Page 43 of Always You

I regret my words as soon as they leave my mouth, knowing he will fully take advantage of it.

Because that’s what he does. He might be my friend, but that doesn’t mean he’ll let any opportunity to flirt with me go unwasted. It’s something he does with every girl, yet he seems more up front about it when it comes to me. As if he’s staking a claim, without actually claiming anything at all.

He presses his body against my back, caging me in, while he moves his lips flush with my ears, instantly bringing heat to the nape of my neck.Damn you, Hunter.

“I could show you right now that there’s no need to compare shit, babe.” The vibrations of his husky voice drum all the way through my entire body, and my hands are holding on to the cold steel of my locker to keep me up.

But really, I want to give in and lean into his hard chest. I want to give in to his pull, and his constant exploration of ourboundaries until I remember how I don’t want to spend another night wondering if he could be mine.

No.

I need to stick to my plan. He’s my best friend. This is just who he is. His mouth is as big as his ability to flirt. He does it with everyone, joking about almost everything. He might not make an exception for me, confusing the shit out of me, but we do have a special friendship. I’m not putting it on the line. Somehow, that realization snaps me right out of my thoughts with resolve.

“Stop flirting with me,” I growl.

“I don’t want to.” He takes a step back, leaning his shoulder against the locker next to me, as he searches my face for something. I look at him, my face stern, while the craving in his eyes makes me wonder if he’s still joking.

But I can’t allow myself to dwell on it.

“Fuckyou. I’m going on a date, so deal with it.” I slam my locker closed, then fully face him, waiting for him to dare to say anything else about it.

My green eyes pin him down, my heart galloping in my throat as I hold my ground.

“Fine.” His serious look disappears as he rolls his eyes with a big smirk, before he throws his arm around my neck, dragging me toward the exit like nothing happened. Our moment is completely gone. As if we don’t share and ignore these electrifying moments almost every day. Leaving me giddy and frustrated at the same time.

This boy will be the death of me.

“I mean it, Hunter. Don’t fuck this up for me.”

“Never, babe.” I look up, noticing him shooting me a wink that makes me push out a deep breath.

He’s totally going to fuck this up.

15

The small sliver of orange and pink still paints the sky when I slide out of Dylan’s midnight blue SUV. Brisk air cools my skin as I wait for him to round the car.

He’s been the perfect gentleman so far. He picked me up at my house, quickly introduced himself to my mother, and held the car door open for me. So far, it’s going well.

Casually, he finds my fingers, linking them with his when we walk into the Call’s Bowling Alley, then flashes me his teeth. I decide to just roll with it. I’m not the girl who is really affectionate on a first date, but he keeps looking at me like I’m amazing, and to be honest, I like him. I think there’s some real possibilities here if I actually open myself up to him.

Call’s fried chicken wings lingers through the open space as we enter, accompanied by the sound of bowling pins clashing against the floor.

I look into the mirror behind the bar, while we stroll past it over the burgundy red carpet, checking if my black skater dress is still keeping everything in place. He leads us to the desk to inform them of our arrival, and we walk toward the lane reserved for us.

“Are you a good bowler?” Dylan looks at me with his silvery blue eyes, his shaggy blonde hair flopping in front of his forehead in a cute way, his hand still attached to mine.

“Well, like any amateur bowler, that depends on the day. But I seem to do better with a bit of alcohol running through my veins,” I joke, letting go of his hand to trade my white Converse for those hideous bowling shoes you have to wear. I threw a strike three times in my life, and it was the night of my sixteenth birthday. My mother had secretly been slipping me some wine after dinner at Rogue Ribs, my favorite restaurant in town, right before we went bowling. I was on a light buzz and turned into a pro-bowler, throwing three strikes, followed by a set of spares. Then my mother slipped me some more wine and Bowling Betty turned into Giddy Greta. Turns out my tolerance for alcohol wasn’t very high.

Still isn’t.

“Ah! Well then, it’s a good thing I know the bartender.”

“You do?” I look up from my shoes, meeting his sparkling eyes with surprise.

“Yeah, that’s my brother.” He nods his head toward the guy behind the bar, and he gives us a short wave.

“That’s your brother?” I cock my eyebrow incredulously, hardly believing it when I look at the black-haired goth who looks nothing like him.

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