirtless, he’s warm, and he emits a sense of peace. But I can’t help but think of what drove me to his arms last night—losing Angie and Jordan—and all the wind is sucked from my sails.

“How are you feeling?” Roman asks.

“I think that’s supposed to be my line.” I rub his arm. “But I’ll answer anyway. I’m sad about Jordan and Angie. And I’m wondering how we’re going to get through the rest of the simulation with just the two of us. But I know it could always be worse. I could be stuck here with our rover, Miles, all by myself.”

“So I’m slightly better than a robot. Good to know.” Roman sounds wounded, but I know he’s only joking.

“Well, you are slightly handier. You can reach the teas for me, after all. I don’t think Miles can help with that. Even if I were to stand on him and—” I cut off with a shriek as Roman tickles my side.

I fight to get free of him, turning over in the bed until my legs are tangled in the sheets and I’m out of breath. Roman stops, and I open my eyes to find I’m face-to-face with him. Nose to nose. All our moving in the bed brought us so much closer.

“Hi,” I say.

“Hey,” he answers back.

“How is your migraine?”

“It’s gone.”

I swallow. I can’t figure out why I’m breathing so hard. That’s right, Roman just tried to tickle me to death. Because I’ve been sharing a bed with him for the past who knows how many hours. And I still can’t get over it.

As he looks at me, I bite down on my lip, and his eyes zero in on the movement. I thought my heart rate should be going down now that I’m lying still, but under Roman’s scrutiny, it only increases. I wish he’d kiss me already.

He runs a thumb over my hip. “I started feeling a lot better when you came in the room.”

I frown. What were we talking about? Oh yeah, Roman’s migraine.

“I’m glad I could help,” I say, my voice nearly breaking when he goes from rubbing my hip to gripping it. The touch lights my body up like a match set against tinder. I want him. But it’s too soon, isn’t it? It’s not like we’re really together, even if in my mind we’ve gotten married, had fifty million babies, and retired on a private beach in the Caribbean.

Come back down to Earth, girl , I tell myself. Still, I can’t help but ask him, “Are you sure the migraine is gone? I hear kissing is good for headaches. The deep breaths you take help with the airflow to your head.”

Roman hums low in his throat, slips his hand under my shirt, and settles it on my lower back. I arch into his touch, which causes my chest to push up into his, and our wild heartbeats become impossibly closer. “You know,” he whispers right above my lips, “my head does hurt a little. Maybe we should test your theory.”

His lips feel perfect against mine. Warm and soft, tender yet insistent that our mouths keep moving. He moves his hand up from my lower back to cup the side of my face before migrating to the back of my neck and gripping my braids. I guess it’s still not enough, because his hand is on the move again, back to my hip, where his fingers dig in.

I let out a soft moan, loving how he barely seems to be restraining himself. If we were making love right now, I think I could get him to lose control. At the thought, I throw my leg over his and tilt my hips so I can feel where he’s hard. He tangles his tongue with mine in response, matching the pace of our grinding bodies.

When I hear a loud alarm blare through the speakers, I freeze in Roman’s arms, then butt my head against his chest, shaking my head back and forth. “No. No more. No more disasters or warnings of imminent doom. Just give us one calm day.”

This isn’t a simulation for life on Mars. It’s testing for psychological warfare.

“It’s all good,” Roman soothes. “You hear that? It’s coming from the comms. You said Jordan and Angie got the antenna up, right? We’re probably just getting messages in from Mission Control.”

I feel no shame over the fact that I was ready to punch the air over the thought of another crisis. I let out a deep breath as my body staves off the bit of adrenaline that was ready to help me act in fight-or-flight mode. It takes a few more breaths before my pulse is steady. I think my body has developed PTSD from everything I’ve been through so far.

“If that’s a message from Mission Control, I guess we better get up,” I say grudgingly, pulling away and sliding to the edge of the bed. Roman lets me go with a sigh, worming his way into my heart that much more as I see he’s as reluctant as I am to end our morning cuddle session.

After having been laid up for so long, the first thing Roman wants to do is take a shower. Before leaving the room, he crooks an eyebrow, inviting me to join him. I laugh. I would absolutely love to see him in all his glory, but we’re not there quite yet, and the shower stall is too small.

