But He's My Fake Fiancé (But He's a Carter Brother #3)

by Annah Conwell

“I’m home and I’ve decided I’m never going out in public again,” I announce as I kick off my sneakers by the front door of our apartment. “I’m guessing that means your lunch with your dad didn’t go well?” One of my roommates, Simone, asks as I walk into the living room. She’s propped up on our blush pink couch, her laptop balancing precariously on a flower-shaped throw pillow as she twists her auburn hair up into a claw clip. She must be in the middle of writing. Simone is of the belief that like Violet Baudelaire from Lemony Snicket’s A Series of Unfortunate Events, she thinks better with her hair up. Last time I checked, she was nearing the end of the latest installment in her fantasy romance series, so it makes sense that she’s doing all that she can to focus. “It went terribly, but I don’t know if that’s even the worst thing that happened today.” Her eyebrows shoot up at my words. I sit down in my favorite circle chair and our cat Roman–short for Roman C. Kitten–jumps up next to me. I hold him to my chest and sigh. “Well, spill,” Simone says, setting her laptop on the curved acrylic coffee table next to a half-empty iced coffee and a bag of goldfish. “Have you eaten more than goldfish today?” I ask her, both to avoid talking about my embarrassment and because there’s a chance that she hasn’t eaten enough today. All of us–me, Simone and our other roommate Myla–have a tendency to get locked into our writing and forget the world around us exists. So each of us has to help...