Craving The Player (Amateurs In Love Book 1)(40)

I wasn’t even surprised when I woke up Christmas morning to find a small, rectangular shaped wrapped box waiting for me under the tree instead.

“You are never too young to start journaling, Sierra,” she said with a familiar scowl after I had unwrapped a leather-skinned journal and everyone watched my face fall flatter than a pancake. It was never mentioned again, not because Mom felt like she did anything wrong, but because her pride couldn’t take another beating from her eldest daughter.

Nothing stopped Clare from continuing to buy me gift after gift each year, though. She just learned how to hide them. And once I started making money to buy her gifts, we started celebrating Christmas together. Alone. Just the two of us.

Even looking back on it today, I know that I wouldn’t wish to change a single thing about it. Our mother would never own up to it, but she is responsible for the tight, unbreakable bond that her daughters share.

My fingers barely touch the door handle on the SUV before Logan shouts, “Sierra! Wait up!”

I suck in a breath through my nose before letting it out my mouth. Ignoring my better judgment, I turn my head to find him waiting a few steps behind me. My parents aren’t behind him, most likely already in their car, leaving without a goodbye, and I can hear Clare on the other side of the vehicle, buckling in Liz.

His hands—the ones I remember being so smooth, not an imperfection in sight, the kind that belong to a man who hasn’t known a lick of manual labour in his life—lay wiggling at his sides, like he isn’t sure what to do with them. I’m sure he knows that if he attempts to touch me again he’ll lose them both.

I can’t figure out if it’s regret that has his mouth drooping or frustration from the night not going exactly how he wanted it to. Either way, not my problem.

“I want to go home, Logan. You shouldn’t have come tonight. You know that, right?”

His foot lifts off the pavement before planting itself back down again. “I missed you. I don’t regret coming.”

I nearly laugh. “I’m not sure you know what regret feels like.”

“Can you stop throwing cheap shots? You’ve already shut me out. Don’t you think that I’ve suffered enough?”

I can feel my jaw completely unhinge. Anger like I’ve never known sizzles under my skin, frying every nerve ending in my body that would have otherwise helped me continue to the bigger person and get inside the car. “You’ve. Suffered. Enough?” Each word comes out in a sharp burst, my hands opening and closing at my sides when they begin to shake. I feel like a bull readying itself to lower its head and take off towards its opponent with horns pointed straight.

Logan throws his hands into the air, exasperated. He’s annoyed. With me!

“How’s Maeve, by the way? Does she know that you’ve spent your night with me and my family? Not sure she’d like that very much.” This time I meant to throw a cheap shot.

He shrugs it off anyway, replying like he never even heard me. “I don’t know what you want me to say, Sierra. You already kicked me out and blocked my number when I said I was sorry! You know it didn’t mean anything. It was an accident.”

“An accident? I didn’t know it was possible for a penis to fall inside of a vagina accidentally but look at that. You learn something every day!”

Logan groans with a roll of his eyes. “Here we go again. I’m not sure why I keep trying. You’re always so damn dramatic.”

You’re always so dramatic.

Dramatic.

I’m dramatic.

The weight of his words doesn’t fail to fall on my wounded pride, making it burn like lemon juice squirted into an open wound. I feel squashed down by the unrealistic expectations of everyone around me to the point of pure exhaustion. I feel tired. Tired of having to continue to prove myself time and time again. Of feeling like nothing I do is ever good enough for anybody else. Of never living up to the expectations of my parents.

Any strength to continue this fight floats away, leaving me deflated. My shoulders sag forward and my eyelids begin to droop. Thankfully, my sister, wherever she is, decides that this conversation is over when I don’t say another word.

“Get the hell out of here, Logan,” she says, voice way too calm and controlled. Slim fingers slip around my wrist and lead me into the car, the door already open. I don’t remember her opening it.

Clare gingerly helps me slip onto the seat while I serve her a look that says “I can do it myself.” She simply shrugs me off and pulls the seatbelt enough that I can grab it easily and click it into place.

Clearing my throat, I slap on a barely there smile and nod once. She sighs but takes a step back, closing my door and getting in the driver's seat. No words are said as she starts the engine and pulls out of the lot, merging onto the street. The radio plays quietly, just loud enough to help fill the void of a conversation that I don’t want to have.

My head falls against the window and my eyes have only begun to flutter shut when my phone vibrates in my purse. I debate whether or not to pull it out and look, worried that it might be Logan deciding that the conversation was in fact, not over. But I decide to reach into my purse and pull it out regardless, not wanting to start hiding from my past now.

My stomach lurches when I see the text lighting up the screen.

Braden: Come over. I need to see you.

Tapping my finger on the screen, I chew on my bottom lip, wanting to immediately say no, but stopping myself before I do. Go over to Braden’s house? To what? Get another pity fuck? There’s no hidden reason as to why he wants me to go see him. There would only be one reason for going over . . . and I know that it would help get my mind off of everything that’s been dredged up tonight, pity fuck or not.