Page 12 of Connor

Vic yawned, stretching again. “Ah, right. You got all those new people to meet now.”

“Yeah,” I mumbled, staring down at my phone. It wasn’t Connor. Of course it wasn’t. I should stop waiting for something that is never going to come.

Vic stood up to grab another slice of pizza. “Alright, I’m wiped. You gonna be up much longer?”

I shook my head. “Nah, I’ll probably turn in soon.”

“Cool. Thanks for letting me crash.”

I smiled, though it felt a little forced. “Anytime.”

He ruffled my hair on his way to the couch, and I let him, too tired to protest.

As he settled in, I grabbed my phone, checking the message in the privacy of my bedroom. It wasn’t Connor. But it didn’t stop me from staring at my screen, wondering what he was doing. Wondering if he ever stared at his phone, wondering about me.

Chapter 3

Connor

The blonde was still in my bed when I rolled out of it.

I barely remembered her name. Mandy? Mindy? Something with an M. Didn’t matter. I shoved my hands in my pockets, wincing at the dull throb behind my eyes. My mouth was dry as hell, tasting like whiskey and regret, but mostly whiskey.

"Morning," she murmured, stretching out in my sheets, her lips curling into a lazy smile. She reached for me, bare legs tangled in my comforter. "Come back to bed."

I scoffed, bending down to snatch her bra off the floor. "Yeah, that’s not happening."

Her smile faltered. "What?"

"Get up. I gotta go." I tossed her bra onto the bed, then grabbed the rest of her clothes, throwing them at her one by one. A dress. A single high heel. A scrap of lace that barely counted as underwear.

She blinked, clearly not used to this routine. "Wait—are you serious?"

I shot her a look. "Do I look like I’m joking?"

The answer was obvious. I wasn’t in the mood to play nice. I was late. Again. And the last thing I needed was some girl making this morning harder than it already was. I put on the first pair of jeans I could find, a wrinkled T-shirt next, barely bothering to check if it was clean. Didn’t have time for that. Didn’t have time for a shower either, even though I probably smelled like sweat, sex, and bad decisions.

She finally sat up, huffing as she pulled her dress over her head. "Wow. Charming."

I ignored her, grabbing my keys off the dresser.

"You’re an asshole," she snapped, slipping on her heels.

I smirked, holding the door open. "And you’re still here."

Her eyes narrowed, but she didn’t argue. She grabbed her bag and stormed past me, the sharp click of her heels against my hardwood floor the only sound as she slammed the door behind her.

I sighed, running a hand down my face.

Late. Again.

***

Traffic was a bitch.

I drummed my fingers against the steering wheel, my jaw tight, my head pounding. The clock on the dash mocked me, the red numbers glaring.

11:14.

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