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

“So did I,” I called through the door. I set the mug of tea on my dresser as I shimmied out of my date dress. I’d chosen it specifically because Fletcher told me once that he liked it. I threw it at the door. I didn’t bother putting pajamas on; instead, I grabbed my mug and climbed into bed.

With a sigh, I set the mug down on the nightstand and stood up to quickly hang my dress up in the closet. I wasn’t a savage, after all. Besides, I liked this dress too.

“Why aren’t we going to dinner?”

His gravelly voice reached through the door. I hated how sexy he sounded. It wasn’t right that I could be so mad at him but still be attracted to his jerk face. I wanted to stay mad.

“Look at the clock. I sat at that restaurant for over an hour waiting for you.”

Muttering sounded from the other side of the door. “I’m so sorry, Saidy.”

He sounded sincere. But he sounded sincere the other times too. I was beginning to think he didn’t mean it.

His track record wasn’t helping him. We’d only been dating four months. It had practically been love at first sight—for both of us. The L-word had come out after only six weeks of dating. I thought for sure he was the one. But he’d slowly started to pull away. The last month had made it painfully obvious that I wasn’t a top priority anymore. At least not for him. Quick to love, quick to leave seemed to apply to him well.

“I thought you were coming back to your house after work. That’s why I came straight here.”

“You thought I was coming home,” I mumbled. Standing up again, I grabbed a giant sweatshirt that covered all the important parts. I threw it on, pulled the hood up, and risked looking into Fletcher’s face as I marched down the hallway toward the kitchen again.

Fletcher was right behind me when I pulled a frozen pizza from the freezer. “Do you mind?” I walked around him and slammed it on the counter. I ripped it out of the packaging and shoved it into the microwave. I had to bend up the edges slightly to make it fit. Typical for how my night was going.

“Saidy…”

Curse that low voice.

I shoved the cardboard box into my recycle bin.

I had to be strong. Had to showcase my inner warrior. I am woman, hear me roar and all…but I was already softening toward him. He sounded so sad. I knew if I looked him in the eye, he’d have a big, sad, puppy dog look, and I wouldn’t be able to resist kissing his big, dumb face.

Two large hands grabbed my shoulders and spun me around to face him.

I tugged my hood lower so I wouldn’t have to look him in the eye. Instead, I focused on a wrinkle in the middle of his soft T-shirt. A wrinkle that sat on top of some pretty spectacular abs.

“You know I can still see you, right?”

“But I don’t have to see you or look at your remorseful face.”

He groaned, squeezing my shoulders gently. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to fall asleep. I thought I’d just rest a little before you got home from work.”

I harrumphed, doing my best to imitate my eighty-year-old, disapproving grandma.

His large hands reached up and grabbed the sweatshirt strings, tugging me closer to him.

“You know you’re the most important thing to me, right? Why didn’t you call me?”

I jabbed at his chest with my index finger a couple of times, pushing him back. “Why didn’t I call…why didn’t I call!” I laughed maniacally and turned around to reposition the pizza in the microwave for another couple minutes. “Call, flare gun, telegram. I’d have a better chance with the Pony Express than your current cell phone.”

I slammed the microwave door, folded my arms, and turned around to give him the full force of my glare.

He winced; his usual smile lines tugged downward. “You didn’t wait for me at the restaurant this whole time, did you?”

“Ha! You mean the restaurant where you said to meet you at seven? You mean that restaurant?”

Fletcher raised his hands and took a step back. “Okay. I understand the reason you’re upset.”

“Upset? Me?” I laughed, a high shrill piercing the air. I opened my junk drawer and pulled out my paint swatches. “I’m not upset in the slightest.”

A large hand grasped mine, sending an electric pulse up my arm, even though I was raging mad. “Saidy, now is not the time to paint something.”

“Now is the perfect time to paint something. It’s not like I have anything else to do. It’s not like I’m on a date or enjoying a nice meal with my boyfriend or anything.”

He scowled and wrapped a hand around my wrist, his fingers easily overlapping each other.

We struggled over the paint chips. He won easily, prying them from my fingers and holding them out of my reach. “I’ll give these back to you when you’re calm and rational again. In fact, I’ll take them home with me tonight, and we can talk about this tomorrow. You need a good night’s sleep.”

He gave me a placating kiss on the forehead—still mindful of keeping the paint chips out of my reach.

“I’ll call you in the morning when I get a chance.”

He beat a hasty retreat out the front door. “Oh, so you do know how to work a phone!” I called after him as he shut the door.

The microwave beeped, telling me my sad cheese pizza was cooked. I carried the whole thing back to my room. If I couldn’t eat shrimp scampi, then I’d make do with a heavy carb load any way I could get it.

The greasy smell of fake cheese mingled with the softer smell of chamomile tea. Closest thing to heaven you could get without actually being there, in my opinion.

As I waited for the pizza to cool, I turned on