Page 114 of Make Me Mean It

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

THEO

I’ve spent three days pretending Connor Reid calling me a mistake didn’t bother me, keeping my eyes off him whenever we’re in the same room and acting like I don’t notice he’s been doing the exact same thing.

Which is why I take the stairs two at a time, fingers working through the buttons of my shirt as I go, already grinning at whatever bullshit Lucas is shouting from downstairs. By the time I hit the bottom, I’ve managed maybe half of them, the thing still hanging open to my navel.

Fuck it.

Good enough.

Better than good enough, judging by the way Lucas lets out a low whistle the second I step into the room.

I spread my arms and turn slowly for them. “Well?”

Marcus leans forward with a grin, dragging a hand down his face. “Damn, Knox.”

“Thank you, thank you.” I tip my head back, laughing as I finish the turn. “Try to contain yourselves.”

This is easy.

Lucas being a dick. Marcus encouraging him. Me giving it straight back without having to think about cold sheets or unanswered texts or four fucking words I’ve heard enough times in my head to last a lifetime.

I’m still laughing when I turn and catch Connor staring at me from across the room, the sound dying in my throat.

He’s sitting with a book open across his lap, except he hasn’t looked at the thing since I walked into the room. His eyes are on me instead, tracking over the open front of my shirt before lifting slowly to my face.

It’s the first time we’ve properly looked at each other in three days, and the longer Connor holds my gaze, the more the smile on my face starts to slip.

His jaw is tight, blue eyes darker than they have any right to be, and there’s none of the discomfort I’ve been expecting. None of the regret he was so certain about when I stood in his flat wearing his shirt.

He looks pissed off, jaw tight and eyes dark, but I know that look now. I know what Connor looks like when he wants me, and the fact my stomach still tightens under the weight of it only pisses me off more.

His attention snaps back to the book, fingers closing around the edges, bending the pages.

Three fucking days of barely looking at me, disappearing whenever we end up in the same room and acting like the best way to deal with what happened is to pretend it fucking didn’t.

And now he’s staring at me like that.

Heat crawls beneath my skin, tangled up with enough irritation that I can’t tell one from the other.

I bite down on the comment sitting behind my teeth and force my attention back to the room, refusing to give Connor’s stare any more thought than it’s already stolen from me.

Lucas is still looking me over, shaking his head slowly as he scrubs a hand across his jaw. “If I was gay-” he mutters, nowhere near quietly enough, eyes dragging shamelessly across my chest, and a grin pulls at my mouth.

“You sure you’re not trying to tell us something, Carter?”

Colour climbs into his face, and my grin widens, which earns me a cushion launched straight at my head. I duck out of the way laughing, the thing smacking uselessly into the wall behind me.

“You’re such an asshole.”

“Don’t get embarrassed now. This is a safe space.”

“Fuck off.”

The laugh comes easier this time, familiar enough that some of the tension finally works its way out of my shoulders. This is normal. Lucas talks shit, I make it worse, Marcus sits there encouraging whatever stupidity is happening without ever admitting he’s encouraging it.

No one calls anyone a mistake.