World's Worst Boyfriend: A Romantic Comedy Adventure (Fake It Book 3) Carina Taylor (the first e reader TXT) 📖

World's Worst Boyfriend

Carina Taylor

Contents

Synopsis:

1. Saidy

2. Saidy

3. Fletcher

4. Fletcher

5. Saidy

6. Saidy

7. Fletcher

8. Saidy

9. Fletcher

10. Fletcher

11. Saidy

12. Fletcher

13. Saidy

14. Saidy

15. Fletcher

16. Saidy

17. Saidy

18. Saidy

19. Saidy

20. Saidy

21. Fletcher

22. Saidy

23. Fletcher

24. Saidy

25. Fletcher

26. Saidy

27. Saidy

28. Fletcher

29. Saidy

30. Saidy

Epilogue

Author Note

Acknowledgments

Also by Carina Taylor

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the products of the author’s imagina‐ tion or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 2021

All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without permission from the publisher, except as permitted by U.S. Copyright law.

Editing: Elaine York

Proofread: Red Leaf Proofing

Cover design: Red Leaf Book Design

Created with Vellum

Synopsis:

A romantic comedy adventure

Fletcher is the “World’s Worst Boyfriend” and I have the trophy to prove it—along with the consolation gift card I’ve already spent.

Entering him into the anonymous contest was cathartic and eye-opening. It’s obvious I need to end this farce of a relationship…so, I do.

Too bad I’m still comparing every man I meet to Fletcher.

Too bad I can’t get him out of my mind—or my house, for that matter, with the way he’s always stopping by to ‘fix’ something.

And it’s especially too bad that I’m learning not everything is as it seems, and that maybe, just maybe, Fletcher had a good reason for his actions (although, there is no justification for the moldy laundry).

What’s a girl to do? He says he’ll explain everything soon. But am I ready to face that explanation? What if he’s really not the worst—what if I am?

Dedication

To my mailman and the frustration you’ve caused me. Thanks for making my online shopping a nightmare.

Thank you for holding my books and Christmas presents hostage. Remember all those good times where I tried to catch you before you pulled out of our gravel drive?

Thank you, because if this writing thing ever falls through, because of you, I truly believe I’m prepared to be a hostage negotiator. Or a bounty hunter.

Chapter One

Saidy

Fletcher was napping.

On. My. Couch.

While I’d sat in the restaurant getting questionable looks from the waitstaff and patrons alike because he stood me up—he’d been at my home napping.

I slammed my front door hard enough to make the floor creak.

The. Jerkface. Kept. Snoring.

That miserable cretin always came over and slept on my couch like the dead—or like he paid rent here. Which he didn’t. He had his own little dumpy-duplex as I liked to call it, so why wasn’t he napping there?

All I was to him was a doormat. Someone who would always be there whenever he called. It didn’t matter that as my boyfriend he got to stand me up not once, but multiple times now. He’d apologize, say he wouldn’t do it again, and then, like the leopard that he was, not change his spots.

I set my purse down on the entryway table. I walked over to him and hovered over his prone form. That jerk. He was still wearing his shoes. In my house.

Disgusting.

He was breathing deeply.

How annoying.

I poked his side.

He didn’t move.

I planted my hands on my hips. I wanted to teach him a lesson. I wanted him to recognize that I wasn’t someone to be so easily forgotten. And although I didn’t consider myself a needy girlfriend—how could I be with him as a boyfriend—I did enjoy talking to my boyfriend occasionally. And he should have had the decency to text me or call at least and tell me he was going to be asleep on my couch, rather than leave me to grow old in the restaurant. By myself.

But then that would have meant that he was aware that he should have been with me. Jerk.

So, I turned around and carefully pushed my coffee table toward the center of the living room.

I didn’t want to risk it getting damaged with what I was about to do next. I leaned over Fletcher and grabbed the thick leather belt wrapped around his trim waist. My fingers bumped against something hard. He must have had his phone in his back pocket. Honestly, it wouldn’t be a big deal if it broke. He had a work phone as well.

He never answered his personal phone anyway, so would he even realize it was broken? My reasoning was sound, I was sure of it.

I pulled with all my strength. Those power barre workouts were paying off. He rolled off the couch and onto the ground. Onto my original hardwood floor, to be precise. There was a satisfying thump. Well, satisfying for me…him, not so much.

It was like the symphony’s last clang of the cymbal. Glorious. I brushed my hands together and headed to the kitchen to make myself a soothing cup of tea. After all, it wasn’t good to stay angry too long.

“Huh?”

It spoke. Finally.

Fletcher climbed to his feet slowly, his eyes were still partially closed. He rubbed his forehead. “I must have fallen off the couch.”

I pursed my lips and glared at him as I ripped open the tea packet with a little more force than necessary. My open concept living space meant I didn’t even have the satisfaction of slamming a kitchen door in his face.

“Yes,” I replied as I yanked the teabag out of its package, accidentally ripping off that little paper tag.

The electric tea kettle clicked off, and I turned around to pour the water into my mug.

“Are you ready to go to dinner?”

I glanced at the clock. Eight thirty pm. I added a dollop of honey in the mug. I was trying to cut out refined sugar—I realized it affected my moods, and not in a good way—so I’d taken to drinking a cup of honey with a hint of tea to fight my cravings.

That little splash of honey may be the very thing that keeps him alive tonight.

One hour earlier

An annoying staccato beat filled the restaurant. There was no