She wanted to test a theory. He wanted to win a bet. What could possibly go wrong?
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Why was this shit so much easier in the books?!
The Macy Anderson in me would spit out the alternatives to every c...
*Author's Note: Hey guys! Since I received two votes since the last chapter and a couple of additional reads, I decided to update the next chapter, but I do want to make notice of one very important thing first: PLEASE DO NOT GET TRIGGERED ABOUT ANY TEASING THAT WILL BE DIRECTED TOWARDS WATTPAD, as there will be a lot of it. Any teasing of any of the other amazing Wattpad stories mentioned in this story is SOLELY for making the plot work. I have chosen to include these stories because they are amazing and I believe that they deserve that kind of recognition, and the only reason why they will be made fun of by some of the characters in my own book is because it works well with the overall plot of the story. Thus, no hate to any of the authors whose stories are mentioned. On the contrary, I loved all of these books tremendously. Without further ado, I hope you guys enjoy this chapter and if you do, don't forget to comment, vote, share it, etc.! Also, meet Deborah Weber and Lisa Boelter! Stay blessed! :)*
Deborah Weber and Lisa Boelter - Co-owners of Anna's Marketplace Bakery
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~Flashback Continued~
Like fucking Super Sonic running into a God damn wall at full speed...that's how fucked-up my hangover headache currently feels.
I've woken up about five minutes ago and although I am nowhere near getting back to all my senses, I do seem to have some sense of my vision back now, but it's mediocre at best. The fact that I feel a fluffy couch underneath me that, more or less, will be dented with an imprint of my sunken ass for all eternity, I can tell that I'm still at the frat house from last night. I carefully attempt to bring myself up in a sitting position -keyword 'attempt'- but fail miserably when the movement of a massive rock on my stomach forces me to plop back down. I shut my eyes briefly and grab onto the rock to prop it off of me, but when my hands touch something long and slender this time instead, I groan...this isn't a rock, it's a fucking hand which fingers I just felt.
I shoot my eyes back open and look down to discover that the hand belongs to a muscular arm but not just any muscular arm, it's the muscular arm of my dear friend Theo Price who just so happens to be passed out on the table to the right of me. I let out another groan and finally manage to get his arm off of my stomach, but perhaps I do so a little too forcefully as it ends up slapping him right across the face, instantly making him bolt up in horror.
"It wasn't me, I swear!" Theo blurts out with wide eyes until the rush in his head finally gets to him, and he's groaning in his hands seconds later. "Duuuude, what time is iiitt?" He lets out with an exhaustive breath, talking to no one in particular; he hasn't spotted me yet and everyone else has yet to wake up from the dead.
Theo rubs his hands vigorously over his face in attempt to sober up as quickly as possible -again, attempt- then effortlessly drops them down into his lap. It's only when he turns his head in my direction that he realizes I'm there.
