Page 29 of Sunday's Best

Releasing his grip on me, he huffs a short, humorless laugh. “Of course. We haven’t fucked in weeks, and this is the closest thing to privacy we get on the road… but you’re not feeling it.”

My hackles raise. “I don’t owe you sex just because it’s been weeks.”

Also, we might not have fucked in weeks, but I’m pretty damn certain he hasn’t gone without.

“Yeah, I fucking know you don’t.” His eyes drift toward the highway like the conversation’s already run its course. “Jesus Christ, I’m not asking for anything crazy here.”

“I didn’t say you were. I’m saying I’m not in the mood.”

“Whatever, Sunday. I give up trying with you.”

Trying? That’s what you really think you’ve been doing?

“Okay,” I whisper, just as the trailer door slams shut and Holden’s heavy footsteps land on the metal steps leading out. With a gritty swallow, I stand and brush past him, avoiding his eyes. Embarrassment burns me from the inside out, and a pitiful look from him would throw kerosene on the fire.

I slip inside and flop backward on the bed. My nose starts to burn, and my eyes start to water.

I’m not in love with Logan, yet he continues to hurt me. And when I’m in a mentally stable place, I’ll try to parse through my shit. Figure out why the fuck I continue to care. Maybe I’ll even go to therapy.

For now, selfishly, I don’t want him to try to change. Because I know if he gave me even the barest hint that he was going to put effort into fixing our issues, I’d fall for it. It’s so much harder to walk away when he’s crying and begging me to stay, insisting he’ll do better, promising me the world. I need to be able to walk away.

I don’t want the world he has to offer me.

Holden

Are you okay?

Sunday

I’m fine.

Holden

Let me rephrase: what can I do to make it okay?

Sunday

I just need a minute

Holden

I’ve been googling. Found a 42ft sausage I bet you’d like to see.

I sputter a laugh.

Sunday

I don’t want to hear about your porn habits

Holden

Angel, I’ve read some of your books. Careful throwing stones inside that glass house of yours.

I blush hard. It’s a great thing I’m alone in here.

Sunday

How many have you read?