As he goes on, I change out of the day-old jumpsuit I’ve been wearing and put on a fresh one. A shower will have to wait for later.

I leave the bedroom and enter the common room. My first stop is the comms station. The monitors show that outside, everything is clear. No dust storm. And while of course I knew there wouldn’t be, there’s no sign of Angie and Jordan either. Just the quiet of nothing, save for the steady hum of fans and computers. I glance at the monitor showing each teammate’s health status, now only showing Roman’s and mine, and my heart breaks a little knowing that we lost the other three. Even if they’re all alive and well outside the simulation, we came in together, and I had planned on us all leaving together. Well, except Roman. But how was I supposed to guess that his motivations were true? I had no idea he’d be the one I’d end up depending on to complete the tasks or that we’d grow so close.

The message from Mission Control is short. They congratulate us on getting the antenna back up.

By the time I’ve taken stock of the remaining tasks, Roman is coming out of the shower. He’s freshly washed and groomed in his jumpsuit. Not only is his body clean, but he’s also trimmed his beard and mustache, and his waves are back. The only thing I don’t like—a tiny gripe, really—is that he’s no longer shirtless. I wonder if he goes to sleep like that every night or if last night was a deviation because of his migraine. I guess I’ll find out later tonight.

I force my eyes away from him and back to my work. I take stock of how much water we have left. With three teammates gone, there’s plenty of water for Roman and me to survive on. I can even take a longer shower. Instead of our previously allotted two minutes, maybe I’ll go crazy and bump it to five. It’s the small wins that count.

“Did you eat breakfast yet?” Roman asks from the kitchen.

Busy looking at the charts Jordan was filling out for us about the daily maintenance of the Hab, I respond with a distracted “Not yet.”

“Breakfast is ready,” Roman says a few minutes later.

“What?” I look back to the kitchen to find two bowls set out. I close out of the data and walk to the kitchen. My heart melts when I see Roman has set out some oatmeal and tea. “I thought the oatmeal was all gone. I was looking for it yesterday.”

“Nope. It was just where you couldn’t reach.” At my glare, he starts cheesing and I shake my head. “How’s everything looking?”

“Honestly, it’s looking really good. We knew the antenna was going to be the hardest part, and Jordan and Angie were able to knock it out before they were eliminated. All that’s left is to keep up with our physical activities, straighten up outside, keep it clean in here, and grow dandelions. I almost feel bad with how easy we’re going to have it in the next few weeks.”

Then again, if it’s easy sailing from here task-wise, that will leave plenty of opportunities for Roman and me to make the most of the remaining weeks we have together. Roman looks at me, his eyes holding secrets from the camera only I can see, and I’m positive we’re on the same wavelength. I touch the soil where the dandelions should be sprouting by now and frown.

After some light fitness that consisted of jogging on the treadmill for me and looking good while strength training for Roman, we went our separate ways to tackle the daily tasks. Roman, seemingly completely over his migraine, set about completing the first round of dusting and vacuuming while I came to the greenhouse to inspect the crops.

Standing at the garden bed now, I look at the built-in sprinklers. I don’t get it. Nothing seems to be malfunctioning or leaking, and yet the soil is way too wet. I sigh. If we can’t get this figured out, it may just be best to get rid of the soil and the seeds already planted and start over fresh. It will be a waste that could potentially affect our bottom line of resources and what is carried over for the next group, but it’s either that or we lose because we can’t grow what essentially amount to the easiest weeds that pop up all over America.

After checking the lettuce and potatoes, both of which have started growing but aren’t counted toward our big tasks, I leave the greenhouse.

I see Roman dusting the comms station and fight back a smile. He’s laser focused on wiping away every speck of dust, running the cloth along each surface meticulously.

“How’s it looking?” he asks when he glances my way.

“Mighty fine indeed.”

“Are the dandelions finally starting to come in?”

“Huh? Ohhh. No, not yet. The soil is drenched. I think we need to toss it and start over.”

Roman stops what he’s doing. He stands up straight and puts the cloth he’s been using over his shoulder and heads toward me. “What did you think I was asking about?”

I blink rapidly while heat overtakes my face. He looks way too sexy strutting toward me like that. I won’t even try to convince him I was talking about the greenhouse. That would be a bald-faced lie, and he’d see straight through. I take the path where the least amount of embarrassment lies and shrug.

