Page 118 of Make Me Mean It

My fingers flex around the wheel as I keep my eyes on the road. “I don’t really do passengers.”

“I don’t really do passengers.”

The words come out rough, catching strangely in the quiet car. My fingers tighten around the wheel as Connor keeps looking at me, and when I finally glance across, his lips are parted slightly, eyes fixed on mine.

Connor’s lips press together, colour climbing into his cheeks, and I force my attention back to the road.

By the time I pull up outside his flat, everything we haven’t said has packed itself into the car with us. I cut the engine, and the silence only makes it worse, stripping away the last bit of noise until I can hear Connor shift beside me.

He turns, mouth opening, and my chest swells around the stupid hope that this time he might actually say whatever has been fighting its way out of him all night.

But instead, he reaches for the door and gets out. I watch him start towards the building, irritation crawling beneath my skin because apparently we’re going to add that to the growing list of things Connor refuses to fucking say, and before he’s made it more than a few steps, I’m out of the car and rounding the bonnet after him.

Connor turns at the sound of my footsteps, surprise widening his eyes. “What are you doing?”

“Walking you to the door.”

His gaze flicks towards the entrance barely six steps away before coming back to me. “Why?”

Excellent question.

One I ignore by moving closer.

“Your brother will have my ass if something happens to you.” I shove my hands into my pockets and shrug. “Humour me.”

Connor looks down, lingering on the open front of my shirt.

His eyes flick back up to my face, his throat working around a swallow that sends a mean little pulse of satisfaction through me.

“What could possibly happen between here and there, Knox?”

He’s aiming for irritated, but there’s too much tension beneath it now, and my eyes drop to his mouth as I close another fraction of the space between us.

“I don’t think you really want me to answer that, princess.”

Connor’s whole body tenses.

“Don’t you have a date to get to?”

I press my tongue against the inside of my cheek and stare at him. Another pointed question from someone who’s spent the last three days acting like he couldn’t care less what I do or who I do it with.

“You seem awfully fucking worried about my date for someone who thinks sleeping with me was a mistake.”

“I’m not worried,” Connor grits out, jaw clenching.

A hollow laugh slips out as I shake my head and step away. “Unbelievable.”

I barely make it half a step before Connor fists the front of my shirt and yanks me straight back towards him, pulling me up short as my eyes drop to his hand.

“What the-”

It dies in my throat when, instead of letting go, Connor catches the two sides of my shirt and starts buttoning it.

I stare down at his hands as he lines up the first button and pushes it through, brows pulled down with concentration. His knuckles skim my stomach as he reaches for the next one, warm against bare skin, and a shiver threatens to follow the touch.

I could stop him. Probably should, considering I’m supposed to be leaving for a date, and Connor’s already made it perfectly clear what he thinks about the two of us.

His fingers keep moving steadily upwards, closing the shirt over skin he hasn’t managed to stop staring at all fucking night. Every brush of his knuckles leaves goosebumps in their wake, and by the time he reaches my chest, I’m barely paying attention to the buttons anymore.