World's Worst Boyfriend: A Romantic Comedy Adventure (Fake It Book 3), Carina Taylor [ebook reader online txt] 📗

really not that interested in you. That they probably don’t want to spend the rest of their lives with you, and why would you want to spend time with someone who doesn’t think of you as a top priority?”

Mom hummed as she picked out a new set of wine glasses. “So, you don’t think Fletcher was into you one-hundred percent?”

“I was lucky if I got a solid ten percent out of him.” I snorted.

“Honey, are you sure that’s what you think? And not what those podders think?”

My hand stopped midair reaching for a new teapot. “Podders? What’s a podder?”

Mom shrugged. “Oh, I thought that’s what you called someone who made a podcast.”

I started laughing. “Well, Mom, whether it’s what I think, or what the ‘podders’ think, it was sound advice. I shouldn’t settle for less. You’re my mother…I thought you’d support me in this.”

She nodded and took over pushing the cart. It was a shame she didn’t have a horn attached to the handle that could quicken the pace of our shopping expedition, making other shoppers get out of our way. “I’ll support you in whatever decision you make, sweetie. You know that. I only want to make sure this is a choice you’ll be happy with.”

“I promise you, I am.”

She stopped in the middle of the men’s underwear section. “Promise to think about this one more thing.”

I nodded, because I knew if I didn’t, we’d be standing in the store for the rest of our lives.

“Remember that not everyone’s relationships look the same. And anytime you allow someone else’s opinions to dictate how you are in your relationship, it’s going to get messy. You don’t need three opinions on your relationship. You need to do what works best for you instead of making it a threesome.”

“I don’t think that means what you think it means…” I muttered as a man stopped next to us, pretending to decide between a pair of cream or white boxers.

“When there’s a threesome, there’s confusion. You don’t need someone else to interfere. You know what works best for you.”

She turned around and grabbed a pack of underwear off the shelf before she blessedly got us away from our spectator. “Take Dad and me, for instance. I had a friend who kept telling me that he was worthless because he didn’t think to buy me a corsage for prom. Turns out, she was a horrible person, but that’s a story for another time. She kept telling me that if he really liked me, he would be bringing me flowers regularly.”

I cleared my throat, unwilling to examine the similarities between my mother’s life and mine. “Well, did he?”

“No. He never brought me a single flower.”

“Not one?” That surprised me about Dad. He was so thoughtful with Mom and me.

“No. It was the sweetest, most thoughtful thing. You see, he’d noticed that I had allergies during pollen season, and so he always made sure to avoid all flowers. If we went to a restaurant with real flowers, he’d make sure to avoid sitting close to them. So, what one person views as disinterest, could actually be something so caring and meaningful in your relationship.”

I nodded. Although, I still wasn’t sure how this related to my breakup with Fletcher. There was so, so, so much more water under our bridge.

“Thanks, Mom, I’ll remember that.”

“I know you think he’s been neglectful of you, and he has. I’ve noticed him missing the last few weeks. But, honey, I also remember you telling me you couldn’t stand a man who hovered.”

“Well, yes, that’s true. But I still want a man to pretend like I’m alive sometimes. And one who will remember to show up to our date nights.”

“Fletcher was not a hoverer. You have to give him that much, at least,” she said with raised eyebrows.

“I’ll think about everything you’ve said, Mom. Not that it will change the outcome, though. Now can we be done talking about Fletcher for the night?”

Mom tilted her head to the side. “Maybe.”

And that was the best I was going to get out of her that night.

Chapter Nine

Fletcher

Sitting in Sullivan’s house always made me break into a nervous sweat. It didn’t matter that I was in a room by myself, or that the room was cool. It was as though anyone would jump out from behind me and yell ‘gotcha!’

A steady rhythm of footsteps sounded outside the closed door in the hall.

I thought the more time I spent undercover, the more I’d get used to it.

Completely false. Now I was pretty sure I was going to suffer heart failure from the stress of trying to keep my cover.

I shut the laptop and pulled the charger from the wall, quickly stashing both in my bag. The footsteps in the hall were getting louder. I knew Sullivan had a security feed into this room, which was why I made sure to arrange my seat in the blind spot. I zipped the bag and turned back to the computers on the desk.

I tapped away quickly as the door opened. I kept my focus on the computer screen.

“Hey!”

I purposefully jumped in my seat and turned around in surprise as though I hadn’t heard the behemoth thundering down the hall. I pushed my blue light glasses back up the bridge of my nose. Those things gave me more headaches than they prevented.

The man in the doorway was a much better option than Jenkins. West had told me the night before that Jenkins had found a loose end he wanted to tie up if Sullivan paid the right price. I was beginning to wonder—and worry—if I was the loose end.

“Can’t you knock? No reason to scare me like that,” I muttered.

The man, Carter, chuckled. “Sullivan wanted to know if you’re almost done. He also wants to know who’s in his driveway.”

I pulled up the security camera footage. Sure enough, there was a car parked outside of the locked gate. A familiar car.

Was liver failure something that stress caused? ’Cause