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

“Tonight, we announce the winner of the World’s Worst Boyfriend contest! There were so many entries. We were overwhelmed—and frankly upset—that so many of you are living in relationships like this. This is a travesty. And even if you don’t win the contest, please remember you can be a winner today by choosing you. Ready to find out who the winner of the World’s Worst Boyfriend is?”

Bee cheered in the background as the other woman hummed, adding to the anticipation. My stomach dropped to my feet, and I picked up the iron so I wouldn’t accidentally burn a hole in my favorite workout leggings. I absolutely despised wrinkles—even in yoga pants.

I’d forgotten that I’d entered Fletcher. Although, after last night, it seemed well deserved…and I would enter him again if given the chance. Of course, they wouldn’t select me as the woman with the worst boyfriend. Other people were in situations far worse, that much I was sure. At least I hope there were others worse off than me.

“And the absolute worst boyfriend entered into the competition goes to SPBespoke28!”

I dropped the leggings I’d been holding. SPBespoke was the username I’d used to enter the contest. I’d won. Or lost. Depending on how you wanted to look at it.

“Girl. We are so sorry. You need to choose yourself. Choose you. Break up with this guy and find someone who meets all your needs. This guy is not treating you the way you deserve.”

They rattled on with a review of last week’s episode, reminding women they should always choose themselves first.

I covered my face with the yoga pants, both mortified and vindicated that I had won. It wasn’t only in my head. His neglect and the way he used our relationship. It was confirmed. He really was the World’s Worst Boyfriend.

The initial guilt I’d felt when I’d entered him into the contest was long gone.

After the comments he’d made in front of his friend, I knew he didn’t value me the way I did him. It hurt. And it felt as though my heart were going to split in two. I should text him and break up right then, but I knew better. I needed face-to-face closure. And to end things the right way.

If I could look him in the eye, maybe he could at least explain himself. He deserved that chance, at least. Texting didn’t allow closure or answers for me, and I deserved that much too.

But right now? I didn’t want to be with him. I wanted to sit in my bed and drink tea and avoid the world. Maybe binge watch a TV show.

I carried my basket of folded clothes into my room and put them away. As I finished laying my underwear in the drawer organized by color, my phone chimed.

I flipped it over. It was my friend Zoe texting.

Zoe: Come get a drink with me.

I hoped she was referring to a chocolate milkshake drink because that was the kind of support I needed right now.

I texted her back and asked where, because I realized I could use a friend and support system right now. It felt more necessary than binging TV.

I pulled my baggy sweatshirt on and didn’t bother changing out of my leggings.

After taking my contacts out, I slipped on my pair of “librarian” glasses, as Fletcher liked to call them. Actually, he usually called them my “sexy librarian” glasses, but I didn’t want to think about that now.

I pulled on a pair of knee-high boots, then took a look at myself in my floor-length mirror. I looked like I was swimming in the sweatshirt. And it was Fletcher’s anyway. So, I peeled it off and grabbed one of my oversized sweaters. That was better. This was the perfect outfit to overindulge in.

I headed out the door and met Zoe at a bar and grill downtown.

When I walked into the restaurant, the hostess stared at the hole in my leggings. Or at least it felt like she did. Well, she could go shove it. I was here for the food and the company.

“I’m meeting a friend here,” I told the hostess.

Her overly sketched eyebrows shot up—most likely in shock that someone like me could have friends.

I scanned the dining area and spotted Zoe at a high-top table close to the bar. Figured.

I weaved past the other diners, then set my giant purse on top of the table.

“What’s in there this time? A dead body?” Zoe asked without turning around to look at me. She had her eyes on the young bartender, who seemed to be reciprocating her attention.

I climbed—yes, climbed—onto the ridiculously high barstool. It was practically a lifeguard chair.

Zoe finally turned around.

“Oh, my,” she said as she took in my appearance. While I originally hadn’t thought my outfit was too atrocious, I did look a little slouchy sitting across from someone still wearing their business attire. Hers was a dress that easily fit cocktail status. Public relations wasn’t for the slouchily dressed, that’s for sure.

“That is not the kind of outfit we wear on girls’ night,” she lectured. “Guys aren’t going to want that.” She gestured with two hands over my entire body.

“I have a boyfriend, remember?”

She waved a hand through the air again, dismissing my comment.

“You have got to break up with him. I never see you guys together anymore. Besides, you could have any guy in the room!” She glanced at my sweater. “If you were wearing something different, I mean. Why are you wasting your time with him anyway?”

I glanced around the room, realized how incredibly shallow I was, because none of the men in the room were even remotely as attractive as Fletcher. Just because our relationship was shattering didn’t mean I wanted a replacement or a rebound.

“Have you listened to the latest Bee Best episode yet?” I tried to ask casually.

“No, not yet. I had a work meeting early this evening. I’m going to listen to it while I walk in the morning. Why? What was it about