Page 97 of Trailer Trash

I find Killian in the living room, texting on his phone again.

“Hi,” I say meekly and sit down.

He looks at me from under his brow, as if he’s waiting for me to say something.

“Did you have a good shower?” I ask.

Why that question, Harlow? I am so dumb at this.

“Yeah,” he replies.

I fidget.

Okay. He was definitely just horny. He isn’t helping me out here. Come on, Killian. Talk about it. He doesn’t have to say date, but after what we just did, it’s the perfect time—

“You don’t fake orgasms, do you?” he asks.

“What?” I gasp. “No!”

“I didn’t think so. If you wanna fool around — whenever — we can.”

There it is. It was a hookup.

“Thanks,” I reply effortlessly, but inside, I’m breaking apart.

He says nothing else the whole freaking night.

Yep, it’s done. It’s over. Back to the weirdness post-sex. Back to him being quiet and distant. I don’t understand why. Killian isn’t shy. If he wanted more, he certainly isn’t flirting like he normally would.

Ugh.

The following weeks are the same. Another month passes and July arrives. It has been two months since Killian and I first slept together.

“Why are you more tired lately?” I ask.

His eyebrows lift. “I have a job.”

“You do? When did you get a job?”

“A couple of months ago.”

“Oh.” I’m stunned. He didn’t tell me. “What do you do?”

“I teach people to dance.”

“Dance. Really? Oh, wow. Why did you get a job?” I press.

“Felt like it,” he answers dismissively.

“Can I come see you?”

That makes him pause, and his eyes brighten. “I’d love that.”

“Okay. Friday at my lunchtime work?”

He nods, but the moment of excitement fades, and he talks about other stuff. I sit back, wondering if I am not supposed to ask certain questions anymore. He doesn’t seem upset, nor interested in opening up more about something important like work. Heck, he didn’t tell me he had a job for the last two months!

He’s totally fine about everything.