Roman’s mouth tips up in a sexy smirk as he stops in front of me. “You don’t know, huh?” Roman didn’t come to play. His voice has dropped an octave, sexy and low; the smolder he’s directing at me is doing its thang and smoldering, affecting me in every which way, just as he intended. “Maybe you saw something you liked? Something not in the greenhouse?”

“Maybe I did,” I concede. I’m heartbeats away from jumping him but know I can’t. Not out here where the cameras are on and rolling, anyway.

I let out a slow breath. I need to keep my head in the game. At least during working hours. I may have found myself in some sort of…situationship with Roman, but that needs to remain behind closed doors.

Maybe I can consider our time here a test. If I can keep my hands to myself while we get tasks done and not let on that we are anything other than partners, but use our private time to do more fun things like make out, then maybe things between us don’t have to end when the new school year starts.

I take a small step back and make a show of looking around the Hab, trying to convey to Roman that Big Brother is watching and we need to be careful of what we do. It looks like Roman wants to laugh at me, his eyes lighting up, but clearly he reads me loud and clear and backs up as well. When he does, I fight the urge to step back into his personal space. I’m a mess.

Later , his eyes declare, and I feel a pulse of heat.

“Sounds like we got another message from Mission Control,” Roman says. “Let’s check it out.”

We move over to the comms station, where a message is waiting for us.

We see that the antenna has come back online, and we are able to send you messages once again. We are sorry for the casualties you have sustained along the way. Rest assured, we knew this mission would be a tough one, but you two are living proof that mankind can prevail in the toughest of circumstances. Following this message, you will receive two messages from your families, who miss you on Earth.

I feel my spirit lighten as I read the message from Mission Control. Finally, some contact from my family.

I don’t have to wait long. The first video to show 100 percent loaded is addressed to me, and I immediately press play.

My family comes on the screen, huddled on Camille’s cream couch. They all give warm greetings. They tell me how great a job I’m doing, with Vincent giving me some special advice on how to best move in the space suit to see with the helmet on.

“ And someone else wants to say hi ,” Camille says. She gives Zara to Lance and pats her lap. “ Say ‘Hi, Mommy! ’?”

My eyes get misty as Sheba stretches on Camille’s lap. She’s so long, her chest is on Camille, while her paws extend across Lance. Once they say their goodbyes and the video cuts out, I swallow the lump in my throat.

“I miss them so much,” I say wistfully.

“It seems like you and your family are close,” Roman comments from beside me. For a moment, I forgot I had an audience and immediately begin dabbing at my eyes. Roman stops my hand, brushing my cheek with his thumb. “It’s beautiful.”

I smile, leaning into his touch. “Yeah, they are. We’ve had our share of ups and downs, and we’re not perfect. No family is. But anytime I’m away from them for too long, I get the most intense homesickness that doesn’t go away until we’re all back together. Sometimes I’ll go through these phases where I start avoiding them, but once I come back around, it makes me realize how foolish I can be.”

“Why would you avoid them?”

I turn my head to the monitors to dodge Roman’s inquisitive stare and shrug. I don’t want to tell him I’ve been indecisive about my career, and being around my successful brother and sister makes me feel like I don’t measure up. Instead I give a half-truth. “It can be hard when you’re always comparing yourself to the Black excellence that is my astronaut brother and his entrepreneur fiancée and my doctor sister and her ex-Navy husband. Then, there’s little ol’ me. And what do I have? Sheba.” Okay, so I got a little more truthful than I meant to. What is it about Roman that always has me saying too much?

“?‘Little ol’ you’? Nah, Bri. You’re amazing.”

I didn’t know I’d fall in love with hearing that word from his lips, but there it is again— amazing. My heart trips over itself, and my breath hitches. The honesty and conviction. “Th-thank you, Roman,” I stammer. Then, because I just can’t take it anymore, I blurt out, “Do you want to see something in the room?” And by see something , I mean kiss . I want to kiss him. So bad.

Roman’s eyebrows shoot straight up to his hairline at my question. Before he can answer, two chimes sound in succession and we both turn to the monitors.

“It looks like your video came through. Do you want to watch it?” I ask.

