The Love Simulation

by Etta Easton

Genres: General Fiction; Romance; African American Romance; Contemporary Romance; Romantic Comedy

Synopsis

A passionate vice principal and a guarded science teacher compete for a grand prize, only to realize their budding relationship might be the real jackpot.

Brianna Rogers has been told a time (or six) she needs to stop jumping into things head first. But when the principal rescinds his approval for a library upgrade, deciding to spend the money on a football field instead, she sees red. Literally. Brianna throws her hat in the ring and joins a team of teachers who will spend their summer in a Mars simulation. As the sister of an astronaut, this should be easy, right? What she didn’t count on was the last-minute addition to the team—Roman Major: science teacher, son of the principal, and too handsome for his own good.


Roman and Brianna have been hot and cold all year, and living in close quarters intensifies their animosity and attraction. Brianna is sure he’s been sent by his father to sabotage them, foiling their chance at prize money that will cover all of the school’s actual needs. But each day, Roman proves himself to be a dedicated teammate—and Brianna finds herself falling harder and harder. While it’s clear the feeling is mutual, she can’t shake the sense that he’s hiding something. As the simulation nears its end, Brianna realizes she may have to make an impossible choice, between the school she’s dedicated herself to, and the man who has won his way into her heart.

Release date: March 4, 2025

Publisher: Berkley

Print pages: 320

Sample

Chapter One

What is it called when you know someone is playing in your face but you still manage to sit there and maintain your composure?

Etiquette? The height of professionalism? I've got it-a superpower.

When I took on the role of vice principal at Juanita Craft Middle School nine months ago, I knew I'd have my hands full with rowdy students and entitled parents. The years I spent as a guidance counselor prepared me for that part of the job. It's taken a while, however, to get used to the teachers trying to butter me up whenever they want something they know I can't give, and Angie's been the main one out to test my patience.

Angie, Angie, Angie. Out here trying to get me to break school policy. Again.

I push my braids behind my back and suppress a sigh. "It's true. In the grand scheme of things, one chair won't make or break our budget. But if we get a new one for you, we'll have to get a new one for every other teacher. I'd gladly place the order for a truckload to be brought in, but the budget has already been set, and unfortunately it doesn't include room for chairs."

"You know what, Miss Brianna? I might believe you if I didn't know for a fact that you just ordered one for Mr. Torres in December. Now he's got good armrests, wheels that don't squeak, and can lean back without worrying about flipping over. You know whose chair doesn't have all that?" Angie crosses her arms over her chest and glares at me. Her actions are made even more dramatic with the way the armholes of her robe billow just past her elbows, where soft tulle meets down feathers.

Yes, our computer sciences teacher is serious about staring me down here in the teachers' lounge, under the bright, buzzing fluorescent lights and eggshell-colored walls, while she's wrapped in an article of clothing that looks like it belongs on the set of some old Hollywood movie about rich widows.

To be fair, today is Pajama Day, and I myself am in a footed one-piece. So while Angie's outfit is a little over-the-top and will likely do more to distract her students all day than squeaky chair wheels ever could, it is school-appropriate with a silk pants set underneath, and to put it plainly, she looks fabulous.

Fabulous or not, she's still not convincing me to break policy for her. I do wish I could buy all the teachers new chairs, but I already had to fight the principal tooth and nail until he agreed to include in the budget what the school desperately needed-a library upgrade. I'm not certain he won't go back on his word at the slightest provocation. For some reason, it's hard to drive the point home to Angie, even though she's worked with the principal longer than I have.

"You know we didn't replace Mr. Torres's chair for no reason. In case you forgot-which I don't see how you could since you reenacted it for everyone-his chair really did flip him over when he leaned back. Even then, he still had to provide a doctor's prescription stating he needed a reliable chair for his bad back before the purchase was approved."

"Oh yeah, I did forget about that." Angie grimaces, then her demeanor shifts as she leans forward like we're sharing a secret. "But come on. Brianna. Girlie. You know my back is bad too."

Now I'm positive she's playing in my face. I tap into my superpower again and don't react, when all I want to do is bust out laughing. Because, bad back where? Back bad who? It certainly didn't seem like Angie had a bad back at the spring dance. She was poppin', lockin', and droppin' with more spirit than our little pep squad. She even tried to get me on the dance floor with her. When she showed up at school the following Monday, her complaints about the watered-down punch and bad lighting had been loud and clear, but there'd been no mention of any bodily aches and pains.

