The Bookworm's Guide to Faking It (The Bookworm's Guide 2)

“What if I want to be?”

“I don’t want to be.” I put the order book down on the register and got up off the stool with every intention of opening the door and seeing him out, but he had other ideas.

He stepped out and blocked my way, keeping me from going past him. He peered down at me with those dangerously blue eyes and almost pouted. “Let me make it up to you.”

“I just said no,” I said firmly, walking around him.

Sebastian’s hand wrapped around my upper arm gently, just enough to make me stop. “Holley—”

The act of his skin touching mine sent goosebumps pimpling down the back of my neck. It was an act that was unwelcome because all it did was serve to remind me that, despite my blustering, I was extremely attracted to Sebastian.

And I didn’t want to be attracted to Sebastian.

My nostrils flared as I turned my head to look up at him. “If you don’t remove your hand from my arm, I’m going to rip it off so hard I’ll tear your rotator cuff all over again.”

His lips pulled to one side in a smirk that annoyed the shit out of me. “Look at that. You have been keeping up with me.”

But he dropped his hand, just in case.

“Have you met the residents of White Peak?” I snarked. “I don’t have a choice, but rest assured, I don’t seek a damn thing out about you.”

His smirk became a smile, one that stretched across his annoyingly handsome face.

“Why are you smiling at me?”

He walked around me and walked backward toward the door where he stopped, his hand clasped around the handle. “Just thinking that it’s great to see you again.” His eyes flashed with laughter. “See you soon, Holley.”

“No, you won’t!” I yelled as he left the store, leaving a whoosh of cold air in his wake.

I heard his laughter even through the heavy door, and he called back, “Yes, I will!”

I opened my mouth to tell him that I most certainly would not, thank you very much, but stopped myself. That was what he wanted—me to fall into the trap of arguing with him until I inevitably gave in and accepted his apology.

Well, it sucked to be him, because that wasn’t going to happen.

There was no way in hell I was accepting Sebastian Stone’s apology.

I rubbed the back of my neck to dispel the goosebumps that were, annoyingly, still prickled there, and shivered as I turned back to the register to take my seat on the stool.

The reaction I’d had to him was the most uncomfortable thing I’d felt in a while. I mean, I knew he was handsome, and I knew I’d feel something, but the way my heart had stopped when I’d heard his voice and my skin had pimpled at his touch…

Screw that.

I was not falling into that trap. No way, Jose.

I was going to avoid the man. In fact, I was going to go out of my way to avoid the man.

If my life were a romance novel, this would be the moment where I’d stop and go all authorial intrusion on the reader. But it wasn’t, so I’d just talk to the imaginary reader in my head, pretending like I was a long-suffering romance heroine who flicked her hair and swished her Jane Austen-era skirts as she stormed off down the stairs.

Mark my words, dear reader.

Nothing good would come of Sebastian being home.

Nothing.CHAPTER THREE – SEBASTIANrule three: the louder the scream, the bigger the fake.“Grandpa, there is absolutely nothing wrong with this place.” I put the food I’d brought for his lunch on the table in front of him in his room. “You have the best room in this place.”

He wiggled a finger crooked with arthritis in my direction. “I don’t want a room in this place, Sebastian. I want a room in my own place.”

“Yes, well, you can’t look after yourself anymore after your fall, and I’m not fit enough to look after you either.”

“Tell your mother she’s the worst child I’ve ever had!”

She was the only child he’d ever had, so I didn’t think that one would sting too much.

“Tell Mom yourself,” I replied, opening the Styrofoam container than held his sandwich. “If I tell her, she’ll only tell me to mind my mouth, and then we’ll both in trouble.”

“Why am I in trouble now?”

“I don’t know. I’m sure she’ll think of something. We’re always in trouble with her.”

He harumphed. “I’m eighty-five. I shouldn’t be in trouble with my daughter.”

“Yeah, and I’m twenty-seven and the best-paid pitcher in the league, but I still get in trouble with her.” I adjusted the thermostat in his room.

Another grumble came from his direction. “Just because you’re paying for this doesn’t mean you can mess with my heat!”

“Grandpa, I could fry an egg on that coffee table,” I said dryly. “Unless you want me to leave.”