Page 3 of Make Me Mean It

“Well,” he says, grabbing his keys, “this should be entertaining at least.”

I watch him for a second, trying to work out what the fuck he knows that I don’t. Maybe I should’ve asked more questions. Or just gone back to sleep and ignored him entirely.

Definitely that one.

***

By the time Marcus knocks on his brother’s flat door, I’m actively reconsidering every decision I’ve made in the last twelve hours.

Starting with the shots.

Ending with standing upright.

I lean back against the brick wall beside the door and shove my sunglasses into my hair. The afternoon sun hits me full force, pain spearing behind my eyes as I squeeze them shut again.

“Fuck.” I tip my head back against the brick, swallowing against the dull churn in my stomach.

Whoever decided daylight should be this aggressive deserves consequences.

“I can’t believe I let you talk me into this.” Heat gathers at the nape of my neck, my shirt starting to stick uncomfortably to my back.

Marcus leans against the wall opposite me, looking far too comfortable for someone who dragged me out here against my will. “You didn’t really resist.”

“I was vulnerable. You took advantage.”

Marcus snorts, not buying my bullshit for a second. “And yet, here you are.”

“Yeah, well.” I shrug one shoulder. “I am curious to meet this mysterious little brother of yours. Sue me.”

Marcus straightens slightly, and I can practically see the suspicion kick in.

“Be nice.”

I put as much innocence into my voice as I can manage. “I’m always nice.”

“No,” he says flatly.

I scoff, but he doesn’t even give me the chance to argue.

“I mean actually nice. Not your weird flirty version of nice.” He pauses, then seems to reconsider. “Actually, you know what? Just don’t flirt with my brother.”

I raise a brow at him, doing my best impression of innocence, though judging by the way Marcus looks at me, I’m not pulling it off

“God, I’m glad he’s straight.” Marcus shakes his head, that apparently solving whatever problem he thinks I’m going to cause

“Ouch,” I scoff, shoving lightly at his shoulder, but before I can give him any more shit, the door swings open beside us.

I turn towards it, whatever I was about to say disappearing the second I see who’s standing there.

Connor stands in the doorway, sandy hair pushed messily back from his forehead, his eyes landing on Marcus first before sliding over to me, so fucking blue they catch me off guard for a second.

I’m not exactly sure what I’d been expecting when Marcus said little brother. Someone smaller, maybe, younger, some nervous freshman Marcus would spend the next year worrying himself sick over.

Instead, Connor looks about as nervous as I feel sober, his bright blue eyes settling on me with a glare sharp enough that I almost laugh.

I haven’t even fucking said anything yet.

His gaze flicks over me, taking in the sunglasses shoved into my hair, the tattoos creeping down my arms and my wrinkled band t-shirt. His lips curl slightly as his eyes make their way back to mine, and it doesn’t take a genius to work out that whatever he’s seeing, he clearly doesn’t like it.