Page 68 of Always You

“Fine, but only if you get out of bed.”

“Funny,” I mock, “here I thought you preferred your girls in bed.”

His gaze finds mine, blinking frantically while lust forms in his eyes, his chest moving up and down slowly, and I realize the mistake I just made. He stays quiet, licking his lips before he drags his teeth over them, looking frustrated as fuck.

“Don’t tempt me.” His glare is confusing. A torturous mix of annoyance, desire, and hope, and when his gaze drops to my lips, I remind myself of what happened last night.

Am I mad at him?One hundred percent.

Am I also curious about how he plans to make up to me?Abso-fucking-lutely.

I let out a growl, turning my body away from him, not able to look him in the eye any longer. “Ugh, whatever.”

“Don’tughme either. I’ll wait downstairs.” The mattress shifts, as he gets back on his feet, and I turn my head again, watching him towering above me, making him look even bigger than he already is. He grabs the back of my neck, then lowers his lips to my forehead. The warmth of his skin on mine has me lowering my eyes, catching my breath.

“Just trust me, okay?” He tilts my head to force my gaze to meet his. “Please.”

“Okay.” I nod.

“If you’re not down in ten minutes, I’m coming to get you.”

“What?” I yelp, tugging the sheets up to my chin. “What if I’m naked?”

An evil grin appears on his face, and gone is his humble posture.

“Hmm, let’s make it five.”

“Stop flirting with me!”

He rolls his eyes, walking out of my room.

“Get dressed, Charls.”

“What should I wear?” I call out to the hallway.

“Something that can get wet!”

“You better not be taking me to the creek for a swim!”

His head peeks back in, that boyish smirk way too cheerful for my mood.

“I’m the first to admit I’m stupid fifty percent of the time, but I’m notthatstupid.”

“You could’ve fooled me.”

“I can fool anyonebutyou, Charls,” he says before he disappears again, and I shake my head.

I’m not so sure about that.

Thirty minutes later, I’m sitting in the passenger seat of his truck, though not wholeheartedly. He was smart enough to get me a tea to-go, and a donut, making it easier for me to be slightly nicer to him, even though he’s still number one on my shit list. I rest my head against the window, my eyelids still heavy, tempting me to close my eyes again as I watch the streets pass by.

I was so mad when I got home last night. I ignored the dozen texts he sent me, too raging with fire to type anything back that I wouldn’t regret later. That was, until Jason sent me a quick message, and my rage turned into pain.

“He said something about his mom being right,”it said.

And I realized exactly why he turned into a two-faced douchebag as soon as he decided drinking a beer was a good idea. I was fully planning to go to bed angry with a newfound determination to make him crawl back into my good graces. But when I remembered him telling me he got into another fight with his mother, my heart fucked my plan right over. Instead, I fell asleep with tears lingering in the corners of my eyes, wishing I could fix everything for him.

My sympathy doesn’t excuse his behavior, though. Just because he’s hurting, it doesn’t give him the right to treat me like shit. Best friend or not.

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