Page 192 of Make Me Mean It

He still smells like whatever shampoo he used this morning, clean and faintly sweet beneath the warmth of his skin, and I breathe him in before I can stop myself, my mouth lingering against his hair.

Marcus makes a disgusted sound.

I glance over to find him looking between us like we’ve personally offended him, his lip curled as he drags a hand down his face.

“You two are seriously disgusting,” he mutters. “Have you even got the game set up yet?”

“I literally just got in,” I shoot back, rolling my eyes.

Marcus doesn’t even bother answering. He turns and heads for the living room like I haven’t spoken, already muttering under his breath about the remote.

“Yeah, alright, asshole,” I call after him.

His pacing starts almost immediately, footsteps carrying through from the living room as he apparently tears the place apart looking for something that’s probably right in front of his fucking face.

I huff and slide off the counter, whatever irritation I had disappearing the second my attention drops back to Connor.

My hand trails down his back as I go, slow and absent, and Connor hums softly, turning into me rather than stepping away.

That gets my attention.

His eyes drop to my mouth.

Then lower.

I follow his gaze, watching it drag over the front of my t-shirt before lifting one brow.

Interesting.

“How important is this game?” he murmurs.

I grin.

He’s close enough that his breath brushes warm over my lips, and I lean in before I can help myself, catching his mouth in another kiss. It’s barely anything, just enough to feel him soften into it, his fingers curling into the front of my shirt as I pull away.

Connor’s eyes open.

Fuck.

Big and blue and already looking at me like he’s considering whether hockey is really worth leaving the kitchen for.

I almost tell Marcus to fuck off.

Almost.

“Very,” I murmur.

Connor lets out the longest, most put-upon sigh I’ve ever heard.

“Fucking hockey.”

I laugh under my breath. “You love it really.”

“I really fucking don’t.”

His fingers loosen from my shirt and slide down until they find mine anyway, threading between them like he doesn’t even have to think about it anymore.

I look down.