“I’ll check it out later,” he dismisses. “There’s another one addressed to the both of us. I wonder what this is.”

Roman clicks play, and I immediately recognize our school cafeteria. The librarian, Mrs. Yates, is there, as well as Principal Major, looking like he’s putting up with everything, along with Superintendent Watts and various students.

“ Vice Principal Rogers. Mr. Major. We are so proud of how well you two are representing your school, our district, and this community! ” Superintendent Watts says. “ We know it’s hard there, working alone, by yourselves, but your dedication to your goals is inspiring to us all. Keep focused on the grand prize. We’re counting on you! ”

I know it’s all lip service, that the optics look great for the school. That’s all I should care about, but I didn’t miss the hidden meaning behind every word Superintendent Watts said. She’s warning me about Roman, again.

I glance at Roman. He turns his head to me and smiles reassuringly, though it doesn’t fully reach his eyes. He must be feeling the pressure too. It’s just the two of us and we’ve got to see the rest of this simulation through. We’re committed, and I’m also committed to seeing this thing between Roman and me through. I’ll just have to be careful and not get caught.

Roman and I don’t go to the room and make out. Instead we suit up and head outside.

I look around. Nothing but red and rocks and red mountains against a fake red sky. How long has it been since I’ve seen the actual sun? Felt its rays kiss my skin or had to shade my eyes from the brightness? I miss the feel of the wind stirring through my braids. Hell, I even miss Houston’s humidity that’s always sure to swell my hair to twice its normal volume when I don’t have braids in.

I shake my head. This place is starting to get to me. If I can just push through a little longer, I’ll make it to the other side.

“I guess we better get to it,” Roman’s voice says in my ear.

I nod and we start moving toward the field. Like our first task, our goal now is to clean the mess the dust storm left. We pick up debris sticking out of the sand. Some of it I don’t even recognize, and I wonder if the organizers just threw additional stuff out here for shits and giggles.

“I found Miles!” Roman says, and I look in his direction. Roman has just pulled the rover out of a hill of dust and is gently cleaning it off with his gloved hand.

I run over and sink to my knees beside Roman. “Oh, you poor thing. We left you out here all alone.”

Roman wipes off a little more dust and ensures the rover won’t tip over. “I think that’ll do it. But how come it’s not turning back on?”

“ Him. Don’t be disrespectful. You’ll hurt his feelings. How do we turn him back on?”

Roman sighs in his mic and continues looking Miles over. “I see. It’s solar powered, but its little battery— his little battery,” he corrects himself when I clear my throat, “must have gotten knocked loose in the storm.”

I look around again. There’s no way we’ll be able to find a small battery in all this dust and sand. “Another one bites the dust,” I say with a sigh, stroking Miles. Will this simulation ever let us live in peace?

“What do you mean, ‘another one bites the dust’? We didn’t even look for the battery.”

“Yeah, but look at everything we’d have to dig through. Finding the battery would be like finding a needle in a haystack. Time-consuming and pointless. And I’m tired and sweaty and hungry. And I’m tired of all this stupid red and the stupid dust!” I punctuate my frustration by grabbing a fistful of sand and tossing it away from me. And I know it’s finally happened. I’ve cracked. The simulation has finally broken me.

I’m breathing so hard I can’t hear anything else, and the mist from my breath is fogging up my helmet. I keep my head bent and eyes facing my lap, afraid that if I glance up, Roman will be looking at me like I’ve lost my mind. And he would be correct.

As I clap my hands together, trying to get the remaining dust off my gloves, Roman’s voice comes through my comms. But he’s not speaking. He’s humming. I sit in stupefied silence as I realize he’s humming the theme song to Mission: Impossible . His voice is low and in perfect pitch. If I weren’t in such a bad mood, I’d ask him to really sing so I could know what his voice sounds like.

“Don’t give up, Bri,” he says when he pauses. “You’re not here alone. I’m here, and we can find the battery if we do it together. We can do anything together.”

I know that in the grand scheme of things, not being able to power up Miles is a nonproblem. Keeping him operating isn’t a requirement of the task, only finding him was. But damned if I won’t let Roman’s enthusiasm and belief in me—in us as a team—be wasted.

“Okay,” I say. “Let’s find Miles’s battery.”

