Page 25 of Infinite as They Come (Sinful Trilogy #3)

Holly

My eyes lifted up from my notebook on the desk to my laptop screen, lips murmuring out the words I had taken down a few days ago.

Clara had been right about Martha being an interesting character.

She had been a resident at the Melrose Motel for nearly a decade now and got to use the little kitchen in the main office to whip up all her fancy meals.

She used to work at one of the busiest restaurants in Austin until things went “a little upside down” according to her.

It sounded like a sensitive subject, one I didn’t want to broach, and instead we talked about her love for cooking and all her favorite recipes, and there were some I definitely wanted to try.

I zeroed in on her story, her words, typing them up as my foot tapped against the carpeted floor.

I liked this. I liked talking to people and learning about their pasts.

Where they went to school, where they used to live, what they were doing when they were my age.

There was something fascinating about finding all of that out, something intriguing about delving into their histories I never would have known otherwise.

The sound of the shower running distracted me for a second.

I looked over to the open door. Sawyer was in there, which meant he was back at the motel, thankfully.

He had been gone all day “checking the town out”—his words.

It would have been nice to check it out with him, but I knew he needed that space after everything.

I let my mind drift back to that lunch. It had been hard.

Uncomfortable. But still… natural. Like being with Linda and Kurt and Spencer was a place where Sawyer could belong, but that final st ep was still up to him.

It was all too overwhelming. I got that.

And it was no wonder that he needed time on his own to just think and let all those feelings settle, but I hated not seeing him.

I hated that he was out wandering around with a million thoughts overtaking his brain.

It was too much for one person, and he didn’t have to do any of it on his own.

I didn’t want to push him, though. He was back, and that was all that mattered.

Back with me, in our room, and I was too thankful for that.

A little notification in the corner of my screen stole my attention, and I narrowed my eyes when I saw who it was from.

Universal Magazine. I clicked on it, already knowing what my response to their enquiry would be: no.

No, I don’t want to go back to New York.

No, I don’t want to be stuck in a stuffy office all day. No, I don’t want that life.

It was an offer. Another one. Someone who had seen my website, saw my career profile online—I really needed to delete my account on that stupid website—and thought I’d be a great fit for whatever journalism role that had opened up.

I should have been thrilled that a place as prestigious as Universal Magazine was offering me a role, but all I could think about was that grey, colorless vision of me stuck at my desk, bored out of my mind.

What would I even be writing about? Who would I even be talking to?

Some boring businessman? Some actor who had just won another award?

The thought almost made me wince. I couldn’t really imagine doing any of that and feeling fulfilled.

What was all that interesting about a millionaire?

About some successful actor? I had heard about their stories so many times I lost track.

But Diana? She called herself a failed actress, but her life had been nothing but streaks of color and brightness.

With a shake of my head, I wrote out a response.

Cordial, sincere, but straight to the point: I appreciate the offer, but I’m not really looking for that sort of role right now.

With that out of the way, I went back to the article I had been working on.

I was hoping to have it up on my blog by the end of the week.

When I had bought Sawyer’s website just before graduation, I had bought one for me as well.

It was just a spot for me to store all my writing, all in one easy place for me to display and access.

It had mostly been a place for all my older pieces from college: all the articles I wrote for the Columbia paper were displayed, along with a few other pieces I had written over the years, but now I got to publish my new stuff there too.

There was some noise to my side, and my eyes flickered over to the right to see Sawyer stepping out of the bathroom.

Towel hung low on his hips, I couldn’t help but stare a little.

His hair looked a little darker since it was wet, some of the droplets falling down to his broad shoulders.

His forearms looked all thick and sturdy as he grabbed his bag, placing it on the edge of the bed.

My head tilted for a second as I took all of him in.

Those veins on his forearms, those big hands, those long, calloused fingers that were too skilled.

Every part of him was strong, sculpted. All those years of working on cars had given him that form, and I was lucky to feel it on top of me, underneath me, up against me as he held me tight.

My eyes lowered some more, to the edge of the towel where it sat against his hips, all that pale skin I was suddenly a little too eager to touch.

“Don’t be a pervert,” Sawyer said bluntly.

My eyes lifted up to his to see a little amused grin on his face. Cheeks all hot, I fidgeted in my seat. “I wasn’t looking.”

“Uh-huh.”

“ I wasn’t .”

“You’re blushing over there.” He hooked a thumb into the material lazily where it was wrapped around him. “Want me to take it off? Is that what you’re after?”

I rolled my eyes with a laugh. “Just hurry up and get ready so we can watch the movie, please.”

The movie being one of Diana’s— The Lost Librarian , a film from 1977, where Diana’s character quite literally gets lost in a library.

With a serial killer. Spooky, and too intriguing for me to miss.

She had given me the VHS when she picked up the painting Sawyer had made of her, and we were lucky enough that the motel had yet to update its technology, because our room came with a very handy VHS player.

“Seems like you wanna see something,” he drawled, his other thumb dangerously close to the edge of the towel.

Fake scowl on my face, I crossed over to him by the bed.

He was right, but I wasn’t ready to give in just yet.

“Get ready, please,” I said, nodding towards the bedside table that was topped up with a takeaway bag with the food Sawyer had picked up along the way.

“The soup’s gonna get cold.” My hand moved to his bag, just about to pull out one of his T-shirts when his eyes suddenly widened.

“I can do it, baby,” he said, snatching the bag off the bed. “I was just messing around. I’ll get ready.”

Raising an eyebrow at him, I took a seat on the bed. “Uh, okay.”

He dumped his bag on the other side of the room and got changed before slipping the VHS tape into the player.

It was a colder night and I was thankful for Sawyer grabbing some warm soup on his way back.

I was even more thankful for his strong arm wrapped around my shoulder, guiding me to lay against his chest. I nuzzled against him, the room suddenly filled up with a dramatic fanfare that let us know the movie was starting.

I managed to keep the bowl of soup secure on my lap, me and Sawyer sharing a spoon as we waited for Diana to come to life on screen.

We cheered when she made her first appearance, and I got a little freaked out when that masked maniac chased her through the rows and rows of books, and then we cheered again when she stabbed him in the neck with a letter opener.

“Fuckin’ legend,” Sawyer said next to me.

I felt so warm. So at home. It never failed to amaze me how Sawyer could make me feel so safe and protected and loved all at once.

He was the only person on the planet who could do that, and when we were done eating and put the empty containers on the bedside table, I felt myself melting against him.

Head on his chest, his heartbeat in my ears.

It sounded fast, that tiny bit rushed, and I wondered if he was feeling what I was.

For a second, I let my eyes flutter closed, and the visions hit me one after another.

Us, in bed, watching old movies. Us, intertwined, bodies pressed together, because being apart was just far too hard.

Us, so in love, destined for our forevers to be spent together.

The fairytale. All I had ever wanted. Just him.

* * *

I was pretty sure I could stay in a town like Round Rock forever.

It was the kind of quiet I had been craving my whole life.

Life in Dallas could get busy fast, and there always felt like there was something to do.

Some fancy luncheon at the club. A too long, too strict dinner at one of my dad’s business friends’ homes where their annoying sons would try and flirt with me in their crisp polo shirts.

Some garden party where I had to smile politely and drink cucumber water.

But this? What was in front of me, around me? The small town with the small town people who didn’t care about fake smiles and laughter? We had been here for nearly a month now, and to me, it was perfection.