๐Ÿ’Œ HOW TO LOSE A GUY IN TEN HATE-TEXTS

๐Ÿ”ฅ SYNOPSIS:
When sworn enemies Juniper Vega and Asher Cole get stuck planning their school's Valentine's dance, they make a bet: fake date for a week, first to catch feelings loses. But between forced PDA, a mistletoe ambush, and a kiss that changes everything, their "fake" rivalry starts feeling dangerously real.

๐Ÿ’˜ TROPES:
✔ Enemies-to-Lovers
✔ Fake Dating

๐Ÿ“Œ Think: The Hating Game meets Never Have I Ever – with all the messy, hilarious heartache of high school.

PART 1: THE BET

CHAPTER 1: THE WORST PERSON ON EARTH

Juniper’s POV

Asher Cole was the human equivalent of a parking ticket.

Unnecessary. Infuriating. And always showing up when you least wanted him.

Like right now, as he leaned against my locker, smirking like he’d already won some invisible game I didn’t agree to play.

“Move,” I said, jabbing my key toward his ribs.

“Make me.” He didn’t budge, his stupidly perfect hair catching the fluorescent light. “Heard you’re stuck with me for the Valentine’s dance. Guess Hayes finally snapped.”

I clenched my jaw. “I’d rather plan a funeral.”

“Same vibe, honestly.” He flicked a piece of lint off his jacket. “But since we’re here… how about a bet to make it fun?”

My eyes narrowed. “What kind of bet?”

His grin was all teeth. “We fake-date for a week. Whoever acts like they like the other first loses. Winner picks the dance theme.”

I barked out a laugh. “You’ll crack in an hour.”

“Doubt it.” He leaned in, close enough that I caught a whiff of his obnoxiously expensive cologne. “But to make it interesting… we go all in. PDA. Cheesy posts. The whole่กจๆผ”.”

I should’ve said no.

But then I remembered:

1.    Asher’s ego was the size of Canada.

2.    I lived for proving him wrong.

I spat my gum into my hand and stuck it under the locker next to mine—a time-honored declaration of war. “Fine. But when I win, you wear a ‘I Ruin Everything’ shirt to the dance.”

He extended his hand. “And when I win, you ask Ben Mitchell out in front of the whole cafeteria.”

My stomach dropped. Ben Mitchell—the guy who’d ghosted me after I accidentally set his science project on fire freshman year.

Asher knew that.

Bastard.

I shook his hand. “Game on.”

CHAPTER 2: FAKE IT TILL YOU HATE IT

Rule #1: No breaking character.

By Monday, the entire school was buzzing.

“Since when are June and Asher a thing?!”

“They hate each other!”

“Maybe hate’s just their foreplay.”

I gagged. Asher, meanwhile, played his part like an Oscar contender.

He held doors open (“After you, babe.”).
“Accidentally” brushed my hand in the hallway (“Oops.”).
Even left a single red rose in my locker with a note: “Still hate you. –A”

I retaliated by posting a “Happy One-Week Anniversary!” story with the most unflattering pic of him I could find—mid-sneeze, eyes crossed.

He liked it.

Psychological warfare.

CHAPTER 3: THE INCIDENT

Rule #2: No avoiding each other.

We sat together at lunch (because of course fake couples do that). That’s when Ben Mitchell—traitor of my past—walked by and smirked.

“So you downgraded from arson to Cole, huh?”

Before I could flip him off, Asher’s arm slid around my waist. “Nah, she upgraded. I actually know how to treat a girl.”

My pulse spiked.

Ben scowled and left, but I was too busy noticing two things:

1.    Asher’s hand was still on my hip.

2.    It didn’t feel awful.

“You’re welcome,” he murmured, lips way too close to my ear.

I shoved him off. “Don’t push it, Cole.”

But the damage was done.

Because when he smirked at me—really smirked, the kind that made his stupidly perfect eyes crinkle—I felt it.

A traitorous, inconvenient, oh-crap flutter in my chest.

And that’s when I realized:

I might lose this bet.

 Read Part 2 here :

 Part 2: THE ALMOST-KISS

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

  Title: Married by 9, Divorced by 5 Part 2: Ring Before Spring (or My Mother Will Disown Me) Fake engagement rule #1: Never tell your mother. Fake engagement rule #2: ESPECIALLY don't tell your immigrant, romantically unhinged, chai-obsessed mother who’s been manifesting your wedding since the day you learned to walk straight. Guess what Bentley did by 8 a.m.? I stormed in like a caffeinated raccoon, flinging open the glass door. “You. Called. My. Mother.” Bentley, innocent as ever, looked up from his laptop. “Oh yay! Morning, wife.” “Don’t wife me, you snitchy little corgi. Why would you call Amma ?!” He looked genuinely confused. “Because… she sent you 11 missed calls titled ‘Are You Dead?’ and I panicked?” “You could’ve texted her back ! Instead you told her we’re engaged?!” Bentley leaned back, hands behind his head, full smug mode activated. “Relax, Lila. I was charming. She likes me.” “That’s the problem !” He blinked. “Wait… is this the first time she’s lik...
Read more
His Wife by Mistake   Chapter 2 : Welcome, VIP The elevator doors slid open onto the 18th floor, and Nora blinked. “This... can’t be right.” Callum grinned beside her, arms crossed, clearly enjoying her confusion. “It’s right. The CEO said intern accommodations are up here.” They walked down a sleek, matte-black hallway. The carpet was plush beneath her heels, like walking on velvet. Spotless glass walls framed views of Manhattan, and every few feet, sleek metallic plaques shimmered with names and titles. She passed rooms labeled “Investor Relations,” “Legal Counsel,” and then— VIP RESIDENCY – Temporary Guest Office “VIP?” she said aloud, brows lifting. “Is that a sarcastic label or…” Before she could finish, a sharp pop of gum snapped behind her. Nora turned. A girl leaned against the wall, dressed like a fashion editorial nightmare—platinum-blonde waves, cropped designer blazer over a rhinestone tank, and stiletto heels too tall for workplace sanity. She looke...
Read more
  ๐Ÿ’Œ  HOW TO LOSE A GUY IN TEN HATE-TEXTS CHAPTER 4: MISTLETOE TRAP Part 2:  THE ALMOST-KISS Rule #3: No actually catching feelings.   (Too late.) The Valentine’s Day dance committee meeting was going exactly as expected: Badly. Asher had taped printed spreadsheets to the wall like some corporate overlord. I’d countered by replacing all his bullet points with  "I ❤ June"  doodles. "Real mature, Vega,"  he said, plucking a doodle off the wall. "Thanks, I try."  I kicked my boots up on the table.  "So what’s next? Balloons? Sparklers? A live performance of you admitting I’m right?" "Decorations,"  he said, ignoring me.  "We’re doing a winter wonderland theme." I choked on my soda.  "Excuse me? We agreed on  ‘Anti-Love Club’ —black lights, punk bands, a literal wall where people can scribble their ex’s worst traits—" "We didn’t agree on anything."  He tossed me a bag of silver tinsel.  "And you lost the ...
Read more