Page 16 of Make Me Mean It

His attention has dropped to the sliver of stomach exposed beneath my shirt, whatever smartass response he had apparently forgotten somewhere along the way.

Heat rushes through me so quickly that for one ridiculous moment it almost manages to drown out how cold I am. Theo doesn’t even pretend he wasn’t looking, his eyes travelling slowly back up until they reach my face.

“You have no idea,” he hums.

I turn and make for my bedroom, moving faster with every step until I’m through the door and Theo is finally out of sight. My mouth is dry, my heart hammering, and I brace both hands against the dresser, staring down at the scratched wood between them.

He was looking at me.

Not teasing. Not smirking. Looking.

My heart is still hammering from the bike. It has to be. I was just clinging to the back of a motorbike in the pouring rain while Theo drove it far too fast, and apparently my body hasn’t figured out that I’m standing safely inside my flat now.

I scrub a hand down my face and close my eyes.

“What the fuck,” I whisper.

A dull thump from behind me has my eyes opening again.

Theo is leaning against the other side of the doorway, shoulder braced against the frame and arms folded loosely over his chest, looking completely at ease while I feel anything but.

That smirk is still there.

“Do you not understand the concept of personal space?” I snap, pushing away from the dresser.

My hands go to my shirt, pulling the wet fabric away from my stomach only for it to stick straight back against me. I hate the feeling of it. Hate how exposed I feel with Theo standing there looking at me.

Theo shrugs one shoulder. “I’m nowhere near you. How much more personal space do you want?”

I turn away and yank open the dresser drawer, nearly pulling the entire thing off its tracks.

“You’re in my bedroom.”

Theo doesn’t answer, which irritates me enough to turn around. He only lifts his brows, eyes dropping pointedly towards the floor between us until mine follow.

His boots stop directly at the threshold, every inch of him still firmly on the other side.

“I could be,” he says, his voice dropping, “but I’m not.”

“Yeah, well, you’re too close.”

I turn back to the drawer and grab the first hoodie my fingers close around, bunching it into a ball before throwing it at him.

Theo catches it against his chest, looking down at the bundle in his hands.

“If you wanted to see me in your clothes, Reid,” he hums, “you could’ve just asked.”

My teeth grind together.

I should have thrown a shoe.

“What I want, Knox,” I spit, digging back through the drawer, “is for you to stop dripping on my floor.”

Theo chuckles quietly behind me, followed by the soft drag of wet fabric peeling away from skin, and my hands still inside the drawer.

He’s changing right behind me.

I keep my eyes firmly on the clothes in front of me, shifting through the same two shirts twice while every quiet rustle of fabric makes it increasingly difficult to remember what the hell I came over here for in the first place.