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

I set my purse down on the entryway table, then made my way into the kitchen. I grabbed a bottle of iced tea, deciding something cold sounded good after all the salsa I’d eaten. I blamed Fletcher for driving me to the spicy salsa.

I needed some mouth wash to get rid of the after taste.

I stopped abruptly when I stepped into my hall. I quietly set my iced tea on the shelf lining the hallway wall.

There was a set of legs laying across the floor.

Actually, it was a whole body lying on the floor.

“Fletcher! You have to stop coming here all the time. You can’t just show up here and expect me to act like this is normal. What are you doing now? Replacing my creaky floorboard?” I slammed my hand against the hall light switch. Flooding it with fluorescent light.

I hiccupped as I stared at Fletcher as he rolled onto his side.

His eyes were hazy, and he had a grimace on his face. “Hey there, beautiful.”

“What’s wrong? What happened to you?” The pain on his face was evident.

He took a big breath and lifted his hand from where it rested against the back side of his hip. Blood dripped onto my hardwood floor.

I swallowed the bile that rose in my throat as I sank to the floor next to him.

I fumbled with my phone in my pocket, desperate to call for help. I knew how to bandage a paper cut. I didn’t know how to bandage something that looked like it would kill him without immediate attention. Nothing should bleed that much.

He leaned forward and pulled my phone from my hand. “You can’t call anyone.”

“Fletcher, you’re bleeding everywhere. We need an ambulance.” My voice shook as I spoke. I stood up and ran to the bathroom, frantically searching for a first aid kit I was sure I had somewhere. I found it in the bottom of my linen closet. I grabbed a stack of clean rags along with it. When I reached Fletcher again, he was on the phone to someone.

“Yeah, thanks.” He hung up and looked at me as I gently peeled up the hem of his shirt and folded down his jeans a little.

“Did you call 9-1-1?” I asked as I tried my best to gently clean away the puddling blood.

“No, I called someone who could help.” He pressed a hand over mine helping me clean off the wound.

“Oh, you poor thing. What happened? Why can’t I take you for help? And don’t you dare tell me it’s because it’s not that big of a deal. I can see it, Fletcher. It looks bad.”

“If I don’t make it, I want you to know something,” he said between slow breaths.

“No! Don’t you dare say anything like that!” My fingers refused to cooperate as I struggled to unbutton the front of his pants. The worst of the injury seemed to be just below his waistband.

“You know this isn’t exactly the way I pictured you unbuttoning my pants,” he said with a laugh that was more of a wheeze.

“I’m not going to let anything happen to you,” I promised through a sob. He was bleeding out on my floor. He wouldn’t let me call the ambulance. I felt so helpless.

“I love you, Saidy Perez. I always have. And I always will.”

Someone was crying and it sounded like a dying goat…I was fairly certain it was me.

“It always looks worse than it is.” He tried to laugh, but it came out like a groan.

A loud knock sounded on the door. Now was not the time for visitors.

The knock sounded again. “You said you called for help!”

I carefully placed a rag on his hip over the bloody patch. I still couldn’t find the source of the bleeding. “That must be them. Is it a private medical transport?”

Fletcher caught my hand before I could stand up. The slick blood on his fingers sliding across my hand. My stomach lurched as I tried to focus on his eyes. “Wash all the blood off. That’s not my friend. Don’t tell anyone I’m here.”

His eyes were hazy from the pain.

I stood and washed my hands quickly in the bathroom sink just a couple feet from where he lay in the hall.

“Who are you expecting?” He rasped out at another impatient knock.

“I don’t know. It’s late—no one’s supposed to be coming over.”

“Don’t answer that.”

More knocking followed.

“I have to answer.”

“Promise me you won’t tell anyone I’m here. They might hurt you if they know.”

“I won’t tell anyone you’re here.”

Fletcher grunted and nodded. He reached behind his back, pulling a 9mm from his waistband. I hadn’t even noticed the holster attached to the inside of his pants. I didn’t even know he owned a gun. “Answer the door and I’ll make sure you’re safe.”

“Fletcher…what is that?”

“A gun?” he asked with a lopsided smile.

I would have time to ponder that thought later because right now someone was pounding on my door.

“It’s me…Sullivan,” a familiar voice called through the door.

“I’m coming,” I called as I walked back into the living room. I snapped a light on and unlocked the door, pulling it open to find Sullivan smiling at me on my porch.

“Sullivan! What are you doing here?” I was beginning to suspect my hunch had more and more to do with this situation. If it had been Sullivan who hurt my Fletcher, he’d be wishing for that 9mm by the time I was done with him.

He lifted his hands in a surrendering gesture. “I know this seems so pushy, but I was driving through the neighborhood and saw your porch light on. I know you keep saying you’re trying to get over your boyfriend, but I’ve been hoping I could collect on that friend dinner you promised me.”

He smiled. “Your boyfriend isn’t here right now, is he?”

“My ex, you mean?” I asked through a tight smile.

“Oh, of course. I didn’t mean it like that, I just was wondering if