Addicted to You (Addicted #1)(50)

I laugh and wipe off stray tears that somehow escaped between now and then. When did I even start crying? The whole night has twisted my insides, and on top of everything, I didn’t find Lo.

What if he’s passed out at a bar? What if he’s stumbling on the streets or getting his stomach pumped in a hospital?

My voice grows small. “I don’t know where he could possibly be.”

“He’s probably fine, Lily.”

I shake my head, distraught tears building. “You don’t know him.” I bite my bottom lip to keep it from quivering.

Connor grimaces in sympathy. “How about we go back to your place and I’ll wait with you until he returns?”

“You don’t have to do that,” I say, sniffing. “I’ve already wasted enough of your time. This goes beyond tutoring me.”

“Yeah, it does,” he says with a nod. “But this is the most interesting thing that’s happened to me in six months, which was the last time Sadie scratched my date. And”—his eyes shift to the ground—“I guess, I know why you’d be worried about a guy like Lo. He smells like booze almost every time he does show up to class.”

I frown. He doesn’t show up often? I know he’s not the model student, but the way Connor talked, it made it seem like Lo skips more than he attends. As for his smell, Lo takes more precaution with our families—extra mints, showers, cologne. During school days, he cares less.

No one has ever confronted me with Lo’s problem before. I stumble for words before landing on something that feels semi-right. “He usually answers his phone.” It feels good not denying the truth to someone, even if that someone is as random as Connor.

We walk towards my BMW. “You must really wish I picked Henry Everclear.”

“Actually, no.” We both slide in the car, and I man the steering wheel. “I like the challenge. I’m in the top five percent of my class. Top one percent of my major. All I need is that extra something and Wharton won’t be able to resist me.”

I put the car in gear and head out. “Let me guess. Reforming the girl who is failing economics is your extra something?”

“I wouldn’t have put it so blunt, but yes.”

I try not to laugh. Connor has no idea how frank he can be. I switch lanes. “About Kevin…” I feel like I need to defend myself further. I’m not sure why.

“You don’t have to explain,” Connor tells me. “People have fun. I get it.” He taps the door handle to the beat of the soft rock song. “Goddamn, you live far away.”

I stop at a red light. “It only feels like that in traffic.” After a few more jerky stops, we arrive at the apartment complex. I walk briskly to the elevator with Connor on my heels. I try to hide my nerves by crossing my arms.

We fly up multiple levels, the numbers blinking above. I glance at Connor. “You have…” I motion to my ear. Bright orange paint crusts the top part of his.

He doesn’t go to rub it off, only smiles. “I’m covered in paint. Don’t worry about my ear.”

“Have you been to a highlighter party before?” What else could explain his clear composure throughout the crazy ordeal? He barely batted an eyelash when girls started grabbing his ass. He has two sets of pink handprints on his butt to prove it.

“Nope. I’ve heard about them though. It was interesting.”

The bell dings, and I try to figure out what would stir Connor’s stoic exterior. Maybe not being accepted to Wharton. Yeah, I can imagine that not going over too well.

I fumble with my keys and unlock the door. “Lo!” I yell into the living room. Connor closes the door behind me, and I storm through the apartment, hoping to find Lo in the kitchen fixing a drink.

It’s empty.

I try his bedroom, not even bothering for a courtesy knock. I swing the door open, and my stomach drops. “Thank God.”

Lo lies face down on the bed, fully dressed and accompanied by three brown liquor bottles. I don’t know or care when he returned home. The fact that he’s present and not dead on the streets relieves me.

I approach him and say his name a couple of times to test his level of consciousness. With my pent up frustration, I shake his shoulder. He still doesn’t stir. Carefully, I roll him onto his side and press the back of my hand to his clammy forehead. He’s warm but not enough to run a fever. Alcohol poisoning. My other fear.

“Is he okay?”

I jump at the voice, momentarily forgetting Connor. He leans a hip on the doorframe, looking impassive as he watches me take care of Lo.

“He’ll survive,” I say. “Thanks for your help.”

He shrugs casually. “It’s good for me. I’ve been holed up in the library for the past four years that I’ve forgotten what real problems look like.”

Riiight. I brush off his hundredth offensive comment of the night. “I’ll see you tomorrow then? If you still want to tutor me.”

“For the fifteenth time, yes,” he says. “You need to work on your listening skills. I’ll see you at six.”

I frown. “Isn’t that a little late?”

He flashes one of those prep boy smiles. “Six in the morning.”

Oh. I glance at the digital clock on the desk. “That’s in five hours.”