Roman is the first to stand up, pulling me to my feet. As I stare up into his face behind the glass barriers of our helmets, he starts humming again. This time I join in.

We keep searching through piles of sand and under rocks. Even as we go separate ways, with me on one side and Roman on the other, Roman’s baritone continues to carry the tune, so I harmonize with the alto notes.

Finally, after who knows how long, I see it. A small rectangle under a group of rocks. I lunge for it, picking the battery up and waving it in the air in victory. “Got it! I got it!” I yell.

Roman runs over to me and I throw myself in his arms, laughing as he spins me around.

We get back to where we left Miles on the ground. “Would you like to do the honors?” Roman asks.

I nod and attach the battery where it goes, right on top of his head. Or what passes for a head. Within seconds, lights flicker as he begins coming to life, and I clap.

“We did it,” I say with a sigh as the energy begins draining from me. I don’t know how long we were out here cleaning or how long we looked for Miles, but I’m beat. And happy. I turn to Roman. “Thank you for not letting me give up.”

“I knew it was important to you. All you needed was a little push. And don’t worry, when I’m right here by your side, I won’t let you give up.” He squeezes my thigh briefly. “I think we’re pretty much done out here. Ready to go inside?”

I nod, and we head back inside the Hab.

“What do you miss from the outside world?” I ask Roman while we eat rectangles of fried rice. The food isn’t bad, but I can’t help but wish for more. “I’ll tell you what. I would kill for some fried crab rangoon and egg drop soup to go on the side.”

Roman thinks for a minute. “I could go for some wings or burgers.”

“Do you cook?”

He looks at me like I’ve lost my mind. “Cook? Girl, I throw down. They don’t call me the master of the pit for nothing.”

“Who? Who calls you that?”

He chuckles. “I do. But it’s true. You’ll see one day.”

I smile down into my food and scoop another bite.

“What else?” he asks. At my blank look he continues, “What else do you miss from the outside world besides food?”

“Everything. Sheba. My bed. Colors. Ugh, I am so tired of red.” I throw my hands out. I don’t have to point to anything in particular, because it’s all red. “My brother said I should bring some paints or something. I should have listened to him.”

Roman finishes eating and gets up. “I have an idea. Don’t go anywhere.”

I don’t know what Roman has in mind, but he’s all over the place. He grabs cups from the kitchen and fills them with our water rations. He moves to our tiny lab and takes some of the dirt samples. He rushes to the greenhouse then comes back out with a small handful of leaves. He even grabs blue and black pens from our supplies, opens them with all the focus of a trained surgeon, and dumps the ink into two cups.

When he goes to the drawer with the manuals, he regards me. “Vacuum or dishwasher?”

“Um, dishwasher?”

He nods, flipping through the pages and tearing two out.

“What are you doing?” I finally ask.

“You said you miss colors. Now you’ve got some primary and then some.”

I inspect the cups. He made black and blue with the pens, green with the leaves, red with the dirt, and yellow with packets of mustard, all mixed with water.

The way I want to kiss him right now. But to do that, we’d have to go to our room, and all his hard work would go to waste.

“The only things we don’t have are brushes,” he says. “We’ll have to use our fingers.”

I dip my finger into the cup of diluted mustard, testing the consistency, and think of what to paint. When I have an idea, I pull the paper toward me and begin. Roman starts on his own, and we work in silence with the cups of paint set between us as a makeshift barrier so we don’t see what the other is doing. It goes without saying that this is absolutely a competition and we will be seeing who has the best picture when we’re done.

“Anything else you miss from the outside?” Roman asks.

I like how he’s turned this into a therapeutic session for me to paint and complain.

“I know this is bad, so don’t come at me, but I miss gossip.” At his taken aback look I laugh. “Before I was vice principal, I used to gossip with the teachers at my old school all the time. Well, I didn’t gossip. Just listened. But it’s different as a vice principal. Everyone keeps all the juicy stuff to themselves so they don’t get in trouble, I guess.”

“For what it’s worth, they don’t gossip around me either,” Roman says, and I instantly feel ridiculous for complaining. Of course the teachers wouldn’t gossip around him. They’d think he’d tell his dad everything.

“I’m sorry, that was inconsiderate.”

