Page 3 of Sunday's Best

Holden’s ass is barely in the driver’s seat before he’s turned the radio off entirely. Eyebrow raised, he gives his sullen brother a once over. “Who pissed in your cereal this morning?”

“Don’t start,” Logan snaps.

Easing the truck into first gear, Holden turns to give me a pointed look. “Welcome to hell, Angel.”

Two hours later, the truck crawls off the highway and into a bustling truck stop. While Logan’s mood shifted rather quickly once we hit the road—now he’s humming along to a country song, drumming out the beat with his fingertips on the dashboard—I have to admit our fight is still affecting mine. I read that goddamn message so many times yesterday, I have it memorized. Even started adding in haunting subtext that wasn’t there before.

So it’s no wonder that every time I saw his fingers swiping over his phone, I wondered if he was texting a woman. Every time I caught the reflection of his smile in the window, I wondered if he was thinking about her.

By the time I throw my door open and step onto the cracked asphalt of the parking lot, my eyes and chest and stomach are aching. A hit of fresh air—perfumed by diesel and burnt coffee—has never felt so refreshing.

Rolling out the tension that’s taken root in my shoulders, I can’t bring myself to look at Logan. It’s dramatic and immature of me, considering I’m here to learn to trust him again and I have no proof he’s done anything wrong today. But the wounds are too fresh.

Instead I focus on Holden’s casual stroll around the front of the truck, arms stretched overhead. I can’t exactly explain why there’s a small jump in my gut when his shirt pulls in all the wrong directions, exposing well-defined biceps and a sliver of stomach.

The lack of sleep is seriously affecting my mental state.

“I need a coffee,” I announce.

Holden juts his bottom lip out to mock me. “Tired from all that sitting in the truck?”

More so tired from anxiously staring at the ceiling all night wondering why I’m still giving your brother second, third, hundredth chances in this relationship. But I can’t say that. Can’t give Holden another reason to criticize and deride me.

“God forbid a girl has a caffeine addiction.” I flip a middle finger at him.

Logan ensnares my wrist, tugging my loose, weary body into his for a sloppy half-hug. “Regretting your decision to tag along yet?”

Yes.

“Nope.” My put-on smile wavers as a possessive hand finds its way to my ass. I’m tempted to swat him away, but the way Holden’s gaze lingers on the touch sends an exhilarating tingle up the back of my neck.

After a few beats longer than appropriate, Holden glances up, locking eyes with me. “If you want coffee, you better hurry up. We need to get back on the road.” And with that, he turns to leave.

For a moment, I hesitate. Maybe I could convince Logan to jump back in the truck and ditch his brother here. Better yet, I’ll drive away alone. Pulling a horse trailer can’t be that hard.

Logan presses his lips to my temple and mumbles, “Get me a water while you’re in there.”

I’m not afraid to admit when my plans need more time to marinate, and figuring out how to steal a manual transmission truck attached to a long-as-shit horse trailer is definitely a plan that needs time and coffee. So a moment later, I find myself inside the musty gas station, where the burnt coffee aroma is even more pungent than it was outside and is paired with the smell of grilled hot dogs.

In case Holden had a similar thought about abandoning me, I don’t waste any time browsing the snacks and split my focus between grabbing the necessities and ensuring the truck is still where we left it. I can’t help but sigh impatiently when the only cashier is held up by an older woman cashing in a stack of Keno winnings.

“So… what’s the deal?” says the same sardonic voice I hear in my nightmares sometimes. Holden’s right behind me in line, so close his breath tickles the back of my neck.

“Christ, Holden.” I clutch my free hand to my chest and shift on my feet to create some distance.

“First, the devil, and now I’m Christ.” He smirks. “I know I’m charming, but I didn’t expect you to come around to me so fast.”

I let out an exasperated sigh.

“I mean what’s the deal with you and Logan. Why are you tagging along?”

Watching intently as Keno lady rummages through her purse for more tickets, I take a slow sip of my coffee. Unsurprisingly, it’s burnt. “I’m on summer break, and Logan’s my boyfriend…”

Sort of. For now.

“Hrm,” he hums. “Feels like there’s more to it.”

“Well, there’s not,” I clip.