Page 56 of Blue Collar Hotties

He stops the truck in the middle of the road, not caring about whom he may block. “Becausewhy?Talk to me, Sawyer.”

“I don’t want to talk. I don’t want…” It hurts to swallow, my fingers going up to brush the swollen lymph nodes that remind me why I have to do this. “I didn’t want feelings or complications. That’s why I wanted this. That’s why I wantedyou.” My voice breaks on the last word, and I hope he chalks it up to anger and nothing more—not the lie that it tastes like.

“If you didn’t want conversations or feelings, then maybe you should have entertained Dawson when you had the chance,” he replies coolly.

“Maybe I should have,” I agree emptily, my eyes going back to the window. “It would have been easier than this.”

“You would have been miserable.”

Aren’t I miserable now?

“Misery loves company,” I answer.

“And Dixie? What about her?”

I never would have intentionally hurt her, which is why Dawson was never an option. Even if he was the easiest one. He could have offered me the mindless fun I needed because I would have never fallen. If Dixie wasn’t a part of my life, maybe Iwouldhave thought of him as a choice.

Banks doesn’t need to know any of that.

“None of that matters, does it?” I say.

You don’t matteris what he hears.

He tries to talk. To argue.

But I shut down.

Shut him out.

My hand rests under my jaw, the swollen lymph nodes pressing on my throat.

In my head, I hear the clock.

Tick tock, tick tock, tick tock.

It’s better this way.

For him.

Only him.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Sawyer

Examining herself in the little compact mirror, Dixie runs her finger along the bottom edge of her lip and turns to me as the Uber rolls to a stop in front of the busy house. “Do I have any lipstick on my teeth?”

I shake my head, having to force myself to really look. It took everything in me to still come out tonight when my physical and mental energy was spent. “You’re good.”

We get out of the car, saying our goodbyes to the woman who may have been judging us for the obvious party going on, and straighten our outfits. Dixie took hours figuring out the perfect look, which makes me think she either really likes Miles or really wants Dawson—who I’m not even sure will be here—to regret his choice. I don’t know the last time I saw her leave a cardigan behind, but tonight she’s wearing a short denim skirt that I’m pretty sure she bought specifically for the party, a tight long-sleeved shirt that she borrowed from my closet and looks way better with her boobs, and heeled boots that make her look taller than she is.

“You look hot,” I admire, giving her an impressed once-over. Compared to her, I look as frumpy as I feel. Even though I attempted to put effort into the braided hairstyle and makeup, I can still see the bags under my eyes from the string of nightmares that had me up at three in the morning. It’s always the same one, with my mother looking through me and relaying the same message, and I find myself reacting the same whenever I’m woken from it.

My jeans and sweatshirt are a far cry from the clothes Dixie’s wearing, which I knew must have looked rough when she asked if I wanted to borrow something the second I showed up to her dorm holding the shirt she wanted from me.

But I don’t care how I look.

I don’t want to impress anybody.