“I suppose it’s better me than some random guy.”
Wait, what?
“Did I say you’d be myonlyfuck buddy?” I arch my brow at him. “Pfft.”
“No,” Crane says, leaning closer. “I did.”
TWENTY-ONE
SIERRA
It’s fairly late when we get home. Crane follows me in, and I can’t help but find the darkness appealing.
I’m glad no one is up because the sight of us soaked to the core and me wearing Crane’s hoodie would raise suspicion.
Crane closes the door behind us, and my heart skips a thousand beats when his eyes lock onto mine.
This isn’t a relationship, Sierra.
I’mneverlike this.
But Crane Michaels has me twisted.
Fighting the urge to kiss him, I force a smile.
“Night then,” I whisper, his eyes finding mine in the darkness.
“Night, Sierra.”
Taking the stairs two at a time, I make it into my bedroom before the tears come.
Why the fuck am I crying?!
Crane’s scent wraps around me, so I tug the hoodie off, throwing it onto my bed like it’s on fire. Peeling my damp clothes off is a task all by itself, but I’m soon naked.
Shower.
Deciding I prefer the dark, I flick the switch on the shower, stepping under the water as it washes away my sins.
The shower muffles everything around me, and I force myself to face my emotions.
So I like Crane.
Maybe that’s because I can’t have him.
But part of me knows it’s never going to happen.
Crane is a closed book, and even though we’ve had sex, I know it doesn’t mean anything. He was all too happy to sign up for “no strings attached sex,” providing there wasn’t anyone else.
Why would he say that if he didn’t want anything more?
Maybe he doesn’t like sharing, after all.
The question doesn’t seem relevant to me either—I’m intrigued by Crane.
So much so that I’m crying in the shower post-fuck.
Get a grip, Sierra.
