Page 179 of Make Me Mean It

I see the stubborn little asshole who argues with everything I fucking say. The one who grabs my shirt when he’s jealous and looks at me like he wants to fucking eat me alive before panicking about what that means. The one who can bring me to my knees with a look and somehow still convince himself he doesn’t know what he wants.

The one who just posted a picture of us for everyone to see.

My eyes almost drop back to my phone.

I stop myself.

Marcus exhales beside me and drops his head, dragging his hand through his hair before letting it fall between his knees.

“Yeah,” he mutters. “I know.”

There’s enough weight behind it that I look at him again.

He lifts his head, and for once there’s none of the usual bullshit in his expression. No anger. No big-brother posturing. Just Marcus looking tired and slightly fucking guilty.

“I’m sorry, alright?”

I stare at him.

My split lip throbs.

“You punched me in the fucking face.”

Marcus winces.

“Yeah.”

I lift a brow.

“Not my finest moment.”

“No fucking shit.”

“No,” I shoot back immediately. “Not alright.”

Marcus’s brows pull together, some of the frustration creeping back into his expression. “I thought you broke his heart.”

Like that somehow makes punching me in the fucking face reasonable.

A dark laugh scrapes out of my throat as I shake my head. “Yeah, because I’m the serial heartbreaker, right?” I scoff. The words should sound like a joke. Usually they would. Right now they just taste bitter. “Well, newsflash, asshole, I didn’t break Connor’s fucking heart.”

If anything, I’m pretty fucking sure it was the other way around.

I grab my phone and push myself off the bench before that thought can make it anywhere near my mouth. I don’t want to talk about Connor with Marcus. I definitely don’t want to explain how many chances I gave him to break my heart before he finally fucking managed it.

I barely make it a step before Marcus catches my wrist and yanks me backwards.

“What the fuck?”

I land hard beside him again with a grunt, shooting him a glare as he releases me.

“I’m trying to apologise,” he snaps, irritation cutting through his voice. “So sit your ass down.”

I stare at him.

“Are you fucking serious?”

“Yes.”