"If you really have a bad back, then get your doctor to write a prescription," I say, hoping that will get her to drop it, at least for now. It's the end of the school year, and I am done thinking about budgets and requests from teachers and maintaining a professional facade. Done. In my mind, I'm already aboard my fourteen-day cruise in the Caribbean.

Angie huffs, but the fight has left her, so she stands without another word. The robe cascades around her legs, train flowing, and she looks like an African goddess as she moves toward the other side of the room, where there's a vending machine with sandwiches and cold pastries fit to feed royalty. When I'm sure she's lost all interest in me, I finally allow a small smile to slip out.

Before I was a vice principal, I loved cutting up with the staff or complaining about spending too much of my own money on supplies I needed to do my job effectively. Now everything has changed. Even though many of the teachers are around my age, there's a clear line between professional and personal I have to be careful not to cross. Especially if I ever hope to advance my career and catch up to my siblings.

Angie begins hitting the side of the vending machine while yelling about her stuck granola bar, but I turn away to glance at the clock mounted above the TV to see how I'm doing on time. About fifteen minutes before the students begin arriving, which means he will show up at any moment.

I readjust myself in my seat, straightening my back without making it so stiff that my body language screams "the kids aren't around, but I'm still judging you for not poring over lesson plans at your desk." My aim is to look respectable yet easy-breezy, so I pull out my phone too. If any staff members glance my way, it should look like I'm taking advantage of the quiet of the teachers' lounge before the students storm in and not like my presence this morning-along with every other morning for the past nine months-is all for show.

As I pull up my email, he walks in, and the rhythm of my heart changes, beating to a cadence that chants Roman, Roman. I clench my stomach muscles tight to maintain my posture and keep still.

Brown eyes on brown skin in dark brown plaid pajama pants-I swear the monochromatic color scheme has never looked so good.

When I first met him, I thought he was one of the gym teachers. No one can look at him and think he does anything but work on that lean, athletic physique all week. But I was wrong. He teaches eighth-grade science. Assuming Roman was the gym teacher was my second mistake where he's concerned. The first was landing the vice principal role over him.

"That's a Black king right there," Angie says above me, and I almost jump out of my seat.

I play it cool though, looking up and frowning like I have no clue what she's talking about. "What was that?"

Angie smirks. "Girl, you know what I'm saying. I heard you humming and everything while checking him out. But don't worry, I won't tell anyone our little VP isn't immune to the magnificence that is Major Pain Jr."

Was I really humming while looking at Roman? Because she's read me like a text in all caps. Hell. I hope it wasn't something obvious like Hamilton's "Helpless." And double hell. These are the kinds of moments I miss having with teachers. If I wasn't the vice principal, I'd raise my hands in agreement and shout "I know that's right!" But there's no way I can do that here, where half a dozen teachers are within earshot, without looking highly inappropriate.

I elect to remain silent, and Angie shakes her head in disappointment. Then her eyes soften and she bends closer to me. "I want you to know that I'm really going to miss you. I know you won't say it back because you're not supposed to have favorites or anything, but, well, I know I'm your favorite anyway." She winks and sashays out of the teachers' lounge, and I'm left shaking my head again.

Once the last of her robe disappears through the door, I turn my gaze back toward Roman. He's standing by the single-serve coffee maker with the English teacher, Kareem. They always meet here in the morning before the students begin arriving, though, admittedly, it usually takes me a while to notice Kareem. For all I know, today he could have walked in doing the "Cha-Cha Slide" or cartwheels and I completely missed it, only able to see Roman. Even though Kareem is the more talkative and outgoing of the two, that's the only area where he's got Roman beat. Everything else about Roman's presence is just so much more. More commanding. More distinctive and arresting. More irresistible. Not that it's a competition between the two, and not that I should be noticing anyway.

Roman scans the room and stops when his gaze lands on me. Our eye contact is brief, lasting two, maybe three heartbeats, then I'm the first to look away. It's back to emails, but now I'm not focusing on the actual messages. My attention is divided between the words on my screen and what my peripheral sees at the coffee maker as Raven, another English teacher, walks in. She greets first Kareem, then Roman with a hug. Why she needs to hug them every single morning, I can't say. Not that Roman seems to mind. As the three stand there chatting, I can't help but notice how Roman's eyes are always a tad softer when Raven is talking. The observation makes my stomach twist with jealousy every time. And yet here I am, every weekday morning, watching their interactions.

