World's Worst Boyfriend: A Romantic Comedy Adventure (Fake It Book 3) by Carina Taylor (books to get back into reading .TXT) 📕

There was still enough doubt in his mind that he hadn’t barged into my house last night.

I set the phone down with a click. I could salvage this. I could make my story believable and help cover for Fletcher. If I could distract Sullivan from Fletcher for the day, maybe it would give Fletcher enough time to gather all the evidence he’d been talking about.

My mind raced as I came up with a plan to pull Sullivan’s attention away from Fletcher—and toward me.

It was daring, brilliant, scary, and would require my Grandma’s dog.

The hope and excitement deflated at the thought of my Grandma. She’d never agree to me taking her precious fur baby.

But then again, she usually ate her lunch early and watched TV while she let the dog run around in the yard. She said the middle of the day was the only time she didn’t worry about predators coming to steal her dog.

She lived dead center in town. The only predators she needed to worry about were the two-legged kind.

I could borrow the dog and bring it back before she ever even missed it.

I’d never done anything like this before. I’d told Fletcher I wanted to break out of my rut. I guess this was it.

This was my chance to do something out of the ordinary. I stood up, pulled my shoulders back, and was determined to be the one who protected Fletcher this time. He’d been sheltering me all these months from his harsh reality, now it was my turn to take care of him.

But first I had to go to a meeting with someone I knew wouldn’t hire me.

The meeting went exactly how I’d imagined it would. I’d even worn casual attire—including one SF hat that Fletcher had re-hidden at my house. Sometimes you just know which ones are the time wasters. If they ask way too many questions, they’re not looking to hire you, they’re looking to be you.

On the plus side, they told me how much they enjoyed our time even if they didn’t hire me.

Which was exactly why I went to meetings like that. Those people would spread the word that I had treated them well and hadn’t price gouged them on anything.

And hopefully they’d still leave me a nice review online.

I stopped my car a little ways down the street from my grandma’s driveway. It would be easy to walk down the back side of the garage and slip into the back yard without her seeing me.

Plus, Mom told me she was getting hard of hearing. One of the many reasons Mom was wanting to move her closer so that she could keep an eye on her.

I hurried down the short driveway to the back yard and opened the side gate. The devil dog was sitting by the bird bath, staring at a young robin like it was lunch. That was the type of dog it was. A murderer. If it were a hundred pounds bigger, I was convinced it would try to eat people.

I lifted the latch and stepped into the back yard. I lifted the dog leash from the hook on the outside of the house. My grandma always kept spares around since the Basenji had a tendency to run off.

“Come here, Ambrosia,” I called softly, the name catching on my tongue. It was a horrible name for a boy dog. The dog turned to glare at me. It hated me the way it hated everyone else in this world: with passion.

I stepped forward, keeping the leash hidden behind my back as I approached the little pest. It was distracted when the robin took flight, and I used the distraction as my opportunity to clip the leash onto the collar.

“What do you think you’re doing in my back yard?”

The sharp voice made me stand up ramrod straight, smacking my shoulder against the bird bath along the way.

“Are you stealing my dog?”

I rubbed my bruised shoulder and turned to stare at my Grandma who stood on her porch, an iced lemonade in her hand.

She was not inside watching her TV shows like she should be.

She pointed a heavily ringed finger at me. “If you think I would choose you over my dog in a life-or-death situation, you would be sorely disappointed.”

“I need him.” I straightened my shoulders. I knew I was her second greatest disappointment. (My mother being her first.) But I hoped the fact that I was her grandchild would hold some sort of sway with her.

“You’re always needing something.” She huffed. “All you do is take, take, take, take—”

“I’m sorry about the ballet lessons, okay? I wish I’d kept going. Happy?”

She gave a quick jerk of her head, then asked. “What are you doing in my yard?”

“I need your dog.”

“You can’t have my precious.”

“I need it for Fletcher.”

She scowled at me.

“Why?”

“I think he needs me to save his life.”

“What did you do?”

“Nothing, Grandmother,” I replied, exasperated.

I let go of the leash, letting the ugly little runt waddle off to growl at a butterfly.

“Are you back together with him?”

“No. But he needs my help.”

“Well, all right. Why do you need my dog?”

“It’s a long story.”

“Bridge was canceled this afternoon. I have time for a story.” She pointed at the house. I trudged inside. I didn’t have time to fill Grandmother in on everything that had gone on between Fletcher and me. In fact, I didn’t want to. I was afraid if I did, she’d burn me at the stake.

“Fletcher’s in trouble, and I need your dog to help me get him out of trouble.” There. That was a perfectly acceptable explanation. She couldn’t possibly find faults—

“Gambling trouble?”

I jerked my head back at the scarily excited look on her face. “Before you go getting any ideas of being his sugar momma, just know that he’s a good guy. It has nothing to do with him gambling. He’s on the right side of the law. He’s dealing with some bad people right now.”

Grandmother traced the pearls around her neck