The Extra Series, #1 by Janci Patterson

Author:Janci Patterson
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Contemporary Romance
Publisher: Garden Ninja Books
Published: 2019-12-16T16:00:00+00:00

Sixteen

I swear up a storm about life and men in general and Sean in particular the entire ride home. Part of me hopes Sarah does fire me because then I’ll never have to face Will again, and find out if he knew about Sean all along, if this was all just some nasty prank.

But no, Will wouldn’t do that. I know he wouldn’t. But still, the thought of facing him now—

And it hits me, then, that I care so much more about how I’ve embarrassed myself in front of Will than about losing Sean. Tears prick at the corners of my eyes. It was never Sean, not really, no matter how good a kisser he is (the bastard).

It was always Will I wanted to be with, and I still do. And knowing that, admitting it to myself when I know it’s all so hopeless—it just makes me feel even worse, which I didn’t think was possible after a public shaming like that.

My mood doesn’t improve any when I arrive home to find HD leaning against the wall next to my apartment door.

“What are you doing here?” My tone is far from pleasant, but Ryan Lansing is one of the last people I want to deal with tonight. “Anna-Marie is out.”

“She is? I thought . . . Never mind. Have we met before?”

“Seriously?”

He looks at me blankly, and I groan and pull out my keys. “I’ll let her know you stopped by.”

“Could I . . . Do you mind if I wait for her?”

I look up from inserting my key in the lock. All I want is to get in my rattiest pajamas and curl up in bed with Anna-Marie’s stash of Doritos. And then call Fong’s and have them deliver, a service they recently started. Possibly because of me. If my life is any indication, Breakup Tubs are a growth industry.

But the look on HD’s face stops my snarky rebuff. Honestly, for a guy who always looks like heaven incarnate, he kind of looks like hell. Not in a strung-out Felix kind of way, but just in a Ryan Lansing minus the additional clear coat of perfection. His eyes are a bit droopy, his smile sagging, his shoulders slumped.

He’s not acting depressed, I can tell. I’ve been on set enough to know that HD isn’t that good of an actor. He looks like he’s been through a night roughly equivalent to mine, minus the Hindu God-Slap. My empathy gets the better of me.

“Fine. Come on in.”

He follows me in, and for a brief second it occurs to me how bizarre my life has become. In the past week I’ve witnessed a diva fight, killed a CPR dummy, broken a religious icon with my face, and now arguably the hottest man on the planet is following me into my apartment and all I want is for him to leave so I can gorge on junk food and cry to One Direction songs I don’t admit to owning.

“You can chill on the couch until she comes home,” I say.

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