Page 117 of Make Me Mean It

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

THEO

The silence has been crawling under my skin since we pulled away from the house, Connor angled towards the window beside me and refusing to even look in my direction.

He watches the buildings blur past outside, streetlights sweep through the car every few seconds, catching pieces of his face before they disappear again, and despite every effort not to, I keep looking.

I tighten my hands around the steering wheel and flex my fingers against the leather, already feeling that familiar restless itch beneath my skin.

This is exactly why I fucking smoke.

A cigarette would give my hands something to do. Something to put between my lips instead of whatever stupid comment keeps threatening to come out just to break the silence.

Because Connor sitting there refusing to look at me shouldn’t bother me.

But I want him to turn around. Say something. Start an argument if that’s all he’s willing to give me. At least then I wouldn’t be sitting here catching glimpses of his face every few seconds and wondering what the hell is going on behind it.

My hand leaves the wheel long enough to switch on the radio, and quiet music fills the car without making the silence between us feel any less obvious.

I tap my fingers against the wheel.

“Who is it?” Connor asks, breaking the silence, and my hand freezes.

I glance over, but Connor keeps his face turned towards the window like the question came from anywhere but him. A streetlight sweeps through the car and catches the flush sitting high across his cheek, and I have to fight the twitch at the corner of my mouth.

“Tristen.”

Connor’s head whips towards me, his brows pulling together.

“Tristen?”

I bite the inside of my cheek, keeping my eyes on the road. “Yes, Tristen.”

“Tristen?” he repeats, somehow managing to make the name sound worse the second time.

A laugh starts pushing at my chest as I glance across at him. “How many times are you planning on saying it?”

Connor huffs and shoves a hand through his hair, pushing it away from his face. His fingers settle at the back of his neck, rubbing there while he looks anywhere except at me.

“Why him?”

The amusement drains out of me as I turn my attention fully back to the road, knuckles turning white around the wheel. I could give him any number of answers. He’s hot. We’ve fucked before, which means we both know exactly what tonight is and neither of us is going to wake up tomorrow expecting it to be anything else. It’s easy, uncomplicated, exactly the kind of thing I’ve always been good at.

Exactly the kind of thing Connor isn’t.

“What?” I ask.

Connor shakes his head, retreating from the question. “Nothing.”

He turns back towards the window, but there’s no pretending I didn’t hear it now. Three days ago he stood in his flat and told me fucking me was a mistake, and tonight he’s sitting beside me wanting to know why I’m going to fuck someone else.

I run my tongue over the inside of my cheek, staring through the windshield as a slow, unwilling satisfaction starts working its way beneath my irritation.

Nothing, my fucking ass.

“Why aren’t you taking your bike?”

The corner of my mouth twitches at how quickly the question comes, especially after he’s spent most of the drive acting like looking in my direction might kill him.