He goes on, ignoring the apology. “But I still pick up on things. For example, I have it on good authority that a certain teacher who raps and another teacher who likes birds have been dancing around each other all year.”

I gasp, loving the juicy tidbit. He’s talking about his friends Kareem and Raven. I had no idea there was something simmering between them.

Roman wipes his finger on a damp cloth he brought over for us. “All done. Let me see what you made.”

“Wait! I need more info on the teachers first. Do you think either of them will make a move?” I am fully invested.

Roman shrugs, but he knows I’m hanging on his every word and is loving it. “I heard a very cool, very handsome science teacher tried to get one of them to make the first move and offered up date ideas, but nobody wants to listen to him. Let me see your picture.”

“Hold on. What date ideas did the science teacher suggest? Maybe they were bad.”

He levels his gaze at me. “Not only is the science teacher very cool and handsome, he’s also a romantic.”

“Hmm, what are the chances that someone who calls themselves a romantic actually is one?”

“This science teacher is the real deal. One of the dates he suggested to Karee—um, the teacher who likes rap—was dinner and painting. You can’t tell me, or the science teacher, the ladies don’t love that.”

I look at our table with its paints again, and my heart melts. “You know, you—make that the science teacher—may have a point.”

“Yup. Now quit stalling and show me your picture.”

When he uses that tone, how can I resist? I lift my picture to him, and Roman’s eyes widen.

“Wow, Brianna. That looks just like me.”

It’s no masterpiece, but I was able to vaguely land his skin tone by mixing red, yellow, and blue. The waves of his hair came out great.

“I’m a little rusty,” I say, “but I used to paint all the time when I was younger. I almost went to school for art but changed my major at the last minute. I always told myself I’d get back into it. I just need to find the time. And I guess motivation. Let me see what you did.”

Roman looks almost pained as he holds his picture up.

“Who is that?” I ask. His picture is, for lack of a better word, bad. It’s a person. A girl, certainly, but that’s about as much as I can make out. “Who is that?” I ask again.

“I didn’t know I was going up against Picasso,” he grumbles. He shakes his head, looking thoroughly embarrassed.

“You know what, I was going to help you clean up, but now I feel like I need to look in a mirror. There might be something I’m not seeing.”

I rise from the table, but I do take a few of the cups of paint with me, one in particular.

I walk back to the table and stop in front of Roman. “I’m going to call it an early night.” I wipe some of the mustard on his cheek. I had to get back at him for the awful painting somehow, and I hope he takes the bait.

He takes the bait.

Half an hour after I get to the room, Roman follows. I look up from the book I was reading and watch him close the door behind himself and stalk toward me.

He stops by the bed and looks at me a second before barking, “Book down.”

My back goes straight, but the desire to see where this is headed is stronger than my natural urge to ignore any commands. I bite my lip and set the book down.

“Stand up,” he orders next.

I stand up and tilt my head back to look at him. I want to reach out and latch on to him, but I know I need to practice patience in at least some areas of my life.

Roman steps forward, bringing us impossibly close. “I’ve been waiting to do this all day,” he says before capturing my mouth with his.

The waiting definitely paid off. I kiss him back, trying not to be so awestruck that this is happening— again . Not only is it happening again, but it’s so good. I work on committing to memory the taste of him, sweet and addictive, as I suck on his bottom lip then open my mouth as his tongue sweeps in.

If this is going to end at some point, I need to have one hell of a memory to recall. My hands are interlaced behind his neck. I slide one down to his zipper. He’s got a black shirt under his jumpsuit, so I reach for the hem of his shirt and tug it up. Roman does the same for me, pulling my shirt over my head and off as we momentarily break apart.

His eyebrows lift in clear appreciation as his eyes trace my chest, making me feel powerful and desired.

He meets my eyes again, smiling slightly before tugging me back to him. This time, it’s nearly skin on skin, save for my bra, as we go back to devouring each other’s lips. I trail my hands over Roman’s biceps to his chest and down his stomach. Not allowing my mind to second-guess, I let my fingers go exactly where they desire. Roman is rock-hard in my hand as it closes over him through his boxer briefs. It’s still not enough. I manage to get one hand in his boxers and stroke up and down. Roman rocks his hips in time with my strokes.

