“Em’s right. You look tired out,” Cole says with a smirk.
“Beat,” Emily offers. “No! Overstimulated.”
“Drained,” Cole decides.
They both snicker. I tilt my head, confused. At least, unlike Ethan and Seth, they don’t seem to hate the idea that Logan and I are together again.
“I hate you guys,” Logan mumbles. “Why do you have to make this weird?”
“Oh, my god,” I say. “Are you really teasing him about all the sex we’re having?”
A throat clears behind me. Aunt Lydia is back. And Logan’s dad, Scott. And right behind them, because of course, is Marshal Rick Dawson.
I silently urge the ground beneath me to open up and swallow me whole. It’s time to start my next life as a root vegetable.
Logan’s face is redder than usual, but he throws an arm around my shoulder and turns us toward the newcomers. Dawson’s eyes take in the possessive movement before smirking at me.
“Marshal,” Logan says, “You remember Sierra. My girlfriend.”
Twenty Six
Logan
I’m exhausted and a little overstuffed by the time Sierra and I drive home. The party lasted a little longer than it should have. By the end, I was starting to feel a little like a dog in a pissing contest, marking and declaring my territory to every attendee to make it clear that Sierra’s important to me, and that they are to treat her accordingly.
I’m also angry at my dad and mom for inviting Rick Dawson to their party. They claimed it was the neighborly thing to do, that it would help both parties let bygones be bygones. But did Marshal Dawson interpret it that way?
Nope. He had the gall to ask Mayor Ortiz to intervene on his behalf regarding the trust. I had to endure her political machinations and poorly disguised schmoozing—Of course, I understand your very valid feelings, but we would put limitations on his department to improve public safety across the board, blah blah blah—for nearly half an hour before I was able to spotSierra again and make my escape.
I’m stewing so much about Dawson that it doesn’t even occur to me until we’re nearly home that Sierra is uncharacteristically quiet. She twists her fingers and jiggles her leg.
“You okay?” I ask.
“Yes, just ready to be home,” she says. “I have some energy I need to get out. We should have sex.”
I laugh. “You know I won’t turn that down.”
We’re two steps into the door when Sierra reaches down and possessively palms me over my shorts. Her hand is warm, almost feverish, and my stomach tightens at the sudden contact.
I laugh, breathless. “Sierra. We agreed that we would stop traumatizing Seth and only do it in the bedroom.”
“Then let’s go to the bedroom.”
But she doesn’t stop massaging me, tugging me toward the bedroom like it’s a handle. It’s more aggressive than playful, and I grunt in pain as she pulls too hard. “Careful, baby.”
She doesn’t seem to be listening. She slams my bedroom door behind us, then pushes me back onto the bed. I land with anoofas the mattress dips beneath me. She’s like a tornado, spinning around as she moves through my space. She crawls over me and reaches for the bedside table to retrieve a condom. Then her shorts and panties are gone, and she’s ripping open the condom packet with her teeth.
My shorts and boxers hit the floor next. I snake my hand up between her legs to test her wetness.
“Baby, you’re not ready,” I say as she rolls the condom onto me with shaking hands.
“It’s good enough! Just fuck me, please,” she begs. She’s quivering as she pushes my arms away and tries to mount me.
I sit up and catch her wrists, holding her away from me so I can look her in the eyes. “What’s wrong?”
Sierra stiffens. “What do you mean?”
“Not that I don’t appreciate your enthusiasm, but it seems like you’re just using me to forget about something else.”
