The Undercover Bad Boy

Chapter Fifteen - Mornings

Chapter Fifteen - Mornings

Dim sunlight filtered through a small gap in the curtains, making my eyes flutter open in irritation. I pulled my blankets over my head and slumped back into the comfort of the darkness. It was then when I felt someone haul the blanket back over themselves when I recalled that I wasn’t alone. The thought was enough to make me smile like a maniac. I turned onto my side so I was facing him.

He was awake, still lying next to me, reading some novel that I recognised from my bookshelf.

 “Good morning,” he murmured, a smile tugging at his lips.

I stifled a yawn. “Morning.”

“Sleep well?” he asked, glancing up to me.

“Yeah,” I answered. “How’s the book?” I leant over to tap the book cover.

He frowned at the pages. “This, my friend, has to be one of most cliché books that I’ve ever read,” he said. “Girl suffers from a horrible breakup. Girl’s heart breaks. Girl seeks revenge. Girl finds boy. Boy picks up the pieces of her heart. Girl falls in love. Feelings. Feelings. Feelings and more feelings. Girl finds out the boy loves her back. End.”

“That just about sums it up,” I agreed, a laugh escaping my lips. “I have better books, you just so happened to come across that one.”

Zach shuffled closer to me. “I don’t get how the female population finds this interesting.” He held up the book. “Where is the action? The violence? The sacrifice? Why is it always a girl who falls in love with a guy? Why can’t the main character be a boy who falls in love with a boy? I mean, come on, don’t all of these stories get repetitive after a while?”

“I have better books,” I repeated, stretching out my limbs. “Seriously.”

 “What type of message does it send out to teenage girls?” questioned Zach, reaching over me to put the book onto the bedside table.

“It gives them false hope and high expectations,” I answered with a impassive expression.

He clapped his hands together. “Exactly.”

“That’s why it’s fiction, because stuff like that doesn’t happen in real life,” I added.

He narrowed his eyes teasingly. This caused his hair to fall into his face again. “I am very disappointed with you, Alex Hale. I’m embarrassed that you own this book, let alone, read it.”

“I apologise profusely. I hope my taste in books improves so you won’t be so disappointed with me next time,” I replied cynically, rolling my eyes. “I do have better books.”

 “I should write my own book,” he carried on, flexing out his fingers. “No clichés. No lovey-dovey crap. No love at first sight. No fairytales. Just two people. Just the truth. That’s all.”