The Bad Boy Has A Soft Spot

Chapter 19 Speaking too soon

Roselia's POV

The question I had on Saturday night was answered on Monday morning. To put it plainly, I spoke too soon. Remember when he told me he'd pick me up in the morning? He forgot to mention that he intended it to be at 6 a.m. in the morning!

I had to force myself to wake up and close my ringing phone thrice! But this persistent butt didn't get the memo. For the fourth time in 5 minutes, my phone rang.

"What?" I rasped with my lazy morning voice.

"Wake up, sleepyhead. You have to come help me run an errand." He stated as if he didn't wake me up way before my usual time.

"No." I replied and slammed the phone on my nightstand.

It's the fifth time it rang in 6 minutes. I picked it up and held it to my ear.

"I'm going to kill you, Edwards." My voice was no longer sleepy. This stupid butt blasted me out of my sleep!

"I'll buy you 10 packs of cheetos."

"Give me 20 and 15 minutes." I put my phone down and ran to the bathroom.

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"I swear, Jasper. If this is for a load of crap, I might have to decapitate you." I stated as I pulled open the door and went in.

"You're still my fake girlfriend, flower." He grinned from ear to ear as he saw my sloppy wet hair draped over one side. I prepared a scrunchy on my wrist to tie it in a messy bun as soon as it dried. "You need to help me run errands." He wore a grey plain hoodie today with his signature messy hair, a belt and black denim pants.

I screamed internally. It was still 6:20 a.m. and this parasite wants to ruin my Monday morning, already. "What time do you usually wake up anyway?" I said, annoyed.

He shifted gears as we accelerated from a stop. "Half an hour before five. I have to run 5 miles every morning to wake me up. Just for my fake girlfriend, I woke up at four today."

Of course, he worked out early in the morning. "Ha. Thanks." I rolled my eyes. "What errand are we going to do?"

"Nothing out of the ordinary, flower." He reached to the back of his car with his right hand and pulled out a huge bag of dog food which he placed on my lap.

Offensive!

He studied my angered expression and laughed. "It's not for you, flower. There's a shelter nearby and I spend my Monday mornings giving out a few bags of these. I go there at least once every two weeks." He patted the 15 kg dog food placed on my lap. Wait, how did he carry it with one hand?

"Oh." I felt my face blush at my previous false assumption. "You have a heart?!" I widened my eyes in shock.

"Only for tiny, helpless creatures, flower." He threw a smile at my direction, showing off his dimples.

"Dogs are not helpless!" I crossed my arms in front of my chest. "They're actually very intelligent! Did you know? They sense emotional distress and they're descendants of fierce hunters. They're also very good babysitters, extremely good with babies."

"Yes, flower. I know." He chuckled and muttered something smaller than a whisper which led my ear not being able to catch it. It was probably something like 'know-it-all'.

"Where is it?" I looked around the empty streets of NYC, hoping to find a shelter. There, closed by a huge tree, a large blue-coloured paw was pasted on top of a building. Under the large sign, there was 'Canes Shelter' written on it in neon lights; a twist from the dog's Latin name Canis lupus familiaris, I reckon.