Page 39 of Anti-Hero (Kensingtons: The Next Generation #2)

M y heart trips in my chest when he steps out of the driver’s seat.

A ridiculous reaction, which is how I wound up needing to use an elastic hair tie to close my jeans this morning.

If I’d never started working for him—if I hadn’t wound up pregnant—I probably would have convinced myself that night in the Hamptons was simple lust. But Kit has depth.

He’s just selective about when he shows it.

Or maybe I never looked hard enough. Maybe I subconsciously knew, if I did, I’d wind up in love with him.

Falling is an accurate verb. It’s a loss of control. Walking into water, deeper than your feet can touch.

“Hey, Monty,” Kit greets casually.

My, “Hey,” comes out breathless, and it has nothing to do with the flights of stairs I just hustled down.

Ever since our conversation on the steps behind me, I can’t be around him—can’t even think about him—without my body reacting. It’s like he lit the end of a fuse. A very long fuse that’s going to take three more weeks to burn.

Even more frustrating, Kit appears unaffected. All week at work, he acted completely normal, like our conversation never happened.

Which might have factored into my decision to wear a V-neck shirt today that shows off the fact that my boobs are twice their former size.

“Ready for our road trip?” he asks, flashing that billion-dollar smile my way.

“I don’t think a two-hour drive really constitutes a road trip,” I say dryly, setting my suitcase on the curb.

Kit frowns, glancing between the luggage and my building. “Does your building have an elevator?”

“Yes,” I lie, reaching for a strand that’s come loose from my bun.

He lifts a knowing eyebrow, and my hand immediately falls to my side. My cheeks warm as I recall the last time he called me out on doing the same thing.

I sigh. “No, it doesn’t. My bag isn’t that heavy, and cardio is good for you.”

“Let me help sometimes, Collins. It’s good for my fragile male ego.”

At that, I scoff. “A hurricane couldn’t wreck your self-confidence, Kensington. ”

He tilts his head. “Thank you?”

I smile. “I’ll use the elevator at your place, okay?”

Not like I’ll have a choice since his unit is the penthouse.

“Does that mean you talked to your landlord?”

“Yes,” I say as I climb in the front seat, pulling my hands out of my pockets and holding them in front of the vents.

This is a different car from the one Kit drove me home in before. Just as sleek and luxurious, but a little roomier. I don’t know enough about automobiles to recognize the logo on the steering wheel, but my guess is, it’s European and expensive.

“And?” Kit settles in his seat, clicking his seat belt into place.

“He’s already found a new tenant.”

Which is ideal because it means I won’t be penalized for breaking my lease. But also nerve-racking because I no longer have an alternate living option. Moving in with Kit is happening.

“I have to be out by January 4,” I add.

I start my new job on January 3, so it’s going to be a hectic start to the year. At least there’s not much to move. I haven’t had the energy to decorate my apartment, and I only bothered bringing the bare necessities from Chicago to begin with.

“Did he give you any problems with the lease?”

“No.”

Kit nods. “Good.” He shifts the gear into drive, then adds, “You look nice.”

I’m completely caught off guard by the compliment. I haven’t even taken my parka off yet. “Thanks. So do you.”

It’s the first time I’ve seen him out of a suit since Halloween. And while he wears them exceptionally well, I prefer this sweater-wearing, stubbled version. He seems more mortal. Touchable .

“You’re making me blush, Monty,” he teases.

I shake my head, dropping my warmed hands into my lap. “Did you see that James Dennis emailed this morning about changing?—”

“What happened to nothing professional on the weekends?” Kit interrupts.

“It’s time sensitive.”

“Forget about it, Collins. It can wait until Monday.”

“Fine.” I fiddle with my zipper, staring out the windshield as he navigates through my neighborhood.

“You nervous?”

“A little,” I admit. “I know you’ve met them before, but this is different.”

I’ve only spoken to my mom once since Thanksgiving—to run this visit by her. I haven’t talked to my dad at all. And Jane has been quieter than usual, busy with finals. She has one tonight. She’s going to try to stop by our parents’ after, but she won’t be there for dinner.

“It’s gonna go great.” Kit’s voice is pure confidence, and I relax into it, like slipping into a warm bath.

“Have you thought about when you’re going to tell your family?” I ask.

“I was thinking after the holidays. Lili will be back home … unless you wanted to tell her?”

I shake my head as I slip off my coat. I’ll say this for his fancy car: the heat works really well in it. “She’s your sister. You should tell her.”

I don’t think Lili’s absence is the only reason Kit’s waiting. Telling his father, who’s technically his boss, that his former assistant is pregnant sounds slightly better than announcing he knocked up his current one.

