Page 10 of Make Me Mean It

Leaning my hip against the desk, I take another slow drink while keeping my eyes on him. Connor’s doing a terrible job of pretending he doesn’t feel them there.

That alone is enough to make me want to keep going.

I settle my hip against the edge of the desk, taking another drink. Connor’s back to staring at his notebook, except he hasn’t written a thing since I came in.

“You alright there, princess?”

“Fine.”

His answer comes too quickly, eyes still fixed on the page.

My mouth twitches. “You look it.”

That gets his eyes back on me, narrowed now, and the impulse to push at him wins out before I bother questioning it. I set the water down and move towards the bed.

Connor stills when I get closer, but he doesn’t move. Doesn’t tell me to fuck off or ask what the hell I’m doing. His eyes stay on mine the entire way, his chin tipping higher the closer I get until I’m standing directly in front of him.

I stop there, close enough that he has to tilt his head back to keep looking at me.

Still nothing.

For someone who’s had no problem telling me exactly what he thinks of me since we met, he’s gone awfully quiet.

The bottle creaks softly between Connor’s hands, his long fingers squeezing around the plastic.

Then I make the mistake of looking at his mouth.

His cheeks are still pink, lips parted slightly, and when I drag my eyes higher, he’s already watching me. Those stupidly blue eyes don’t waver from mine.

Fuck.

I lean in before I’ve decided to, pulled forward by the need to know what he’ll do.

If he’ll move.

If he’ll let me.

“What exactly is your problem?” Connor asks quietly.

There should be more bite behind it. Usually there is. Instead, his voice comes out lower than I expect, and neither of us moves.

“You’re assuming I have one.”

His lips part, but nothing comes out. The bottle gives another quiet creak between his fingers, his eyes holding mine.

I’m still leaning towards him.

Close enough to feel the warmth coming off him, to see the faint flush still caught beneath his skin.

All it would take is another few inches.

Connor freezes, his throat working around a swallow. The irritation that’s been there since I walked in finally cracks, his eyes widening slightly while he stares up at me, nowhere near as sure of himself as he was a minute ago.

Fuck.

Now I really want to know what he thinks I’m about to do.

Knuckles crack against the open doorframe, the sound cutting through the silence so sharply that whatever I was about to do dies with it.