Page 165 of Always You

Or attempting to write. I’ve started numerous stories in the last year, but for some reason, I have a hard time finishing them.

Every time my mind comes up with a new story, I type away as if my life depends on it, before telling myself it’s shit, and throw it all out. If I wrote on a typewriter, there would be wads of paper piling up around me.

“Dang it!” I exclaim, slamming my notebook shut when I delete my words for a second time today. Throwing the device on the chair next to me, I put my arms over each other like a grumpy kid. As expected, my mind wanders off to the person who makes it impossible to concentrate ever since he strolled back into town like he belongs here. He doesn’t.At least not anymore.

Being so close to him yesterday fucked with my ability to sleep, because my mind and my heart keep fighting each other, driving me nuts. “Julie bought you flowers and books?”

I grab my heart as I jolt in my seat, then snap my head toward the door. Ben throws me a devastatingly sweet smile that would’ve melted my iced-out heart six months ago, but now it just irritates me as he closes the door behind him.

I never should’ve given him a key.

“What?” I ask, confused.

“The flowers?” His thumb points over his shoulder. “Out front?”

“Oh, right.”Shit. “Yeah, Julie.”

“That’s sweet of her.” He walks toward me, still wearing hisnavy-blue coaching outfit as he leans in, planting a kiss on my lips. There was a point in our relationship when I thought I felt butterflies. A tingling feeling when he kissed me. But now?

Nothing.

“Are you okay?” He gives me a pointed look as he takes my laptop and sets it on the table before sitting down.

“Can’t seem to get on with writing today.”

A big, calloused hand lands on my knee. “It’s okay. You’ll get over this, and you’ll get your mojo back.”

I know he means well, trying to support me, but him referring tothisas something I’ll get over instantly raises my anger. Like it’s an inconvenience that I need to treat as a hurdle.

My hands start to itch, and I rub them over my black jeans while he lovingly brushes a strand of hair behind my ear, when really, I want to slap his hand out of my face, because in my head, they are the wrong hands.

Damn you, Hunter, for screwing with my head.

“Maybe,” I mumble instead.

“How are you today?”

Keeping quiet for a while, I avoid his gaze that fixates on the side of my face, before I finally shrug my shoulders.

“Fine. I guess.”

“It’s okay to not be okay, Charlotte.”

I can’t help but snort at his yoga-like mantra.

What about contemplating if you should break up with your boyfriend because your ex, correction,best friend, is back in town? Is that also okay?

He brushes his fingers through my hair, and I close my eyes, wondering if we will be one of those couples who will get better out of this? If it will grow us stronger or tear us apart.

Wondering if I’d be as agitated as I am now if it was anyone else saying the same thing.

If anyone else brushed his fingers through my hair. I don’t want to know the answer to that question.

“What did you do yesterday?” he follows up when I don’t reply.

“Spent the day with a friend.”

“Julie?”

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