My Kind of Perfect (Finding Love 3)

My phone pings with a text, and I glance down at it. I must frown at it because Chase says, “Something wrong?”

“No, I’m—”

“Can you please not lie to me?”

I look up and his jaw is ticking.

“I was lied to by my ex-wife for years. If you don’t want to tell me something, just say that, but don’t lie.”

I swallow thickly at his request. I’m so used to saying I’m okay, it’s become my go-to answer. I didn’t intentionally lie to him.

“Lexi and I were supposed to meet tomorrow for lunch and to get our nails done. It’s our thing…” Or at least it was until she had her daughter. Now I feel like I barely see her anymore. “She has to meet with the event coordinator for the gallery opening. It’s not a big deal,” I say flippantly, hoping my tone matches my words.

I send Lexi a text back, telling her it’s okay and we’ll get together soon. When I glance back up, Chase is staring at me. “What?”

“I never realized how often you lie. Do you ever tell the truth?”

“I’m going to bed,” I mutter, not wanting to argue with him. I don’t do well with confrontation and I’m finally not feeling like I’m going to hyperventilate, so I’d like it to stay that way. Before he can argue, I hurry into my room, shutting the door behind me.

“Hey, sleepyhead,” a deep voice says. “Time to get up.”

I groan and roll over, coming face to face with Chase, who’s sitting on the edge of my bed. “What time is it?” I ask, my voice gravelly with sleep.

“Nine o’clock.”

“Ugh! I’m sleeping. Wasn’t my door closed?”

“Yeah, but I knocked and you didn’t answer.”

“Because I was sleeping,” I whine. I was up until almost four o’clock working on a large website I’m creating for a fortune five hundred company.

“And now you’re up. Let’s go. We have things to do today.”

I sit up, confused. “I don’t have anything to do today.” I glance at him and he’s dressed in a Station 115 shirt, which is the number of the fire station he works at, and a pair of jeans.

“Yes, we do,” he argues. “Now, up.” He pats my thigh. “The day is a wasting.”

He stands and grins. “I’ll meet you in the living room when you’re done getting ready.” Then he disappears.

Twenty minutes later, I’m dressed in a pair of jeans and a shirt, ready to go. “Want to tell me where we’re going now?”

“Who’s your book boyfriend?” he asks, his eyes on my chest.

I glance down and then laugh. My shirt reads: My book boyfriend is better than yours. “It’s a joke. I got it at a book signing I went to last year in San Francisco. A book boyfriend is a fake boyfriend from a book.”

I turn around so he can see the list of names on the back of my shirt. “It’s all my favorite heroes from the books I’ve read.”

“Carson Matthews, Ridge Beckett, Kostas Demetriou, Reece Hatfield.” Chase tilts his head to the side slightly in confusion.

“I told you I’m weird. The only serious relationships I’ve ever had were with fake guys.”

“Stop saying that. You’re not weird. I was just wondering how good those guys can be if they can’t even really please you.” He shrugs.

If I were drinking, the liquid would be all over him. “Well, I’ve only been with one guy,” I admit, “and he was selfish in bed, so I think I’ll take my fake men over real ones.” The second the words are out, I immediately regret them.

“Wait… you slept with that douchebag Robert?” he asks incredulously.

“Not that it’s your business…” But since I did bring it up first… “No, but we did stuff.” He attempted to finger me, but nothing happened, and when I asked him about it, he got defensive and said sex would be better.

Chase’s mouth gapes open. “You do not get to judge all men based on that asshole.”

“Whatever, I’m dressed. Now where are we going?”

“It’s a surprise.” He grins mischievously.

Since I don’t know where we’re going, we take his car. It’s a newer BMW, the interior all leather, and the gadgets all high-tech.

“This is a nice car,” I say, realizing it’s the first time I’ve been in his vehicle.

“Thanks.”

“Too bad it’s probably overpriced and will break down on you soon.”

His head whips around to look at me. “What?”

“Yeah, don’t you know what BMW stands for?” I ask, remembering all the jokes my dad threw at my godfather, Mason, over the years about his love of BMWs. My dad is a Ford man through and through, and Mason only buys BMWs. At first, I wanted a cute little car, but my dad wanted me to have a Ford truck so I would be safe. It took some getting used to, but it’s kind of cool knowing I could run over any vehicle on the road—yes, my truck is that damn big.