After a few minutes of them all catching up, Raven and Kareem turn in my direction. I hold my breath and wonder if they're about to say something about me watching them, but they don't. They offer me small, almost sad waves before leaving for the language arts wing. Um, okay. That was so weird, I almost get up to ask them what's going on, but seeing Roman now standing alone keeps me in the teachers' lounge. I'll find out what's up later. Right now it's time for our little dance. I turn my phone screen off, get up, and head to the coffee maker.

"Good morning, Roman," I say.

Roman selects a random K-Cup, never caring about the flavor as long as it's not decaf, sets it into the coffee maker, and closes the lid with a snap. He presses the start button and turns to me. "Vice Principal Rogers," he greets in turn, his deep voice already pulling at everything in me.

Where Angie is overly familiar, Roman is painstakingly formal with everyone, even when the students aren't around. Instead of first names, it's Mrs. This or Mr. That. For me, it's always Vice Principal Rogers. I figured out pretty early on in the year he wasn't doing it to show everyone he's better than them, but to erect a buffer. And in that regard, we're similar. Only, I keep my distance from everyone so the lines between admin and teachers aren't blurred. Roman, the son of a principal who isn't well-liked or trusted by the teachers and staff, does it to protect himself. With the exception of Kareem and Raven, the teachers aren't falling all over themselves to share the latest gossip with him or air their grievances, afraid he'll tell his dad.

I open the cabinet and am not surprised when I see my favorite tea flavor set too high for me to reach without climbing on the counter. I look at Roman in silent question and he springs into action like he was waiting for his cue. He takes a step closer, and I breathe in his scent, which is rich, sweet, and masculine. It overpowers the smell of the coffee brewing right in front of us, but not in an obnoxious way like our struggling eighth graders who drench themselves in Axe body spray, hoping it will cover up a multitude of sins. Then again, if I could bottle up Roman's scent, I'd be tempted to forgo the water-and-soap route and bathe in nothing but it.

I inhale deeply again, then tip my head back and watch as first he reaches for the lemon ginger. When I deliberately clear my throat, he sets it down and grabs the rectangular box of blueberry-flavored tea. When he hands it to me, I take the box's opposite end, as always, leaving no opportunity for our hands to touch. Even though there's no skin contact, the eye contact is all there, leaving me almost breathless.

"Thank you," I say.

Roman doesn't say "You're welcome" or offer me a smile, which is both a blessing and a curse. A blessing because every time we do this little morning dance, I'm sliding a toe over the line between teachers and administrators I'm not supposed to cross. If anyone ever noticed how we meet in the same spot every day and began spreading rumors that something else was going on, it would spell trouble for my career, and I'm sure Roman would gain no goodwill from the teachers who already treat him differently. But it's also a curse because he's got a great smile.

I first saw it when we were chaperoning the fall dance. We stood on opposite sides of the gym when "Back That Thang Up" by Juvenile came on. Millennial teachers, led by Angie, weren't able to resist the call. They stormed the dance floor while students, suffering from secondhand embarrassment, cleared out. I stayed on the sidelines and watched, wishing I had someone to turn to in that moment who could laugh with me and appreciate that the DJ had at least used the nonexplicit version of the song. Then I looked ahead and found Roman's eyes on me. He was standing alone like I was. Rather than the flat look he normally sported, his eyes were lit up with humor. He shook his head like I did, and our silent conversation commenced.

Can you believe them?

They are way too old to be acting like this.

Who chose the DJ anyway?

I'm pretty sure Angie's three seconds away from snatching her wig off and whipping it around her head like a lasso.

By the time the song was over, we were both grinning like fools, and some inappropriate obsession had taken root.

More than anything-how sexy he is, his amazing smile, or how good he smells, which is incredible-it's that memory and the feeling of the connection we shared that's continuously drawn me to him. This morning routine where my day doesn't truly begin until I see Roman has always been a dichotomy of knowing it's highly inappropriate and unprofessional to feed into my crush and yet hoping the fact that he shows up every morning and plays along means it's not one-sided. I haven't begun to scratch the surface of who he really is outside of being a teacher and the principal's son, but there's something about him that fills me with longing.