“I want you,” I say against his lips, knowing closed mouths don’t get fed. I didn’t intend for this to go any further than a kiss, but I also never intended to come to depend on Roman as a partner when I arrived in this simulation, let alone kiss him. It’s way past time to readjust my expectations.

“You got me,” Roman responds, voice only halfway audible and fully carried by lust.

I shake my head. “More.”

We fall onto the bed, and he slides my pants and underwear down in one tug. His hand goes to my core, rubbing me in a way that makes my back arch. Then he slides one finger inside. I gasp at the sensation, but still say, “More,” and he works another finger in.

It feels good, but I’m not able to concentrate on so many things at once. I tear my lips away from Roman while riding his hand and continuing to stroke him. With his lips no longer occupied, Roman is free to trail kisses along my neck. His fingers are magic. My body tightens, but he keeps his finger thrusts steady until I finally let go and I’m falling over the edge. At the same time, he gives a deep groan before he too comes undone, all over my stomach.

Once we both catch our breath, I look up to find Roman looking at me. “You good?” he asks.

I bite down on my lower lip, swollen from Roman’s kisses, and smile. “I’m good. I’m…great.”

Roman closes the bathroom door behind him. As he takes me in with lazy eyes, I can’t help but notice how relaxed he looks. Mere weeks ago, I thought I’d have given anything to see him look at me the way he looked at his friend Raven, but now I see how wrong I was. His eyes now feel like a caress to my soul as his gaze sweeps me from topknot bun to black socks. Those beautiful brown eyes, soft and open. This is a kind of gaze I never even imagined.

“Ready to hit the hay?” Roman asks, gesturing to the bed.

What was mine is now ours. In this tiny habitat that has been our home for the past three weeks, we are the last two standing, but I feel like this isn’t it. For the first time, I’m not only letting myself imagine what it would be like to take our relationship out of this simulation, but I’m hoping for it. The seed has been planted in my mind and in my heart, and I’m going to see it through. Roman may shoot me down, but I’ve at least got to take a shot.

I move to the bed first, climbing in and moving to the far left side so Roman can get in. He lies down and faces me, and we both stare at each other until we start laughing.

“Okay,” I say. “This is awkward. Are we just supposed to fall asleep, or…” If Roman suggests more kissing, I won’t turn him down.

Humor is still alight in his eyes as he snakes his hand out and rests it on my hip. “We can go to sleep. We can talk.”

Say kiss.

“Whatever you want to do,” he finishes.

He didn’t not say kiss. I’m about to make the suggestion, but Roman beats me by saying, “Did you always want to be an administrator?”

Oh, he wants to talk about school. I shouldn’t be surprised. Or disappointed. It’s the one big thing we have in common.

I stifle a sigh before answering. “Actually, no. I wanted to be a librarian, then an artist. I went to school with a focus in business, which wasn’t my forte, so I went into teaching. I got a teaching degree, but I was also interested in psychology, so when I started teaching, I was simultaneously going to night school for psychology.”

“That’s a lot. What grade did you start teaching?”

“Elementary. That was…a mistake, I think. I love kids. Love them. But being a full-time teacher wasn’t it for me. I wanted to help kids some other way. After I got my psychology degree, I was able to be a guidance counselor. I felt like I was getting closer, but it still didn’t seem like the right fit. Then the vice principal position came up, and I thought, ‘Yes. That’s what I need to be doing. That’s how I can help both kids and teachers.’?”

“How’s the VP role playing out?”

I look at him while biting my lower lip. I think about the past year and all the strife from his dad, how I feel obligated to keep the teachers at arm’s length, how lonely and how hard it’s been, and how the one thing I want to do—leaving a mark on the school by getting the library built—has been such a battle.

“I’m still adjusting. I’m hoping it will get better next year. But that answer probably doesn’t make you too happy,” I say.

“Why would you say that?”

“Because being vice principal is what you wanted, right? I’m the one in the position you went for, and I’m probably doing a million things different from what you would have.”

“Bri, you are a great vice principal.” His hand moves from my hip to the dip at my waist, stroking my side. Lighting a fire in my stomach. I lift one of my hands to his chest. His muscles under my palm flex in time with the movement of his hand.

“And who says I want the job of VP?” he continues.

