The Fake Out (THE BOSTON REVS THREE OUTS #2) by Jenni Bara EPUB & PDF – eBook Details Online
- Status: Available for Free Download
- Authors: Jenni Bara
- Language: English
- Genre: contemporary romance
- Format: PDF / EPUB
- Size: 5.4 MB
- Price: Free
“Seven months,” I whispered. Swallowing hard, I choked back the
wave of nausea that rushed through me as I processed his words. How was
it possible that I’d been totally in the dark for so long?
With a loud sigh, he sat back and crossed his arms over his broad chest,
making his polo shirt pull tight along his shoulders. Jake was the type of
guy who got away with things because he was pretty. Not rugged, not sexy,
not suave, but pretty. And it worked for him. Blond hair with just enough
wave to make it look like he’d spent time crafting the perfect style. High
cheekbones, straight nose, white teeth. But even pretty couldn’t fix this.
“Tell me you’re joking,” I finally snapped, causing a few heads around
us to turn our way.
Jake shifted in his seat and angled toward me. “Here we go with the
bitch face,” he huffed under his breath.
I heard it a lot. Resting bitch face. As if I had no control over it, when
the truth was that the expression was purposeful. Sad was pathetic. Angry
was powerful. Plus, if anyone deserved to be bitched out, it was Jake
Caderson.
With long, thin fingers, he tapped the white tablecloth so hard that the
ice in his water glass rattled. “Don’t make this a bigger deal than it has to
be.”
A scoff escaped me at those words. He had to be joking. He acted as if I
were overreacting. As if we hadn’t been planning to move in together this
weekend.
My gritted out “Are you fucking kidding me?” didn’t feel like an
overreaction.
I opened my mouth, ready to lay into him, but my soon-to-be exboyfriend held up a hand, cutting me off.
“I brought you here to tell you about Libby in hopes that you’d be
reasonable about it. The last thing I want is for you to embarrass us both.”
He lifted his chin, gesturing around my favorite restaurant.
I’d been coming here for birthdays and celebratory dinners most of my
life. The little family-owned Italian restaurant with the best manicotti in all
of New York. The same manicotti that was trying to work its way back up
my throat.
I pushed my plate toward the center of the table, hoping that would end
my desire to throw up. But it did no good. The marinara wasn’t causing the
nausea. It was the realization that Jake had spent last night in my bed,
knowing what he was planning to do.
What an asshole.
And who in their right mind chose a person’s favorite place to do
something like this?
Saturday and Sunday, as in three days from now, we had plans to move
into our new apartment. Since my dad was selling his house and Jake’s
lease was up, we had spent weeks this spring looking for a new place. A
little over a month ago, I’d found the perfect spot.
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