Page 36 of Make Me Mean It

Connor eases the door open with the towel bunched between his hands, and my ankle slips from where I’d crossed it.

His hair is still wet, darkened several shades until there’s barely any blond left in it, damp strands falling unevenly across his forehead while water gathers at the ends. One drop breaks free, sliding slowly down the bridge of his nose until it catches against his bottom lip.

His tongue flicks out to wipe it away.

My teeth sink into the inside of my cheek as I tear my eyes away, landing on a crack in the wall somewhere over his shoulder and fixing them there with far more concentration than a bit of fucked-up plaster has ever deserved.

“Took you long enough.” The words come out rough, forcing me to clear my throat before I add, “Princess likes her showers, huh?”

“Ha.”

The towel flies at my face, and I catch it on instinct, damp fabric bunching between my fingers with the heat of his body still trapped in it.

“That joke’s getting old.”

bite the tip of my tongue and make myself look at him again, because standing here holding his warm, damp towel while deliberately staring anywhere else is starting to feel a hell of a lot more suspicious than just looking at him.

The second my eyes land on him, I remember exactly why I fucking stopped.

The hot water has left colour high across Connor’s cheeks, the flush making the blue of his eyes brighter against lashes gone dark and wet. A few of them have clumped together at the corners, and I’m still looking when he swallows.

The collar of my hoodie shifts against his throat.

My hoodie.

On Connor.

The sleeves hang past his wrists, the shoulders too broad for him, dark fabric falling loose over a body I’ve spent far too much time thinking about already.

“Still gets under your skin though, doesn’t it?”

I push away from the lockers and step towards him, watching those blue eyes follow me as I close the space.

“Princess.”

It comes out low, the teasing edge slipping away, Connor’s lips parting.

I take another step, breathing in.

He’s standing there in my clothes, smelling like me, hair still dripping onto the collar of my hoodie, and the combination lands with a possessive little kick I have absolutely no business feeling.

I roll my tongue against the inside of my cheek, breathing out through my nose, forcing the sound into a scoff.

Connor rolls his eyes, but his gaze slips away from mine a fraction too quickly, colour still sitting high across his cheeks.

“For a moment there, I thought you might actually be tolerable,” he mutters, catching the sleeves of my hoodie and starting to roll them up his forearms until his hands finally emerge from beneath the fabric.

Fucking thing swallows him.

I bite down on the inside of my cheek, refusing to spend any more time on why I like seeing him buried in something that belongs to me.

“That’s your mistake.”

Connor mutters something under his breath while he finishes with the second sleeve, and I don’t catch a fucking word of it, but the look he gives me when he’s done tells me enough.

My mouth pulls into a grin, some of the restless energy that’s been riding me since he walked out of that shower finally finding somewhere useful to go.

“Hmm?” I lean closer, lifting a brow. “Wanna repeat that?”