The following morning, I'm reminded why I don't drink whiskey anymore.

My head has its own pulse, throbbing relentlessly as I wince from the blinding lights of the hotel window. I grab a pillow and shove it over my face, blocking the sun, but it only seems to stifle my senses more, bringing on a wave of nausea.

Fucking hell.

I wish I had been drunk enough to black out last night, but unfortunately, I remember everything about Connor's attentiveness while I was shitfaced. He was sweet, and the perfect gentleman, and I kicked him out because of a nickname he knows nothing about.

It's not like he used it against me like Brian did. Brian knew what it would do to me when he used it, but Connor had no clue what effect it would have on me when he uttered the nickname. I self-sabotaged myself last night completely, and I can't be mad if the man decides never to speak to me again. I wouldn't. He took care of me, bought me food, practically fed me, and I kicked him out like he was nothing.

What the hell is wrong with me?

Knocks sound off on the hotel room door, and I groan when my head pounds in response, throwing off the comforter and fully prepared to cuss out whoever the hell is on the other side.

But it's Connor in athletic shorts and a hoodie that looks all too cozy, his curls messy and unruly. He's holding food and a drink tray with coffee. "Can I come in?" he asks. The bags under his eyes make me wonder if it was me and my stupid decision to tell him to leave last night that kept him up, and with the guilt that brings, I move to the side, opening up the door wider for him to pass.

I'm still in just one of my t-shirts that barely grazes my upper thighs, and I can only imagine what my hair and makeup look like, but Connor doesn't seem to care about any of that. He sits on the bed, passing me one of the cups in the drink tray. "I didn't know what you'd prefer," he says. "Most girls like a caramel macchiato, so I bought that."

I arch a brow. "Just how many caramel macchiatos have you purchased, Connor?"

He winces. "Okay, that came out wrong. My sister normally gets that, so...yeah. I bought it as a peace offering, and I got an arrangement of things from the bakery next door for you to eat." Holding up the bag, he hands it over to me. "I wanted to apologize again for whatever I said last night to offend you. We slept together in the Maldives, but that didn't mean I had the right to say we would kiss again. You were drunk, saying things you didn't mean, and I let my overly-inflated ego assume—"

"Connor." Taking a long sip of caffeine, I almost moan with delight, but there's a more important task at hand. "You didn't say anything wrong. Knowing you want our next kiss to be special is..." I decide to ponder that later, changing the subject. "I just don't like the nickname Ari, okay? The only person who called me that was my...sister. When you said it, I just...locked up. I don't know. If anyone should be apologizing, it's me. You didn't deserve the way I treated you last night."

His brows crease before they smooth out again. "The only person who called you Ari was your sister? Is she..."

"Respectfully, I don't share it with anyone if I can avoid it."

Connor narrows his eyes in that deciphering way. I can tell he's debating whether to push me, but eventually, he thinks better of it and drops it. "There's some Ibuprofen in that bag as well for you in case you have a headache."

"How early did you get up to create this little care package for me?" I tease, taking a bite out of a powdered donut. The residue clings to my lip, so I swipe my tongue out to get it, Connor's eyes greedily trailing the movement.

"It wasn't a problem. I was up."

Did he sleep at all? Judging from the bags beneath his eyes, I'll take that as a no.

"I appreciate it," I say rather than voice my concerns.

Connor rests back on his elbows, elongating his muscular fucking body, and I wish I could blame alcohol again when the strong desire to climb him like a tree courses through me, but I'm stone-cold sober, and all I want is him. "To clarify, you weren't upset that I said I plan on kissing you again?"

This is the part where I could pretend I don't remember anything from last night. I could tell him that I lied about being attracted to him—that I don't masturbate to the thought of him. But I've never been a liar, and I'm always going to own up to my shit. That's why, with a confident smile, I reply, "No, I'm not upset about anything you said. Are you upset about what I said and did? Or, should I say, attempted to do?"

"That depends." He cocks his head to the side, studying me. "Do you remember everything you said and attempted to do?"

"Clear as day."

"Then, no. I'm not upset at all. I'd prefer it. In fact..." He rises from the bed, towering over me with pure determination. "I believe I told you I'd follow through with whatever you desired when you woke up this morning, and..." He glances around the room with that cocky grin of his. "I'm more than willing to put this bed behind us to good use. The choice is yours."

