Page 37 of Craving the Player

Chapter Seventeen

Sierra

Voices around me mesh into asymphony of utter misery. My heels click clack on the sidewalk as Imove towards Clare’sSUV like my ass is on fire. Adeep, more dominant voice rambles on and on about something with my father, becoming louder and louder by the second. Iknow Logan is trying to catch up with me, but Ionly move faster.

My hackles are still raised, beyond frustrated with the way Logan touched me during dinner like he had aright to do so. What started off as simple, yet unwelcomed brushes of his foot along my calf soon became firm squeezes of my knee under the table regardless of how far Ihad tried to pull myself away from his wandering hands.

I’ve never been one to love the attention that comes with causing ascene in public. Ibecome far too nervous and self-aware to let multiple strangers watch my every move, judging you from the way you handle yourself to if you spit when you sneer angry, spiteful words. Now add in avery impressionable child to the mix, and Iknew that there was no way that Icould get away with backhanding the son of abitch without risking teaching my niece that that is an appropriate way to act.

Ican’teven remember the last time that Iwas so livid my hands shook and my chest constricted like apython had coiled itself around my ribs, planning on making me its dinner. Logan was supposed to stay rotting in acemetery filled with all of the other figures of my past that had hurt me in some way over the years. I’ve been working so damn hard at moving on with my life, to not see reminders of him in every bottle of rum in my cupboard or picture of London on the wall of my home office.

But of course, it was my own mother that had to pour gasoline all over everything that I’ve accomplished before sending it all up in flames. I’mnot sure why I’meven remotely surprised.

My most prominent childhood memory of her is from Christmas 2005. Ihad just turned ten the week before Christmas, and Clare had promised me that she would no doubt be winning the Best Sister In History award with the combined birthday and Christmas gift she had bought me afew days prior.

Turns out, Clare had saved up all of her babysitting money from the past two summers so that she could buy me the dollhouse that Ihad been begging our parents for for the past three Christmases. My big sister hadn’teven managed to wrap it in christmas paper yet before my mother had forced her to return it, claiming that her and Dad had already bought me one while accusing Clare of trying to become my mother when Ialready had one that loved me just enough.

Iwasn’teven surprised when Iwoke up Christmas morning to find asmall, rectangular shaped wrapped box waiting for me under the tree instead.

“You are never too young to start journaling, Sierra,” she said with afamiliar scowl after Ihad unwrapped aleather-skinned journal and everyone watched my face fall flatter than apancake. It was never mentioned again, not because Mom felt like she did anything wrong, but because her pride couldn’ttake 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 Istarted making money to buy her gifts, we started celebrating Christmas together. Alone. Just the two of us.

Even looking back on it today, Iknow that Iwouldn’twish to change asingle 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!”

Isuck in abreath through my nose before letting it out my mouth. Ignoring my better judgment, Iturn my head to find him waiting afew steps behind me. My parents aren’tbehind him, most likely already in their car, leaving without agoodbye, and Ican hear Clare on the other side of the vehicle, buckling in Liz.

His hands—the ones Iremember being so smooth, not an imperfection in sight, the kind that belong to aman who hasn’tknown alick of manual labour in his life—lay wiggling at his sides, like he isn’tsure what to do with them. I’msure he knows that if he attempts to touch me again he’ll lose them both.

Ican’tfigure out if it’sregret that has his mouth drooping or frustration from the night not going exactly how he wanted it to. Either way, not my problem.

“Iwant to go home, Logan. You shouldn’thave come tonight. You know that, right?”

His foot lifts off the pavement before planting itself back down again. “Imissed you. Idon’tregret coming.”

Inearly laugh. “I’mnot sure you know what regret feels like.”

“Can you stop throwing cheap shots? You’ve already shut me out. Don’tyou think that I’ve suffered enough?”

Ican 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 asharp burst, my hands opening and closing at my sides when they begin to shake. Ifeel like abull 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’sannoyed. With me!

“How’sMaeve, by the way? Does she know that you’ve spent your night with me and my family? Not sure she’dlike that very much.” This time Imeant to throw acheap shot.

He shrugs it off anyway, replying like he never even heard me. “Idon’tknow what you want me to say, Sierra. You already kicked me out and blocked my number when Isaid Iwas sorry! You know it didn’tmean anything. It was an accident.”

“An accident? Ididn’tknow it was possible for apenis to fall inside of avagina accidentally but look at that. You learn something every day!”

Logan groans with aroll of his eyes. “Here we go again. I’mnot sure why Ikeep trying. You’re always so damn dramatic.”

You’re always so dramatic.

Dramatic.

I’mdramatic.

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