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

ME: Who said I wanted to scare him off?SAYLOR: Your entire attitude.ME: Seriously. Go away.SAYLOR: It won’t worrrrrrkkkkkkkkME: Goodnight, jerkI plugged the cable into my phone and put it down where she could leave me alone.

My friends were exhausting.

I was only slightly mollified that Tori would be here tomorrow at the reception and I could escape with her for a little while. God only knew I needed someone to help me get through the rest of this weekend.

“Holley?” Sebastian’s voice came through the door.

“Let me guess,” I called, pulling my ice cream onto my lap. “You need the bathroom.”

“Yep.”

I sighed. “It’s fine.”

He pushed the door open and poked his head through. “Sorry. One-bedroom suite, one bathroom.”

“It’s not your fault.” I shrugged one shoulder and dug into my ice cream. “Actually, it is. If you hadn’t booked out the entire resort…”

“And that’s why I’m sleeping on the sofa.” The bathroom door shut on his laughter.

My lips sealed around the spoon and I paused. Yeah. That was why he was sleeping on the sofa.

I shouldn’t have cared, not really. This entire weekend was all his fault and my crappy mood that meant I felt the need to eat my body weight and then some in junk food.

Although, this bed was huge.

I did feel a little guilty.

Groaning, I leaned back against the headboard and looked up at the ceiling. Why did I have to have a heart?

The bathroom door swung open and Seb held up one hand. “Sorry. ‘Night.”

“Sebastian,” I said right before he left the room.

“What? Do you need anything?” He raised his eyebrows in question. “Did you eat the ice cream already?”

“No. But I did forget the wine,” I mused.

“Want me to get it for you?” He disappeared before I could tell him not to worry.

I pressed my lips together.

This was why I had a heart.

It was so hard to be horrible to him and mad at him if he was going to keep being this nice to me.

Seb reappeared with a glass of wine and brought it over with a smile. He set it on the side table next to the popcorn and turned to leave again. “Night, Holley.”

“Wait,” I said. “You… You don’t have to sleep on the sofa.”

His eyebrows shot up. “What?”

“You don’t have to sleep on the sofa,” I repeated. “It’s uncomfortable.”

“Actually, it’s not so bad. I might buy one for my house.”

I pursed my lips. “Do you want to sleep on a sofa or on a bed, Sebastian? I’m not going to offer again.”

“You don’t want to share with me.”

“Not really,” I admitted. “But I’m also not going to make you sleep on a damn sofa if you don’t have to. This room is big, and as long as you wear pants to bed, it’s fine.”

“Do I have to wear a shirt?”

“I’d prefer it.”

“Then you’re gonna need to wear a bra.”

“I am not sleeping in a bra,” I argued. “It’s bad enough that I run the risk of being stabbed by an underwire during the day. I don’t need to take the risk of certain death at night.”

“Certain death? What does an underwire have to do with dying?”

“Uh, everything. What if it punctures my lung?”

“An underwire is not going to puncture your lung while you sleep.”

“Have you ever been stabbed by an underwire?”

“I can’t say a bra is something I wear on a regular basis,” he said dryly.

“There you go, then. You can’t possibly know the pain or risk involved just to keep my boobs contained. So, no, I won’t wear a bra.” I sniffed. “My insurance doesn’t cover death by bra.”

“I can’t imagine it’s something they usually have a claim for.”

“Keep arguing, and we can find out.”

He grinned. “You really don’t mind?”

“I’m starting to think I do after all that,” I answered honestly. “So move quickly before I change my mind.”

His grin widened, and he did just that, holding up one finger before he darted out of the room to the main room. There was a big rummage and a bang followed by a muffled, “Motherfucker!”

I clapped my hand over my mouth so a laugh didn’t burst out of me.

That, my friends, was the universal sound of a stubbed toe.

“Are you okay?” I called, still desperately trying to stifle my laugh.

“Stop fucking laughing!” Seb yelled back.

I did not stop laughing.

I didn’t even try this time.

I buried my face in my hands and laughed my ass off.

“Shut up,” he said, coming back into the room.

I peered through my fingers. “Are you all right?”

He stilled, glared at me, and flared his nostrils.

I giggled. “Sorry.”

“No, you’re not.”

“You’re right. I’m not.”

He tossed his phone on the bed. It bounced, almost hitting my bowl of ice cream, and he disappeared into the bathroom with a pair of gray sweats in hand.

Either he was doing that deliberately, or the sweats were payback for my lack of a bra.