CHANNILLO

Conrad
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“Why the hell is it so cold, it’s the middle of April.” Jenna groaned and rubbed her palms together and stuck them under her arms. The wind chill shred through her thin clothes and her bare toes were probably purple. 
“Maybe if you hadn’t decided to walk home instead of getting a cab we wouldn’t be freezing.” Conrad snapped. 
“I didn’t ask you to follow me.”
Conrad snorted, “Leave you wandering the streets of New York alone,” he looked her up and down, “in that.” Jenna pulled her cardigan tighter around her tea dress and bit her tongue, she knew better than to argue with him. “At last, we are finally here.” He stopped at the foot of her brownstone’s steps and held out his palm, “Give me the keys.&rdquo...

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