Page 38 of Infinite as They Come (Sinful Trilogy #3)

Holly

Sawyer had kept his promise. The next day, we were in Bartlett.

Fingers interlocked, we moved down the main street, the air fresh and the roads quiet and just that perfect hint of heat in the breeze.

Someone was baking fresh bread, that alluring scent there all around me.

It was comforting. The kind of place both me and Sawyer would usually like, but my mind kept going back in time.

The morning had been a little strange, and I was doing my best not to think about that too much.

How Sawyer once again rushed out of the room when he got a call and how he looked like he didn’t want me to hear a single word he was saying.

It wasn’t just that, though. It was him at the diner last night being all weird.

Him leaving for hours, sometimes the whole day, only for him to come back to the motel and shrug and say he just got a little busy.

Him being secretive, and me with a brain that wouldn’t stop me from wondering what on earth he was up to.

I wanted to focus on the moment and the fact that we were together. I was trying to, but that nervous feeling had a way of sneaking up on me whenever I felt the slightest bit at ease. It forced me to squeeze his hand a little tighter, his head turning my way.

“You okay, honey?” he asked.

Forcing a smile, I nodded. It was me being panicky and not being able to live in the moment, because here I was, side by side with the boy I loved so much, and I was busy thinking about a stupid phone call .

“I’m fine,” I said, letting my eyes scan the street we were on.

It had all of that old school charm with tiny cafés and buildings from way back when.

We had been walking around for a little while now.

For such a small town, there was a lot to see.

I nodded to his side, using the antique store we had passed as an excuse.

It had a whole heap of those old vintage dolls that always looked ready to come alive and kill you in the display window. “Those dolls are just freaking me out.”

“Huh?” Following my gaze, Sawyer whistled. “One of them looks like you. Let’s buy it.”

“It’s gonna strangle us. Or possess us. Or both.”

“Exactly like you.”

I snorted, tucking my face into his neck. “Don’t bully me.”

Arm wrapped around my shoulder, he pulled me into him, placing a slow kiss to the top of my head.

It was easy enough to forget all that tension and worry and confusion over the last month.

Sawyer had a way of pushing away all of my stress, and I was certain he was the only one who could ever do that.

There was just something about the way he held me and kept me close and steady against him that always had me melting.

We kept walking around, all pressed together as we moved through the street, the quietness of the town and Sawyer’s presence settling any and all nerves.

We found some little farmer’s market that was selling fresh lemonade and Sawyer bought me a cup, letting me sip on the overly sweet drink as the sun just got hotter.

“This tastes awful,” I mumbled. “I can’t stop drinking it, though. What does that say about me?”

Sawyer made a noise. Something between a half mumble, half groan.

“You want some? You have to experience this with me too,” I said.

Still, I just got a little grunt in response. Drink in hand, I let the straw find my mouth, and I could see it from the corner of my eye. Sawyer. Hand. Phone. Again.

I frowned, then immediately told myself to stop it. He was allowed to use his phone. He was allowed to talk to people on said phone. I told myself to forget it. To move on. He was probably texting his mom, and who was I to get in the way of that?

“I gotta make a quick phone call, princess,” he said.

Spinning on his heels, he pressed his phone to his ear fast, like he had been on edge the whole time.

And I was left standing there with my half-filled cup of the worst lemonade I had ever tasted in my life.

My shoe twisted into the cement, watching as Sawyer kept his back to me, his face unreadable and hidden.

I stood there for a good twenty minutes in the sun, skin getting too warm and heart beating too fast before he finally joined me again.

“Was that your mom?” I asked.

“Hm?”

“Is she okay? I hope Spencer’s alright.”

“It’s nothing,” he said.

“Nothing?”

“Nothing.”

Nodding, my fingers toyed with the straw of my drink, swishing it around a little. “If you wanna leave, we can just go.”

His brows furrowed. “What do you mean?”

“You seem like you don’t really wanna be here,” I said. “Like you’re somewhere else. So, if you just wanna go back to the motel, we can. I don’t want you to be bored all day with me.”

His eyes softened at that. “I’m not bored. I’m just…”

“Just?”

His hands pushed through his hair. “It’s nothing.”

Nothing. He kept using that word, and the vagueness of it all was annoying me more than I cared to admit. “We can leave,” I offered. “It’s fine. I don’t even really like this place, anyway.”

