Page 120 of Make Me Mean It

Connor sucks in a breath, and his hands jump to my shoulders, bunching in the fabric of my shirt as he rises slightly onto his toes.

“Stop what?” I breathe.

His eyes snap to mine. “S-stop touching me.”

“Why?”

“Because-” His fingers bite into my shoulders as another breath catches. “Because I can’t fucking think.”

He shoves at my chest, but there’s barely enough force behind it to move me, and I stay exactly where I am, tongue catching restlessly against my lip ring while I watch him struggle with whatever he’s refusing to say.

“Tell me you don’t want me to go.”

I lean closer until my nose brushes his, not giving him anywhere else to look. “Tell me something honest for once.”

“I-”

His mouth closes.

“I-Theo-”

The same wall comes down between us the second he gets too close to saying anything real.

Frustration flashes across his face, his head tipping back towards the brick, and my hand shoots behind it before he can connect, the impact biting across my knuckles instead.

Connor squeezes his eyes shut.“I hate you,” he breathes, voice breaking.

My thumb brushes over his nape. “I know,” I murmur, my hand falling away, but I can’t make myself move. “Tell me not to go.”

It’s too close to a plea.

A frustrated sound tears out of Connor, his hands clamping around my waist, yanking me forward and flipping us until my back hits the wall.

“I don’t want him to fucking touch you.”

He crowds straight into the space I left behind, his forehead dropping against mine, his hand sliding up to grab my jaw, tipping my face up, and after everything I’ve been fighting him on tonight, I let him.

“But, I-I can’t tell you not to go.”

And just like that, the warmth flooding my chest turns cold.

“I can’t-” His jaw works as he finally releases me, stepping back far enough that cold air rushes into the space between our bodies. “Nothing’s changed.”

I stare at him as the little bit of hope I shouldn’t have let anywhere near me dies. After everything he’s done tonight, every jealous question and lingering look, putting his hands on me because he can’t fucking help himself, we’re still right back where we started.

A hollow laugh catches in my throat as I nod. “Of course not. You’re straight, right?”

I put my palm against his chest and push him back before I do something infinitely more pathetic than asking him once.

Connor’s eyes stay on mine, searching my face while his mouth opens like maybe, finally, he’s going to give me something I can actually use, but nothing comes.

My fingers go to the buttons of my shirt and start undoing the careful work he did minutes ago, because I need something to do with my hands and right now spite is about the only thing keeping them from reaching for him again.

I’ve barely opened the second one when Connor’s hand closes over mine.

His palm is warm against the back of my hand, fingers curling around mine to keep me from moving, and all the fight leaves me.

My eyes close. “This isn’t fucking fair,” I breathe out, low and exhausted, nothing left in it to hide behind.

I pull my hand slowly from beneath his and force myself to step back, his hand falling away.

Far enough away that I can’t feel his breath against my face or the heat of his body or fool myself into thinking any of this is something Connor is actually willing to give me.