Page 41 of Forgiving Utah

For a long moment, neither of us speaks. It's quiet in the apartment, no sounds coming from Logan or Owen either. Part of me wonders if they heard us as much as we heard them.

When a few more seconds of silence pass, Christian eventually clears his throat. “Did you, uh… come from just kissing?”

I lift my head with a sneer, cheeks heating. “That wasn't a kiss.” It was so much more. “And it's been a while since I had any action. I'm sensitive.”

His eyes narrow. “How long's a while?”

Tilting my head, I try to remember the last time I got laid, but quickly shut that thought down when all I can remember is some stranger in Arnie’s motel hovering over me—violating me. Cheap, plastic stars watching me.

I suppose it was consensual. I mean, I agreed to it after all, but I sure as hell didn't want it. The money from that night didn't even go into my pockets—it paid off my debt. And it was all for nothing, anyway, because I ended up right back in the same spot. Just like I always do.

Choosing not to answer, I gaze down at my crotch instead. “I'm going to need another pair of jeans. And probably some underwear.”

Christian just studies me before realizing that I'm still on his lap. “Get the fuck off. And get out. I'm tired.”

“Wow,” I scoff, sliding off the bed even though I really liked where I was. “No post-coital snuggle sesh?”

“Why the fuck would we do that?” Flopping onto his back, he throws the blanket over his face. “You offered your mouth, and we both got off. Just a mutual transaction between… acquaintances.”

Okay, now that fucking stings. “Acquaintances? Seriously?”

“Well, we sure as shit ain't friends. We're not even roomies because you don't even live here. You owe me five grand. That's it.”

That's it. That's all I'm good for—kept around until I fulfill my usefulness.

A dry laugh leaves my throat, tasting like battery acid. “Right. Got it. Strictly business.”

“Yep.”

“Cool,” I say, bending down to grab his jacket off the floor. “Glad we’re on the same page.”

Christian doesn’t have an answer for that.

I tug his jacket on and wince when my tender, oversensitive cock brushes my zipper. “So, I’m guessing this doesn’t come off the money I owe you?”

“Fuck no.”

“Damn. Thought my mouth was at least worth fifty bucks.”

Still, nothing. He just lays there with the blanket over his head, like maybe I'll disappear if he can't see me. I stand there awkwardly, my skin still buzzing from where his hands grabbed my face. His taste is still on my tongue. Fuck, I really don't want to go.

“Door’s that way,” he mutters after a moment.

I stare at him, hoping that he’ll take it back. But he doesn't, so I turn to leave. My hand hovers on the doorknob, shaking just a little. Before I can open it, he scoffs from under the blanket. “Don’t read too much into this, motherfucker.”

My fingers tighten on the handle. “Read into what?”

“You know what. Don’t make it a thing. Don’t get weird.”

Weird. Right.

“Trust me,” I mutter as I open the door. “I don’t mean anything to you. I’m very aware.”

Silence. Just the sound of my heart in my ears and the rush of traffic outside. Then a harsh exhale from under the covers. “Lock the door on your way out.”

Those words hit me in the chest, and I physically flinch before stepping out into the hall. “Goodnight, hot shot,” I murmur into the dark.

He doesn’t answer.