Suddenly, he halted, like his whole body had stiffened from that sentence alone. “What?” he asked.

“There’s gross lemonade and dolls that look like they’ll stab you while you shower,” I muttered, eyes on the ground. “How’s anyone supposed to sleep around here?”

There was a pause. A too long one, and it all felt stupid, like we were about to fight about something we shouldn’t have even been fighting about in the first place.

Our eyes met, and I could have sworn I saw a flash of pain behind his own.

I shouldn’t have said that. I found myself wincing, fingers pressed to my temples.

He had gone out of his way to drive me some place nice, to take me somewhere special, and I went and said that like some spoiled brat.

“I—” I began, but Sawyer cut me off before I could say sorry.

“I get it,” he said, voice gruff. “You’re probably used to New York now.”

Brows pulling together, my head shook. “That’s not what I meant.”

“This place isn’t Highland Park either. No mansions around here, I don’t think,” he said, turning his head to eye the buildings on the other side of the street.

I eyed him closely. “I didn’t mean that either. You know that. You know I don’t care about that sort of stuff.”

“Right. I get it.”

“You sound like you don’t believe me.”

“I believe you.”

My eyes rolled. “If I cared about that stuff, I wouldn’t be living in a motel with you, would I?”

“I’m sorry, I can’t exactly afford to take you to the Four Seasons or whatever you’re used to.”

I hissed, my head shaking slowly. “Okay, this is stupid. This is a stupid fight.”

“It’s not stupid.”

“It is. It’s stupid.” I tossed my half-finished lemonade into a nearby trash can harder than necessary, a thud hitting my ears as I turned back to Sawyer. “Why don’t we just leave?”

Teeth clenched, he gave me a stiff nod. “Fine. No point staying here since you don’t like it, anyway.”

It was an awkward, tense walk back to the truck, and I kept wondering how we had gone from having such a lovely morning to not wanting to look each other in the eyes.

Sawyer still managed to open the door for me at least, and I slid into the truck with a huff.

It had been a long time since me and Sawyer had a fight.

Over the last few years, there wasn’t anything to really fight about.

The hum of the engine hit my ears and I kept my arms crossed in front of me as Sawyer took off down the road.

I wasn’t trying to annoy him on purpose.

I knew he was dealing with a lot. Everything with his mom, with Spencer.

God, it must have been bizarre to have someone like Kurt in his life now too.

It was the disappearing acts that were worrying me.

Him being in his head, only for him to give me the vaguest of answers when I wanted to know what he had been doing.

“You’re not gonna say thank you?” Sawyer asked, breaking the silence.

Eyes narrowed, I turned to face him. “For what?”

“For what?” he repeated, the tiniest bit of amusement there in his eyes and voice. “I opened the door for you.”

I scoffed. “So?”

“I closed it too.”

I scoffed again. “I didn’t ask you to do that. I could have done it myself.”

“But you didn’t do it yourself.”

“You didn’t give me a chance to do it myself.”

“You’re too slow.”

My eyes rolled. “Whatever.”

“Say thank you.”

“No.”

“Say it.”

“No.”

“You know, rich people have no manners,” he muttered as we turned a corner. “Just something I’ve picked up on being in your world the last few years.”

“Excuse me?” I pressed a hand to my chest. “What more do you want me to do?”

“Say thank you to me.”

I raised an eyebrow up at him. “Make me.”

“Make you, huh?” he said, one big hand landing on my thigh. “You’re gonna be a brat about it?”

“You haven’t called me that in a while. ”

“Well, you haven’t really acted like one in a while. You’ve been on your best behavior until today.”

It was a regular occurrence: his big hand there on my thigh, long fingers gripping me just tight enough as he drove. I was very much used to that always welcomed presence of his touch on me. The next move he made was what made my breath hitch, though.

Slowly, that hand made its way under my dress, along the top of my thigh, his thumb rubbing the softest of circles against my skin.

It would have been easy enough to shove his hand off me, but he had me fidgeting that tiny bit in my seat, and all I could think about was how I wanted more of him and his touch.

I always did—even when we were fighting. God, especially when we were fighting.

“I always use my manners,” I finally said, resisting the urge to grab his hand and push it further up my thigh.

“Not with me.”

“Why do you have such an attitude today?” I asked. “You seemed perfectly fine twenty minutes ago.”

He huffed. “Could say the same about you.”