Page 4 of Anti-Hero (Kensingtons: The Next Generation #2)

It’s no longer relaxed and peaceful inside the suite. The quiet is charged. Vibrating with an invisible awareness that’s not new, but is a lot more noticeable now that we’re alone.

“Are you naked under that?” he asks without glancing my way .

I tighten the knot on the robe before shutting the door. “ No .”

He doesn’t argue, but I can hear him calling me a liar in his head.

I follow Kit into the bedroom silently, watching him shrug out of his suit jacket and toss it carelessly before strolling over toward the windows that overlook the ocean. He stares at the sea for a few seconds before yanking the linen curtains closed.

I clear my throat. “The party must still be going on.”

“It is,” Kit confirms, retracing his steps back to me. “I left my wallet up here.”

I blurt the first thought that pops into my head. A snarky, “Trying to max out your credit card before midnight?”

I’m often irritated around Kit Kensington, and it messes with my normal filter for polite comments.

The left corner of his mouth lifts. “Monty, I could buy everything in this hotel tonight— including this hotel—and it wouldn’t max out my credit card.”

I scoff at his typical arrogance, even though I know he’s technically right.

“If you must know my financial intentions, I wanted some cash to tip the servers.” He plucks a leather wallet off the dresser and slips it into his pants pocket.

This is the infuriating thing about Kit.

Ninety-five percent of the time, he’s ridiculous and reckless and self-serving.

But then, when I think it’s safe to always assume the worst about him, I get a glimpse of the remaining five percent.

He told me Lili was the one who arranged a private car to drive me home after the Fourth of July party.

Except, the following day, Lili texted me to make sure I’d made it home okay.

I guess it was Kit’s way of apologizing for the dumb hot-dog argument we had gotten into .

Most of the guests downstairs are incredibly wealthy. But when I ordered my champagne earlier, the bartender’s tip jar was empty. I stuffed a ten in—the sad total of emergency cash shoved in my clutch.

I dislike Considerate Kit a lot more than Obnoxious Kit. Because I’ve never noticed how thick Obnoxious Kit’s hair was or how blue his eyes were. Or when I have, the awareness was easier to ignore.

“What color was your dress?”

I blink rapidly at the sudden and random subject change. It’s almost like he’s … offering me an out for misjudging him rather than expecting an apology.

“Uh, it was called pewter.”

“Damn it. I’d decided on blue.”

What?

I frown. “Are you drunk?”

“No, but good idea.” He walks over to the armoire that takes up most of the wall next to the mounted flat screen, rolling his sleeves up. “What do you want?”

“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 be rich.”

“You are rich,” 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 you don’t want 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.

I did know 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 for limes 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 would love to do tequila shots with you, Kit!”

“None of those two hundred people are you ,” 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— charming that 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 who doesn’t seek 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’s one thing 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?”

I startle, nearly banging my head on the edge of the counter as my chin jerks up violently.

“Looking for the hair dryer,” I say in as dignified of a tone as I can muster while crouched on tiles in a fluffy robe.

“Come do a shot with me, and then I’ll help you look for it.”

Kit disappears without waiting for a reply.

I sigh, stand, and leave the bathroom. I’ve searched everywhere else. The hair dryer must be in the armoire.

Kit grins wide when he realizes I followed.

And unfortunately, it’s the smile of his that I appreciate.

The boyish, genuine one that appears when he’s teasing Lili about her shoe obsession or calling his brother, Bash, a nerd for getting straight As.

Not the slick billionaire smirk that’s used as currency to receive whatever he wants.

He holds out a glass, containing an inch of liquid with a lime wedge perched on the salted rim. “Cheers.”

“Cheers,” I echo as I take it. “And … thanks.”

I’m being ungrateful, I know. He didn’t have to offer up his room or make me a drink. Beneath the shameless flirting and outlandish actions, he’s a decent guy.

“Gratitude from Monty?” Kit claps his hand to his heart in mock shock. “Is the end of the world tomorrow or not until next week?”

A decent, often annoying guy.

I scoff and take a seat, cross-legged, on the edge of the mattress. It’s the most comfortable surface my butt has ever touched. As soon as I can afford indulgences, I’ll be buying whatever brand this bed is.

Kit settles next to me, lounging back on one palm and balancing his drink on his knee with the other. I’m uncomfortably aware of each inch separating us. Of how low that total number is.

Of how removed the world outside this room feels.

Of how alone we are.

He sips his drink, then asks, “Where’s your boyfriend?”

“Chicago.” I swallow a smoky sip too. “And he’s not my boyfriend anymore.”

I’m not sure why I admitted that to him. I should have just said, None of your business .

Kit was already an incorrigible playboy at sixteen. By the time he left Montgomery Hall after dropping Lili off with his family, every girl in the freshman dorm—excluding me—was in love with him.

Each time I’ve seen him since, he’s hit on me, regardless of whether or not I was in a relationship. Meaning my single status doesn’t really matter, I suppose, but it’s definitely not going to discourage him.

“So, you’re single?”

“Yes.”

“Same.”

I down more drink.

“Aren’t you going to ask me why? Since I’m so attractive and charismatic and?—”

“No, I get it. Women appreciate modesty, so you’re immediately disqualified.”

Kit chuckles. “What happened with your ex?”

I flip through possible replies. And for some reason, I settle on the truth.

“He cheated on me. With my boss and with who knows how many others. All of his—who I thought were our —friends knew. So, he did the shitty thing, but I’m the one who wound up without a relationship, an apartment, or a job. All I got were a lot of pitying texts.”

“What an asshole.”

“Yep.”

That might be the first thing Kit Kensington and I have ever agreed on.

“I knew you had terrible taste in guys,” he tells me.

I scowl. “I do not.”

“Yeah, you do. Exhibit A: your cheating ex. Exhibit B: you always turn me down. Exhibit C: that Remi idiot you brought to Lili’s graduation party. ”

Remi was underwhelming, but I’m not going to inflate Kit’s ego by agreeing with him again. I’m surprised he remembered Remi’s name; Lili’s graduation party was a couple of summers ago.

“This isn’t a court of law. And one of those examples is not like the others.”

Kit nods. “Exactly. I’m not an asshole or an idiot.”

“You can be,” I counter.

“Maybe I grew up, Monty.”