My shift ends at four P.M. and I take my time getting back to the dorm room. After Warren departed, I was shaken up so badly that I needed to ask one of my co-workers to take over my shift for five minutes while I went outside to breathe in some fresh air. He caused my mind to reel. Why he's so hell-bent on me being the one to play the role is beyond my thinking capacity. And the fact that I am even considering accepting this absurd plan appals me; I'm appalled with myself.

For the past ten minutes, I have been standing outside, trying to tell myself I'm being rational. Warren's offer holds promise – it's one that would prevent me from ever causing my parents to worry about where I am regarding money. They wouldn't need to loan me money for support, nor would I have to apply for a student loan. Debt would be nonexistent with Warren's money in my hands.

It's a tempting offer – I'll admit that much.

The big question is: Can I deal with him for two months without committing a felony?

I have been his roommate since January, but that doesn't mean we ever had to put in the effort to coexist or get to know each other. Living on campus, there's always the option to go somewhere else to study or do homework; to go places on the weekend; to tune him out when need be. We've always been able to walk away when we're at each other's throats.

Staying at his house with his parents would be a different story. First of all, we'd have no choice but to exchange some basic information about ourselves in order to make our act believable. Secondly, we'd probably have to share a bed. And finally, we'd have to show affection – hugging, kissing, holding hands.

The thought makes me laugh aloud. I can't see Warren and I ever getting along in that respect. No way. Two people that have hated each other since the moment they met could never tape things up good enough for a fake relationship. Playing his game would also go against everything I believe in regarding relationships. I don't want to waste my time playing pretend with someone like him when I could be out doing what I want to do.

But my mind flitters back to the money and the ways it would help me.

Does wanting the money make me selfish? I certainly don't think so when Warren's planning on using me to pose at the fake girlfriend he lied to his parents and sister about.

Thinking about his family, I begin to contemplate what I could do to keep Warren in line if I agree. He seems to care deeply about what his family thinks of him – why else would he lie and say he's a good guy? If he steps out of line during this whole façade, I could threaten to reveal the truth to his family. It could work.

What would Carter think of this?

The thought hits me like a wrecking ball. Opening my bag, I pull out my iPhone and unlock it, tapping on the photos app. I scroll through the hundreds of photos I have until I come to the one I've always adored. It's of Carter and I when we were eighteen – the summer after we graduated from high school. It was a sunny day in July and we had gone geocaching along the Happy Trails. In the picture, we're both wearing our green grad sweaters and sitting on a rock off the pathway. His arm is wrapped around my shoulders and my cheek is pressed against his as we both stare at the camera, smiling and happy.

I can practically hear him telling me to go for it; to keep the illusion going for three-quarters of the day, and then get out and do whatever I want for the final quarter.

I can practically hear him saying: "Novs, it's better to cross the line and suffer the consequences than to just stare at that line and wonder what's on the other side for the rest of your life."

That was always the difference between us; he was the one who would take risks and try new things, while I preferred to stay in my comfort zone. Unless I was with him. I could do anything with him. He made me fearless.

I liked myself better when I was with him.

I sigh at the picture and stuff my phone back in my bag. I wish he were here with me. He'd make light of this situation and encourage me to agree with Warren's absurd plan.

Taking a deep breath, my mind made up, I open the door and step inside.

Warren is lying on his bed, playing volleyball with himself. I watch as the ball goes up, almost hitting the ceiling, and then down. He catches the ball in midair and looks directly at me. I, however, ignore his concentrated stare and head to my side of the room. I feel grimy from baking chocolate chip cookies and I want to shower. I shrug off my sweater and throw it in the laundry basket along with my dirty apron.

Behind me, I hear Warren clear his throat. He's waiting for an answer.

Shaking my head and wondering what the hell I'm doing, I turn around and say, "You have a deal."

He grins at me, tosses the ball onto the mattress, and stands up. My body freezes in place as he heads in my direction.

"You're not going to regret this," he says, holding out a hand.

I hesitantly take his hand and shake it, looking directly at him. "You better hold up your end of the bargain."

"Don't worry, sweetheart," he grins. "As long as my parents and Hazel believe you and I have had a good, strong relationship for the past two years, then everything is going to be just fine."