Read Online The Valentine's Arrangement by Kelsie Leverich - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Kelsie Leverich
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today.
This was the one day that Ronnie became a complete and utter shut in. She shut out the colorful outside world that was gushing with love and romance and cupid’s arrows, and she planted herself firmly in front of the TV wrapped up in her snuggie.
Ronnie was not one of those women who hated Valentine’s Day because it was so depressing and only reminded her that she was alone and that she had no one to take her out or buy her gifts or bring her flowers. No, she had never given a shit about any of that stuff to begin with. She never particularly cared about Valentine’s Day. It was never something she insisted on partaking in. But now she loathed it. It was a bunch of bullshit. It’s an excuse for women to whine and dote and bat their eyelashes for glittery gifts in the hopeful forms of diamonds. It’s an excuse for men to have an opening for sex, and all of its over killed, forced, mushy, romance is sickening. What, just because it’s a certain day that means the masks come off and men are suddenly thoughtful and romantic? Bullshit. If they weren’t the other 364 days of the year then hate to break it to ya, they weren’t sincere and they probably hated it just as much as Ronnie did. Most of the time, women were handed a proverbial gift in the form of romance that was wrapped up in a pink scented bow, tied with tape that was gonna sting like a motherfucker when you ripped it off, and then they were all upset and disappointed when it wasn’t what they expected. It was actually quite funny, and it was also something Ronnie wanted nothing to do with.
It was lunchtime and Ronnie had ordered a couple pizzas. She popped in Nightmare on Elm’s Street and grabbed a beer from the fridge. No judging, it was noon.
Ronnie propped her feet up on the leather ottoman in front of her couch exposing her freshly painted wine red toe nails and ripped open a bag of Reese’s minis. That’s another thing she hated about Valentine’s Day, the fucking candy supply disappears at an alarming rate. She had to stop at three CVS stores the other day to find one single bag. Fucking love vultures.
She was just getting into the movie, filling her mouth with peanut butter filled chocolate—now that was one thing that she liked with her chocolate—and drinking her second beer when the doorbell rang. She hopped up from the couch and went to the kitchen for her purse.
“It’s about time,” she said as she was digging through her bag for her wallet. “You were cutting it pretty close, a few more minutes and it would’ve been free! It better be hot!” she hollered, walking to the front door.
She opened the door prepared to give the pizza guy a mouth full when her jaw dropped and her heart slammed so hard against her ribs it knocked the air out of her lungs. What the fuck was he doing here?
Leaning against her door frame looking like he stepped out of an American Eagle ad was Kale. He was wearing enough damn layers to stay warm in a fucking snowstorm, but it looked surprisingly good. He had a red long sleeve shirt under a grey fleece zip up hoodie and topped off with a navy blazer. It was casual meets, shit she didn’t even know…sexy maybe? Yeah that pretty much summed it up. And that fucking lopsided grin was in place, dimple and all protruding on his scruffy face.
“It’ll be hot, I promise,” he said, taking a step into her house.
“Kale.”
“Happy Valentine’s Day, Ronnie.” He smiled at her and she wanted to curse the greater power in the world that thought it would be comical for her mind to want to slam the door in this soldier’s face yet with the single twitch of his perfectly crafted lips her hormones wanted to slam her body to his instead.
“I don’t do Valentine’s day, I told you,” she spat at him, still pissed that with every inch he took closer to her, her body betrayed even her more.
“Yeah, I remember,” he said flatly, like he didn’t care or like it didn’t matter. “I still don’t
This was the one day that Ronnie became a complete and utter shut in. She shut out the colorful outside world that was gushing with love and romance and cupid’s arrows, and she planted herself firmly in front of the TV wrapped up in her snuggie.
Ronnie was not one of those women who hated Valentine’s Day because it was so depressing and only reminded her that she was alone and that she had no one to take her out or buy her gifts or bring her flowers. No, she had never given a shit about any of that stuff to begin with. She never particularly cared about Valentine’s Day. It was never something she insisted on partaking in. But now she loathed it. It was a bunch of bullshit. It’s an excuse for women to whine and dote and bat their eyelashes for glittery gifts in the hopeful forms of diamonds. It’s an excuse for men to have an opening for sex, and all of its over killed, forced, mushy, romance is sickening. What, just because it’s a certain day that means the masks come off and men are suddenly thoughtful and romantic? Bullshit. If they weren’t the other 364 days of the year then hate to break it to ya, they weren’t sincere and they probably hated it just as much as Ronnie did. Most of the time, women were handed a proverbial gift in the form of romance that was wrapped up in a pink scented bow, tied with tape that was gonna sting like a motherfucker when you ripped it off, and then they were all upset and disappointed when it wasn’t what they expected. It was actually quite funny, and it was also something Ronnie wanted nothing to do with.
It was lunchtime and Ronnie had ordered a couple pizzas. She popped in Nightmare on Elm’s Street and grabbed a beer from the fridge. No judging, it was noon.
Ronnie propped her feet up on the leather ottoman in front of her couch exposing her freshly painted wine red toe nails and ripped open a bag of Reese’s minis. That’s another thing she hated about Valentine’s Day, the fucking candy supply disappears at an alarming rate. She had to stop at three CVS stores the other day to find one single bag. Fucking love vultures.
She was just getting into the movie, filling her mouth with peanut butter filled chocolate—now that was one thing that she liked with her chocolate—and drinking her second beer when the doorbell rang. She hopped up from the couch and went to the kitchen for her purse.
“It’s about time,” she said as she was digging through her bag for her wallet. “You were cutting it pretty close, a few more minutes and it would’ve been free! It better be hot!” she hollered, walking to the front door.
She opened the door prepared to give the pizza guy a mouth full when her jaw dropped and her heart slammed so hard against her ribs it knocked the air out of her lungs. What the fuck was he doing here?
Leaning against her door frame looking like he stepped out of an American Eagle ad was Kale. He was wearing enough damn layers to stay warm in a fucking snowstorm, but it looked surprisingly good. He had a red long sleeve shirt under a grey fleece zip up hoodie and topped off with a navy blazer. It was casual meets, shit she didn’t even know…sexy maybe? Yeah that pretty much summed it up. And that fucking lopsided grin was in place, dimple and all protruding on his scruffy face.
“It’ll be hot, I promise,” he said, taking a step into her house.
“Kale.”
“Happy Valentine’s Day, Ronnie.” He smiled at her and she wanted to curse the greater power in the world that thought it would be comical for her mind to want to slam the door in this soldier’s face yet with the single twitch of his perfectly crafted lips her hormones wanted to slam her body to his instead.
“I don’t do Valentine’s day, I told you,” she spat at him, still pissed that with every inch he took closer to her, her body betrayed even her more.
“Yeah, I remember,” he said flatly, like he didn’t care or like it didn’t matter. “I still don’t
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