My gaze jumps from his chest to his eyes, and I raise my eyebrows. “Don’t you? Isn’t that the whole reason your dad has been such a pain in my ass? Why you were so rude to me the whole school year?”

Thinking about Principal Major’s attitude and Roman’s aloofness has me setting my jaw. I almost take my hand off his chest. But I don’t. I don’t need to be petty when we’ve moved beyond that.

“Hey.” Roman squeezes my side, which has the added effect of bringing my body closer to his. “I’m sorry that I came off rude. I’ve had the biggest crush on you all year. That’s what it was. I thought once you realized who my dad was, you’d want nothing to do with me. I guess it was easier to just shut down when I was around you.”

“Is that what the other teachers do when they realize who your dad is? Write you off?”

Roman runs his hand up and down my back and makes an affirmative humming sound. “Pretty much, yeah. But I’ve gotten used to it.”

I hate how resigned he is and that the teachers can be so judgmental without trying to get to know him. “It still sucks,” I say. “That’s not something you should have to get used to. People shouldn’t judge you based on your dad.”

“It doesn’t bother you that my dad is the principal?” Roman asks me. “You of all people have the right to hold a grudge.”

“Have there been times I thought you were on your dad’s side in all of this and become a little sus? Yes. But even knowing who your dad is hasn’t been enough for me to stay away. You two aren’t the same. So no, it doesn’t bother me. I just wish everyone else could look past it as well.”

He kisses the top of my head. “People are going to think what they want and assume what they want anyway. My energy is best used being a good teacher and role model for the kids.”

“That’s true.” For those really worth Roman’s time, it won’t matter who his dad is. “Did you always want to be a teacher? And did you decide to follow after your dad’s footsteps?”

“No, I didn’t. I actually hated school as a kid. I guess elementary school was cool. But my parents separated when I was in middle school, and my mom wanted to be closer to her family. She took me with her right in the middle of the year. You know how hard it can be for kids to adjust when they’re new and everyone else has friends. At first I didn’t fit in, and then I started hanging with the wrong crowd. When I got in a fight and was suspended my freshman year of high school, my mom decided it was best for me to be raised with my dad.”

“I promise you I am taking this so seriously, but I have a question. Are you by chance from Bel-Air?”

He squeezes me tight as he laughs, and I love the sound. “Thank you for that laugh. And no, I’m no Fresh Prince. When I moved in with my dad in Houston, he was strict and overall unimpressed by anything I did. I still didn’t care about school until I had one teacher who wouldn’t give up on me. His name was Mr. Calloway, and he’s the reason I decided to become a teacher. When I got my degree, something flipped in my dad though. He had this vision of us running the school together. I fed into it at first, just glad he was proud of me, but being the vice principal of his school isn’t what I want. I’ve told him that, and, well, you know how he doesn’t listen.”

“But didn’t you interview for the position?”

“Yeah, and I bombed on purpose. I hoped it would get him off my back about it, but he wants me to interview again.”

“I never realized you two had a tumultuous relationship. I always thought you wanted my job.”

I mull over everything. It’s a relief to know Roman doesn’t actually want to be the vice principal. But that only makes Principal Major’s actions with the library and the football field that much more ridiculous. The man needs to stop trying to control everything.

“I—” Roman starts, then takes a deep breath. “I want to tell you something.”

A yawn escapes me. “Hold that thought. Before you say anything else, can you take your shirt off?” The sleepier I get, the harder it is to keep my mind from veering to all the naughty things I want to do with and to Roman.

He chuckles but sits up and obliges.

“Mmm,” I say as he lies down, and I snuggle back into his chest. His bare, warm chest. “It feels so good being here with you.”

Roman’s arms tighten against my back, and I don’t mind the nonverbal response. His body language lets me know I’m safe expressing my feelings to him. I don’t know if he feels the same or if I’m moving too fast, but Roman makes me feel like I’m moving at the right speed. I’m safe to say whatever it is I want and safe to feel whatever it is I feel. I can only hope he feels that same sense of openness and acceptance from me.

“Was there something you wanted to tell me?” I ask, barely able to keep my eyes open and not sure if my words came out clearly.

“I’ll tell you tomorrow,” he says with a sigh. “Let’s go to sleep. There’s no telling what they’ve got in store for us next.”

Roman turns the light off above us, and I’m sleeping within seconds.