Excuse me?
“I don’t need what?”
“Me,” he says bluntly.
The word hits harder than I expect.
“You don’t even know me,” I shoot back.
“Exactly.”
He looks at me like he’s fighting himself.
“You’re a good little girl, Sunshine. And I’m not meant for good little girls.”
The way he says my name makes my stomach flip.
For half a second, I think he’s going to close the distance again.
Instead, he takes another step back.
Puts actual space between us.
“You deserve better than some guy passing through town,” he says quietly. “I’m not here to wreck anything.”
The implication stings.
“You think I’m that fragile?”
“No.” His eyes soften. “I think you’re not like the women I usually meet.”
And that’s supposed to make me feel better?
“You mean the models? The perfect, thin pop stars who shine brighter than neon? No shit, I’m not like them,” I snap, sharper than I intend.
His jaw tightens.
“That’s not what I meant.”
“It’s fine. I get it. That’s your world, right?”
Silence.
And in that silence, I realize something uncomfortable.
He’s pushing me away because even if he wants to amuse himself with a little one night stand, I’m just too small town for him.
And that stings.
“You don’t even know me,” I repeat before I can stop myself.
That makes his mouth go hard.
“Goodnight, Hilary,” he says finally.
And he says it carefully.
Like I’m something breakable.