Page 6 of Love Rewritten

“No. The bold, unreserved, maybe a little unhinged side.”

“Unhinged?” She rolls her eyes, but her smile remains. She stands and tips her head up, our noses merely inches apart. “You haven’t seen unhinged.”

“Mmm. I’m intrigued.” I squint a little, focusing on those beautiful blue eyes that effortlessly capture my attention.

“If y’all are going to be all gross, I’ll ride back alone,” Logan calls behind us.

I hesitate to pull away for a moment, placing a kiss on her forehead. He approaches the bikes without looking at us. Abby chuckles, but she and I separate so the three of us can ride home.

Chapter 3

Abby

Ifinallyfeelsomesenseof normalcy emerging from the shadows. The pain has mostly subsided—only the annoying, random headaches remain. I feel like I can, and want, to get back to my regular schedule. And dare I say find something else to do? Besides the occasional work for Dr. Kraus, not having a job has been very nice and a much-needed break that I didn’t know I needed. But at the same time, I think I’m getting tired of feeling like the misfortunate friend who follows everyone around like a lost puppy. I want to feel like my own person again.

That being said, I’m terrified of doing exactly that. It feels like every time things start to slow down, something else happens, something else derails my entire plan. But what’s new?

“Are you still coming with me today?” Dallas asks as he pulls his work uniform over his head, those delectable muscles rippling with every movement.

“Uh, yeah,” I say, shaking my head. “I’m going to change into something a little more presentable.”

“What? I think the dancing skeleton pajamas suit you quite well.”

I roll my eyes before leaving for my own room. It’s been a bit chilly this week, so I pull on a black sweatshirt over my T-shirt and jeans.

“Black suits you,” Dallas croons as I exit my room.

“Why do you think I wear it so much?” I laugh, pulling on my black and white checkered Vans.

“I think I’ve only ever seen you wear anything with color when you’re at home relaxing.”

“Very likely. It’s what I feel most comfortable in.”

“No complaints from me. Just making an observation. Besides, it doesn’t matter what you wear, I’ll rip it off you all the same.” He smiles, eyes me up and down, and leads us out the door as heat rushes to my cheeks. There’s no doubt they’re a bright shade of red.

I plant myself at the end of the bar on the only stool that doesn’t squeak or wobble when I move. I managed to get my notebook back from Dr. Kraus a few days ago after forgetting it in his office. I hadn’t realized how attached I was to this thing. I’ve carried it with me for the entirety of my junior year which meant that not having it for over a week felt like torture. The short story I’ve been working on, the one I showed to Dr. Kraus, has sat unfinished for a while. I recently got a fresh idea and have been itching to start writing it.

So, with the background of the Sunday church lunch rush and the clinking of bar glasses, I manage to put words to paper, the familiar feeling blissfully sinking into my bones. After two hours pass, Dallas places a plate of fries in front of me.

“You need to eat something. Water isn’t enough to keep that pen moving. I think it might start on fire pretty soon.”

“You forgot the barbeque,” I say without looking up.

“Small, medium, or large?” Dallas asks, placing both hands on the bar.

“Is that even a question?” I ask, meeting his gaze.

He smiles before heading to the kitchen. He returns with three sides of barbeque. “If I could bring you the bottle, I would, but it comes out of a bag.”

“I’ll let you know when I need a refill.” I dip a few fries before shoving them in my mouth, savoring the saltiness.

“So, what are you writing? I don’t think I’ve ever asked you that.” He folds his arms on the bar top.

After taking a few more bites, I look up. He looks genuinely curious. Sam never cared what I wrote. He always thought it was a useless waste of time. So, I’ve never really talked about my writing much other than with my professors, but they get paid to do that.

I put my pen down, clicking it closed. “Do you actually want to know?”

His brows press together. “Of course, I do. Why wouldn’t I?”

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