Page 9

Story: Anti-Hero

“Solitude.”
Kit cracks a grin as he crouches and opens the mini fridge. “You’d kick me out of my own hotel room?”
“No.” I sigh. “I’m the one leaving.”
Except … my only outfit is a soggy heap. Rinsing it was a mistake. I can’t wear it anywhere now, and I can’t walk through the lobby of this fancy hotel in one of its fluffy robes.
“C’mon, Collins.” Kit is pulling out an assortment of bottles. “Have a drink with me. I don’t bartend for just anyone.”
“I’m not having sex with you,” I state.
He shakes his head once. “If I had a dollar for every time you said that to me, I’d berich.”
“Youarerich,” I remind him.
He unscrews the lid off one of the bottles. “Never asked you to have sex with me, Collins.”
“Ri-ght,” I drawl. “I’m sure you only offer drinks to women in your hotel room who youdon’twant to sleep with.”
“We both know I want to fuck you. Doesn’t mean I expect it’ll happen.”
I want to fuck you. Those five words leap out in Technicolor, everything else remaining black and white.
Ididknow that.
So, I really resent the frisson of heat surging through me, as if that blunt confession contained new or interesting information. I blame the fact that we’re alone and there’s a bed in the room.
“Great. Glad we’re on the same page,” I say. “No sex and no drinks.”
Kit splashes some alcohol into a glass. “I’ll pay you five thousand dollars to have a drink with me.”
I snort and head back into the bathroom. Obnoxious Kit is back.
“Tequila it is,” Kit says cheerfully, like my departure was an enthusiastic agreement. A minute later, I hear, “Hi. Yes. I’d like some limes and salt delivered to the Seashore Suite, please.”
He called the front desk forlimes and salt. Unbelievable. Hopefully, they’ll get lost, looking for the wrong room.
I start searching through the drawers beneath the sink for a hair dryer. This suite has everything else, so there must be one located somewhere.
“You’d really make me drink alone, Monty?”
I continue upending tiny bottles of shampoo. “There are two hundred people downstairs who wouldloveto do tequila shots withyou, Kit!”
“None of those two hundred people areyou,” he calls back.
I grind my molars.
That’s Kit’s allure. In the years I’ve known him, I’ve never seen him denied anything.
He’s a lethal combination of rich and handsome and—fine—charmingthat people admire instead of resent. Rather than receive less because of all those advantages, he’s handed more. He gets bored by it. So, since I’m the rare exception whodoesn’tseek out his approval, he’s fixated on me as a personal challenge. Seeking the thrill of the chase.
A couple of minutes later, there’s a knock on the door. I listen to Kit joke and laugh with the hotel employee delivering the drink ingredients, shaking my head the entire time.
If there’sonething I admire—maybe even envy—about Kit Kensington, it’s his unerring ability to put people at ease. He makes friends effortlessly, anywhere he goes, whereas I have a small social circle that keeps shrinking.
Kit would be an excellent person to ask for assistance with employment. There’s not a person who wouldn’t fall over themselves to do him a favor. But I can’t stomach asking for his help. I’d never hear the end of it, and who knows what he’d ask for in exchange?
“What the hell are you doing?”

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