Page 150 of Always You

“No.”

“Charls,” he groans as he lays his hand on the nape of my neck in a dominating way, giving me a slight heart attack. He’s always been a bit demanding, but fuck me, this is new.

My traitorous vagina springs to life as my pulse starts to throb underneath his touch. He softly squeezes, forcing my head to look up at him as I clench my teeth.

Shit, I’m in trouble now.

“I forgot how sexy you are when you’re pissed at me.” He licks his lips, then drags his teeth over his lower lip, and I know he’s not joking. He’s dead serious.

“No, you didn’t.”

“You’re right, I didn’t.” He grins.

“Stop flirting with me,” I say through gritted teeth, trying to push those lustful feelings away.

“You agreed to eight dates. This is the first. Come on. Let’s go.” He lets go of my neck, offering his hand once more. Even though he doesn’t deserve my attention, my heart’s been dying for his affection ever since the last time I saw him.

“I don’t want to,” I say, folding my arms in front of my body like I’m some damn toddler.

“I know. But you can walk, or I’m picking you up and putting you in my truck myself. Your choice. I prefer option number two.”

“I have to work today.”

“No, you don’t. I have your schedule.”

“What?! How?!”

His mouth playfully curls. “Julie.”

That damn little traitor.

“Where are we going?”

“You’ll see.”

Rolling my eyes, I then slam his hand out of the way and get off the swinging bench, stomping off the porch. He follows me with a loud chuckle, until I glare back at him, and he lifts his hands in a placating gesture.

I should’ve never agreed to this.

I should have slapped him and told him to fuck off, but the bastard caught me at a vulnerable moment. A moment when I barely had the strength to pick up my glass to let my grief settlein my veins, let alone resist the everlasting charm of Hunter Hansen.

I walk toward his truck with a big stride forward, then get into the vehicle like a moping teenager forced to tag along with my mom, while he rounds the truck to get behind the wheel.

Leaning on the center console, he looks in the rear mirror while a whiff of his citrus, woodsy cologne hits my nose, fogging my brain before driving onto the road.

Oh, damn.

He’s smart enough to keep his mouth shut, even though I catch him glance at me every now and then, making it damn hard for me to not snap at him.

We drive for about five minutes until he pulls his truck into the parking lot of the Burger Shack, and I snap my head toward him.

“Seriously?” I screech.

The last thing I wanna do is relive old memories with the man who all tainted them with his asshole behavior.

“You wanna go in, or eat in the truck?” He shrugs, unimpressed by the scowl on my face.

Part of me wants to scream at him, asking what the fuck he thinks he’s doing. Hating him for triggering the memories he knows mean the most to me. Hating him for thinking he can just waltz back into my life, like he didn’t rip my heart out of my chest. But the other part is tired as fuck.

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