Page 13 of All Bets Are Off

My blood immediately turns to ice. I see the anguish in his eyes and I know exactly what he is referring to, but my head spins, because he can’t know . . . No one knows. “You know what, Connor?” I challenge.

“I know what happened between you two.”

My lips part in shock. The entire world stands still for several seconds as I register the words he’s just dared to say out loud, and I realize my deepest, darkest secret isn’t actually a secret at all. My heart pounds inside my ribcage, creating an ache in my chest. I have never prepared myself for how to react if this moment ever happened, never considered a response except deny, deny, deny.

“Have you had too much to drink?” I say with another croak of forced laughter. Sweat beads along my forehead and all I want to do is run away from him, so that’s exactly what I do. Without another word, I teeter off across the glossy tiles as the casino blurs around me.

“Addy,” Connor says in a low, desperate voice from right behind me, his steps keeping up with mine as a soft hand slips gently around my wrist. He tugs me to a stop and circles back in front of me, forcing me to look at him, and I’m not sure which of us is more terrified. “You can tell me the truth.”

“Connor,” I whisper, eyes locked with his as I give him a tiny, pleading shake of my head. “Please don’t do this. Please don’t talk about it. Please just . . . Just don’t.”

This can’t be happening. Why, why, did Connor have to open his mouth and say something? It’s my bachelorette weekend and I’m trying my damn hardest to be happy. This is supposed to be the most important chapter of my life—now is not the time for anyone to get involved in my private affairs, let alone him of all people.

Connor’s expression twists with torment as his gaze dips to his hand around my wrist. Delicately, he brushes his thumb over my skin, and my entire body ignites with goosebumps. “You don’t need to keep secrets around me, Addy. It’s me, and you know I always want the best for you.”

“And Liam isn’t the best for me?” I snap defensively, gritting my teeth.

“You already know the answer to that,” Connor says, cocking his head to the side with a pitying frown, “and if you say otherwise, you’re lying to yourself.”

“Oh, Addy! There you are!” I hear Melissa call, and I yank my wrist free of Connor’s hold before she can get close enough to register our heated exchange. “I just cashed out on four hundred bucks! I’m going to try my luck on some other machines. Are you joining?”

“Yes, I’m joining!” I say cheerfully, forcing a radiant smile upon my face, despite the ringing in my ears and the fire beneath my skin and the racing of my pulses. “Bye, Connor. Have fun at the roulette table!”

I link my arm around Melissa’s and begin to walk with her toward the slot machines with inexpressible gratitude for her interruption, but I am yet to feel any sliver of relief. Connor has just opened Pandora’s box—and I fear if I don’t do something about it quick, there’ll be no sealing it shut.

I glance back over my shoulder at him as I walk away. He remains exactly where I left him, rooted to the spot, hands stuffed in the pockets of his jeans with a devastated look on his tanned face and his mouth a grimace. Mostly, Connor Lexington just looks heartbroken.

8

Hailey

“I think—”

“Respectfully, Theo, I will not be taking any of your thoughts into consideration.”

“I think,” he repeats, “you’re writing with too much of a passive voice in that paragraph. It’s a bit too clunky. Try and rewrite it with an active voice.”

I quit typing mid-sentence and swivel my head, very slowly, toward Theo with a deadpan expression.

“What?” he says innocently. “Just because I’m hot doesn’t mean I’m dumb. I enjoyed English in school, okay?”

“You didn’t know what a manuscript was two hours ago. And stop reading what I’m writing,” I tell him, angling my laptop away from his prying eyes. I skim over the paragraph I’ve just written, and damn it. How is Theo Sinclair, of all people, giving me editorial advice that’s actually correct?

“Unfortunately, I don’t have a choice, sweetheart.” He jiggles our handcuffed wrists as though it’s even remotely possible for me to have forgotten that we’re attached to one another.

Trying to type this scene with my right hand dragging Theo’s left hand back and forth across my keyboard is, honestly, a physical form of writer’s block. It makes the entire process painfully slow, and in the forty minutes we’ve been hiding up in my hotel room, I’ve barely written three hundred words. I’m getting frustrated, and I don’t like writing with an audience. I feel self-conscious and embarrassed, but what are my options?

Theo props his elbow up on the desk, rests his chin in the palm of his hand, and blows raspberries out of boredom. I’ll give credit where credit is due: he has been extremely patient sitting by my side, having his wrist pulled in a thousand different directions while I oooh and ahhh over where my scene is going next.

I quickly rewrite the paragraph he flagged, then slam the laptop shut. “That’ll have to do for now. We’ve been gone way too long, and everyone’s going to start wondering where we are.”

Theo lifts his head from his hand with an easy, confident smile. “We could just tell everyone we were banging.”

“Banging for forty minutes?” I say, arching an eyebrow at him.

“Yeah, you’re right. Forty minutes isn’t long enough.”

“Oh, shut up, Theo,” I groan.