I knew the rules from day one.
No real feelings.
Everything that happens in public is a game. Money split in half. We part ways at graduation.
We both signed up. We were both sure.
From the very first minute, her bluntness irritated me—her look that said, “I understand everything about you.” People like that aren’t loved. People like that are remembered.
I wasn’t going to remember her.
Somewhere between the third week and the first real laughter, I stopped keeping track of it. I didn’t even notice when. That’s the scariest part—not the moment you fall in love, but the moment you realize that you already have.
Seventy-eight people placed a bet on us.
Everyone was wrong about their bet.
I—most of all.