Page 37 of Make Me Mean It

Connor’s eyes narrow as he folds his arms across his chest, shifting my hoodie around him in a way I very deliberately don’t follow with my eyes.

“If I wanted you to hear it, I’d have said it louder.”

The grin comes easier this time. This version of Connor I can handle. I can piss him off, make those blue eyes narrow, keep pushing until he gives it straight back instead of standing there smelling like my body wash and making me think about things I have no business thinking about.

“Don’t get shy on me now, Reid.” I exaggerate the pout just to watch his irritation sharpen.

“You’re the most insufferable—”

The locker-room door bangs open, metal rattling behind me as voices spill through the doorway with the heavy thud of gear hitting benches.

My head whips around.

Shit.

I know those voices.

I look back at Connor and nearly fucking groan.

He’s standing three feet away from me with his hair still wet from the shower, cheeks flushed from the heat and my hoodie hanging halfway down his thighs, looking for all the fucking world like he’s just climbed out of my shower and pulled on the first thing of mine he could find.

“Oh, fuck me.”

I drag my lip ring between my teeth and glance back towards the doorway as another bag hits the floor, followed by a laugh I recognise immediately.

Marcus.

Move.”

I step into Connor’s space, expecting him to take the hint.

His chest bumps mine instead, blue eyes narrowing as he plants himself there, and over his shoulder the open shower cubicle sits barely a few feet away.

“What—”

I crowd him backwards before he can finish, but Connor catches the edge of the doorway and pushes back against me, his shoulders squaring.

Marcus laughs somewhere around the corner.

My hands land on Connor’s hips, and whatever half-formed plan I had disappears as I grip him and drive him backwards into the cubicle, following him straight in when his back meets the tile with a dull thud and a grunt punches out of him.

I kick the door shut behind me, the latch clicking into place just as another voice carries into the locker room.

So apparently my solution to Marcus seeing his little brother fresh from the shower in my clothes was to shove said little brother back into the shower and climb in after him.

Outstanding work, Knox.

I keep as much space between us as the cramped cubicle allows, fixing my eyes somewhere above Connor’s shoulder while the locker room fills with voices outside.

“What the fuck—”

I slap my hand over his mouth.

Connor’s eyes fly wide, his next breath hitting hot against my palm as I lean closer.

“Shut up,” I whisper.

He glares at me over my hand, and fuck me, there is nowhere to go. My arm is already straining from keeping my chest off his, one hand covering his mouth while the other is still wrapped around his hip, warm through the hoodie I gave him.