Fuck. I don't want to be decent in this situation, but he claimed he wanted our next kiss to be special. Granted, it's not like he's saying he wants to date or anything, but a special kiss feels like a version of an attachment, and he'll be highly disappointed if he's expecting that from me.

Then again, this is Connor Holden. I've read up on him since I started working for the team. The gossip magazines snap a photo of him with a new girl weekly in Los Angeles. I don't think attachment is even in his vocabulary, but how he was with me last night... The way he looked at me?

Oh my god. This is how he works, isn't it? Making a girl believe they're the only person in the world, only to crush their heart the following day. I won't be tied up in this, especially when my job is on the line.

He's good. I'll give him that.

Crossing my arms over my chest, I jerk my head to the door. "Nice try, Holden."

He genuinely seems confused, and if I didn't know his reputation, I'd almost believe him. "Nice try?" He asks.

"You're playing the nice guy," I explain. "You walk me back to the hotel, ensure you don't take advantage, and then you bring me coffee and food in the morning with the hopes that you'll get into my pants again."

"I..." He scratches the back of his head. "You think I played you? That last night was...an act?"

"Wasn't it? I'm not an idiot, Connie. I wasn't born yesterday. You've slept with ninety percent of LA."

He jerks back as if my words have upset him. Maybe they have, but he's the one who dug his own grave. Nobody forced him to sleep with those women.

But then he releases a sigh, his shoulders sagging before he says, "I can't say I blame you for assuming I was trying to get into your pants. My track record isn't the greatest, but it wasn't an act. None of it was."

Damn my weak little heart for picking up speed at the slightest things this man says.

"I'm only interested in getting to know you. If sex is on the table, I'm thrilled. If it's not, I'm still going to pursue you."

Why? I want to scream. He could have anyone he wanted. Why does he keep trying with a girl who is not worth a second of his time? Doesn't he see the way people react to me? To my scar? To the fucking gash down my face? The question is right there on the tip of my tongue. One word could give me the answer I've been desperate to know for so many years, but I can't bring myself to ask it. Not when his answer terrifies me more than the question.

Because if the person I spent time with last night was the real Connor, I would be in more danger than I thought. If he genuinely is interested in exploring this, he'll be in for a rude awakening when he realizes I can't get attached to anyone. I won't allow myself the happiness.

Playing it off instead, I analyze my fingernails nonchalantly. "It'll take much more than whispering sweet nothings to get me to cave."

That damn grin with the dimples comes out. "So, you're saying I have a chance?"

"Oh my god!" I laugh, grabbing a pillow to chuck at him. He dodges it, darting to the side so the object can hit the dresser instead. "You have a comeback for everything, don't you? Get out. It's not going to happen."

"That's where you're wrong, though." He leans over to grab the pillow, closing the distance between us so he can set it back on the bed. We're so close our chests are almost touching. "I can be very persuasive, Aria. I'm not giving up just yet."

"Well, you should."

"Well, I'm not. Besides, how would you survive the next two years without my witty comebacks if I gave up?"

"I wouldn't call them witty..."

"Then what would you call them?"

My lips twitch, threatening a smile. "Doofus-ey."

"Doofus-ey?" He repeats. "Oh my god, is that even a word?" Grabbing the pillow, he hits me with it this time, and I erupt into a fit of giggles. Memories from last night flood my memory when I giggled the same way and he said, Fuck, your laugh is perfect.

It's almost like he's remembering it, too, when his smile and eyes soften. "You love my doofus-ey comments."

My smile fades into one of amusement. "Is that what you think?"

"It's what I know."

"Mmm."

The chemistry between us is too palpable. It's an electric charge racing the mere foot of distance between our bodies, attracting like fire and gasoline. It's an effort to pull away from him, but I finally take a significant step back, sending him the hint that it's time to leave. Our flight leaves soon anyway to go back home. I need to get ready and pack.

"One last parting doofus-ey comment before I go?"

I think it'd be impossible to wipe the smile off my face. "What, Connor?"

Glancing down at the t-shirt I'm wearing, my skin prickles from the heat of his stare before he lifts his eyes to mine again and says, "After I buy us a house, I can't wait to see you like this every morning for the rest of our lives."

Author's Note:

I'M SUCH A SIMP FOR THIS MAN.

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I updated a little early because I'll be on a flight all day tomorrow and won't be able to update!

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