“Bash knows. I told him when he was home for Thanksgiving. ”

“How did he react?” I can’t tell based on Kit’s cavalier tone.

“He’s stoked.”

“ Really ?”

The few times I’ve been around Bash, he’s acted polite and reserved. I can’t picture him and stoked in the same room together.

“Really.” He glances at me and grins. “He thinks it’ll mean a get out of jail free card on any future indiscretions.”

“Like a sorry I crashed the Benz, but remember Kit knocked up his assistant kind of thing?”

Kit chuckles. “Yeah, exactly. I don’t know what he’s worried about though. Bash has always been an angel compared to me.”

I smile. “Does that mean you’re a devil?”

“Baby, I’ll be whatever you want me to be,” he drawls.

A full acrobatic routine is taking place in my chest right now. I clear my throat in an attempt to regain some composure. “Calling me baby isn’t very professional.”

He glances at my chest before refocusing on the road ahead. “Neither’s that top.”

It’s raining when we reach New Haven. The town looks dreary and gray and damp. Same with the street I grew up on, the branches of the few trees that line it bare and brown.

“It’s that one.” I point. “With the yellow door.”

Kit nods, then pulls into the correct driveway.

I stare at the split-level, trying to view it from a stranger’s perspective.

I’ve never been to Kit’s parents’ home, only their summer place. The house I grew up in could comfortably fit in the foyer of that mansion .

And I’m suddenly very aware of the fact that we always interact in his world.

I’ve attended events Lili invited me to, hosted at their family’s homes.

The party in the Hamptons I was so uncomfortable at was typical for him.

Despite his confession in the elevator, Kit always appears completely at ease in the skyscraper that houses Kensington Consolidated’s corporate headquarters.

We went to his favorite restaurant. Met at his penthouse.

The closest we’ve come to my world, until now, was sitting on my apartment steps.

We’re different. And that’s not a bad thing, but it’s noticeable .

Especially right now.

“Still sure you don’t want a hotel room?” I check.

Two bedrooms don’t allow for a lot of guest space. And since my parents know we’re not a couple, sharing a bed seems strange.

I offered to take the couch, and Kit said, “Absolutely not,” in a tone that brooked no argument. He also turned down sleeping elsewhere.

He just laughs now, climbing out of the car and stretching. His sweater rides up a few inches, flashing a strip of firm muscle, and I quickly open my door to counteract the immediate heat flash with some December air.

It’s for the best that I’m unable to drink. I need full control of my faculties. All the pregnancy books I’ve read mentioned an increased sex drive being common in the second trimester.

I thought they were exaggerating.

They weren’t.

“You’re here!” My mom is rushing down the front walk, her cheeks rosy from the cold.

I smile as I step out of the car, pulling my hood up and over my hair. “Hi, Mom,” I greet, giving her a hug.

“How are you feeling?” she asks as soon as we separate .

“Good. No more nausea.”

“That’s great.” She smiles, then glances at Kit, who’s appeared on my left.

He holds out a hand. “It’s very nice to see you again, Professor Tate. Thank you for inviting me.”

“Amanda. Please, call me Amanda.” My mom glances at me quickly before shaking Kit’s hand. I don’t think the color in her cheeks is entirely from the cold anymore.

“Hello, Kit.” My dad’s appeared, umbrella in hand, holding a palm out to him.

I watch them shake hands, chewing the inside of my cheek anxiously. My relationship with my dad might be messy right now, but he’s still my dad. I want him to like Kit.

“Good to see you, Professor Tate,” Kit greets politely.

My dad harrumphs in response. If I didn’t know their personalities, I’d think my parents had designated good cop and bad cop roles before we arrived.

He glances at me next. “Hello, Collins.”

“Hi, Dad,” I reply.

Kit looks over, a small furrow forming between his eyes as my cool tone registers.

“Let’s head inside before we’re all soaked,” Mom says, filling the lingering pause.

“Go ahead,” Kit tells me. “I’ll grab the stuff from the car.”

I open my mouth to argue, then remember what he said earlier. I close my mouth and nod.

Kit smiles, like he knows what I was thinking.

I follow Mom up the brick path. My dad lingers by the car with Kit.

From the strain of their conversation I catch before exiting earshot, it sounds like my dad is asking Kit a question about the vehicle.

What question that might be I have no clue.

My dad has driven the same station wagon since he was in grad school.

My parents’ house might be small and shabby, but it’s cozy. Stepping inside is an immediate relief, warm, dry air chasing away the chilly dampness outside.