Page 142 of Empire State Enemies

“Holy shit,” I exhale, leaning back against the tub, completely spent. “Looks like we’ll have to make baths our thing.”

Lexi

His offhand comments send my heart into a fluttery mess. I need to be careful not to read too much into this. But it’s hard when he talks like that. He’s not playing fair.

His head falls back against the tub, water trailing down his muscular chest. His eyes, half-closed and full of lust, lift to mine under those thick lashes as he fixes me with that infuriating smirk. Like a king in his tub, casually claiming ownership over my hips with those hands.

My stomach does a little somersault, even as my brain tries to blare alarm bells. This is just a temporary escape, a way to fuck our problems away.

But then, those thumbs of his start doing this maddening dance on my hip bones, and thinking rationally becomes difficult.

“You’re thinking too hard,” he grumbles, voice rough and deep.

I’m not thinking enough, I counter in my head as I lower myself onto his muscular body.

???

We stand shoulder to shoulder at his double sinks, gaze catching in the expansive mirror.

Well, more accurately, my shoulder is barely reaching his bicep, and my head comes just about to his shoulder.

It feels oddly intimate, sharing this private morning ritual.

Connor even busted out a swanky new electric toothbrush for me, still in its packaging.

He winks at my reflection with a mouth full of froth, as if standing here buck-naked brushing teeth together is the most natural thing ever. But my pulse insists it feels strangely significant.

Connor spits and gargles with an unselfconscious swagger, like we do this every day. He leans across me—invading my personal space—to grab his very manly deodorant. Which he proceeds to generously apply while making unbroken eye contact in the mirror, like a cocky Gillette commercial model.

“There’s female toiletries under your sink,” he drops casually,

I make a face before I can stop myself. Of course he has a stockpile of random women’s toiletries.

He catches my look in the mirror. “Relax. My housekeeper stocks them. Teagan’s often here.”

“You don’t need to explain,” I say, trying to sound cool and detached.

“Coulda fooled me.”

Then he presses a casual kiss to my temple before sauntering out, leaving me standing there feeling confused as hell.

“It doesn’t mean anything,” I mutter at the flushed woman in the mirror. She’s not convinced.

And if I’m honest, neither am I.

THIRTY-EIGHT

Lexi

I almost wish Connor let me do the walk of shame, instead of insisting on drive me home.

We’ve been sitting in awkward silence for twenty minutes, as if both of us suddenly forgot how to use words now that our rendezvous is coming to an end.

At this point, tuck and rolling from the moving sports car seems less painful than navigating whatever this post-hookup awkwardness is supposed to be.

The air’s thick enough to slice through with things left unsaid. I’ve got the windows down, hoping the city noise might drown out the tension, but Connor’s presence is just too overpowering. It’s like I can’t breathe.

Maybe it’s just a hangover making everything seem worse. That must be why I’m so on edge.