Real Fake Love (Copper Valley Fireballs #2)(29)

I glance at her, see the outline of her nipples behind the sheet again, and whip my head back up to the ceiling.

There’s only so much a woman can take, and seeing the breasts that I now know Jerry fantasizes about, sleeping in my fake boyfriend’s bed where I was supposed to sleep, is one of those things that makes me wish I could drink.

It’s not that I dislike her.

It’s that the sight of her makes me sad, because if I wasn’t what Jerry wanted, why didn’t he go for what he wanted in the first place instead of spending so many months building me up as being the one person who would finally make his life complete?

I know.

I know.

It’s me.

You don’t get left by five fiancés without figuring out it’s me.

“I told you to leave,” Nonna growls.

“And I told you I was staying right here until I got to talk to my son,” Luca’s mom snaps back.

I can’t stop picturing Jerry kissing her in that coat closet, and it’s making me sad.

So sad.

I hate being sad.

“What are you doing here?” Luca asks his mother.

Dogzilla echoes the question with a lazy half-meow from where she’s settled almost under the ancient dresser in the corner.

“You weren’t answering my calls.”

“He probably didn’t want to talk to you. Completely understandable.” Nonna’s still waving the tea kettle, and I get the impression she’s only holding back on throwing it because she doesn’t want to see Luca’s mom naked either.

“Oh, and he wants to talk to you? You’re probably threatening to put The Eye on him so he’ll do something stupid like—”

She looks at me and freezes, and I fill in the blanks.

He’ll do something stupid like start dating Henri Bacon, the loser who’s addicted to love but can’t actually find it.

I don’t wait for her to regroup her thoughts and stammer something else, because while I like to think I’m a happy, positive, always-see-the-bright-side person, I’m not an idiot, and I have my limits.

And right now, my limits are ordering me to grab my cat, which I do, and march out of this house and go find a hotel, because I’m the freaky weirdo in panda slippers and mismatched pajamas and a bath towel wrapped around my crazy hair that I chopped off when my fifth fiancé left me before we got to the aisle, and of course Luca’s mother doesn’t want him to do something like date a woman like me.

Let’s be honest.

His grandmother doesn’t either.

When she Eyed him, she was thinking he’d get involved with someone cute and perky and put together.

She probably even had a candidate ready to roll in right behind her.

Not with someone like me.

What am I even doing here?

Do I really think Luca can teach me to not fall in love?

He’s as messed up as I am, in his own way.

I hit the bottom step, which groans and sags beneath my angry weight, and I lose my balance and go flying.

Poor Dogzilla goes flying too.

Again.

The top of my towel hits the wall and slides off my hair, and a large philodendron that was not there this morning catches my fall.

I end up with a mouthful of leaves that I’m spitting out as someone thunders down the stairs behind me. “Christ on a parmesan sandwich,” Luca mutters as he lifts me out of the plant, fully dislodging the rest of the towel from my head. “Are you okay?”

I pick a few more leaves off my chin and hold one up. “I probably wouldn’t serve it on a salad, especially since they’re poisonous, but I’ve eaten worse.”

He gapes at me while I look around, verify that Dogzilla is fine—which she is, since she’s sitting in the middle of the floor licking her butt, which probably means she’s irritated with me, but at least she’s not hurt—and then I remember I’m mad, and I switch my almost-smile to a scowl. “I’m fine. Thank you very much for removing me from the woman-eating plant. I don’t think this house is big enough for all the baggage, let alone the four different sides heading straight into war, so I’m going to go get a hotel room, and maybe you can call me after your away games this week.”

“I’m kicking them out. You can stay.”

“I’m not sleeping on sheets that have been against your mother’s naked body.”

He shudders. “I’m not sleeping on sheets that have been against my mother’s naked body either.”

Wait.

Did he say he’s kicking them out?

I drop my voice and go up on tiptoe to get closer to his ear, which makes me inhale that sweet spring scent all over again. He could be a flower. The masculine kind of flower that you wouldn’t mind having naked in your bed. “You can’t kick your grandmother out. What will her Eye do to you then?”

“Her Eye can get over it.”

Huh. I can feel his face twitching when I’m this close to him, even if trying to look at it makes me go cross-eyed.

Also, there’s this hint of fear in his voice that suggests he doesn’t believe himself.

I sigh.

This is the problem I’ve had with every other man I’ve ever been engaged to. They legit always make me solve all of their problems, and I never even realize it until we’re done. “Do you have a tent?”