Page 143 of Empire State Enemies

I sneak a glance at Connor gripping the wheel. His hardened jaw makes me think he regrets not keeping this a simple “thanks and goodbye” at the door.

My steamy tooth brushing with Connor somehow turned into breakfast which then spiraled into even more sex. I’ve set a new personal record for the filthiest night of my life.

I’m pretty sure my vagina has stretched to twice the size. It may never be the same again, but hey, at least it got to live its best life for one night.

Meanwhile, Gracie has been blowing up my phone with all sorts of apartment-related nonsense—Wi-Fi codes, the mystical whereabouts of the fuse box, the grand quest for towels, the works. Maybe solo time will toughen her up.

I try taming disastrous sex bed-hair in the visor mirror. He had all the toiletries a girl could want, except for the most crucial, given the circumstances: makeup.

“What’s the matter?” he asks, shattering twelve blocks’ worth of awkward silence. His voice sets my nerves jangling for some reason now. I need to get it the fuck together.

“I don’t have my face on,” I grumble, feeling pale and sallow without my trusty mascara and foundation. My eyes are giving off strong raisin vibes.

“Then whose face you got on now?” he quips, a question so ludicrous it demands an eye roll.

“Ha ha, so clever.” I roll my eyes. “I know you date supermodels who wake up camera-ready.”

“You’re beautiful as you are, Lexi.” To emphasize apparently, his hand wanders to my knee, squeezing.

“Both hands on the wheel, please, Speed Racer.” I swat him away playfully.

We roll to a stop outside my building. “Thanks for the ride,” I sigh out.

I got a glimpse behind that swaggering facade. Connor can be caring and passionate when walls are down.

A horrible part of me is relieved that there’s an explanation for his abrasive behavior before. His diagnosis makes it less about him being an outright asshole. It’s more complex than that. He didn’t just shove me out the door post-hookup because he’s uncaring.

“I enjoyed the company, Lexi,” Connor murmurs.

“I had fun too.” I smile back, ignoring the riot of butterflies doing acrobatics in my stomach. “You know you can open up to me . . . about everything you’re dealing with . . .” I add bravely. “I really think you should talk to your family too. You need them right now.”

Connor’s face might as well be carved from marble for all the warmth it shows, making my heart sink.

Message received, Fort Knox.

He looks away, jaw locked in resolution. Clears his throat gravelly. “I gotta run. Killian’s expecting me in thirty.”

I force breeziness I don’t feel, gathering my things. “Of course, no problem. Have a good one.”

I move to leave when his voice snags me back. “Lexi—”

I pause, turning to face him.

“Thank you,” he says gruffly.

He reaches out, brushing his knuckles along my cheek in a brief yet tender caress.Almost like he forgets himself for a moment. It says more than words could, hinting at a connection far beyond casual.

Just as quickly, his eyes shutter. Moment broken. With a gruff nod, he looks away. “See you around.”

Connor

Monday morning hits like a heavyweight punch as Killian barges into my office, no knock, no warning, slamming downThe Enquirerthat features Willow and her waterworks.

So much for that serene weekend comedown.

Three pages of Willow weeping about how “Connor heartlessly shattered me,” while a few pages later, her fathermounts his soapbox to decry “unscrupulous businessmen who prey on young women for sport.”

He makes no explicit accusations, but they might as well have included my photo with a bullseye superimposed on my forehead.