Page 41 of Make Me Mean It

Theo hits the boards, my muscles tensing in response, but he never fully loses his balance. His skates carve sideways across the ice, absorbing the force, body shifting with it instead of fighting it.

Lucas leans in and says something against Theo’s ear, earning an eye roll and a shove that sends him stumbling back a step.

Theo’s eyes come straight back to me, one brow lifting.

Heat creeps up my neck as I settle back into my seat, far too aware of how close I came to standing up over absolutely nothing.

Theo holds my gaze before turning away and pushing back into the play, and the change in him is immediate. The smirk disappears, his attention narrowing to the ice ahead while his body settles into that same effortless certainty I’ve been trying not to watch all morning.

It’s strange seeing him this way when off the ice he seems physically incapable of taking anything seriously for longer than thirty seconds. There’s always a joke waiting, some irritating comment designed to get under someone’s skin.

None of it follows him onto the ice.

Theo changes direction cleanly around another player, taking the puck with him.

A throat clears beside me, and I jerk my attention away from the ice to find Marcus leaning against the boards, one arm hooked over the top, watching me with his brow raised.

“You got a sudden interest in hockey I don’t know about, Con?”

Heat starts creeping up the back of my neck.

“No.”

Marcus’s brow goes higher.

I scoff and shake my head, forcing my grip on the notebook to loosen. “As if. What’s so entertaining about men chasing a puck around with sticks?”

Marcus laughs under his breath and reaches over to ruffle my hair.

I swat his hand away, running my fingers through it to fix whatever mess he’s just made. “Fuck off.”

His grin widens.

“You’re so grumpy today.”

“I’m always grumpy when you’re around.”

Marcus laughs quietly, but thankfully leaves it there, his attention returning to the ice for a moment before he looks back at me.

“So what are you actually doing here?”

I sink lower into the seat and fold my arms across my chest, fixing my eyes firmly on the rink rather than the curious look on my brother’s face, only to land straight back on Theo as he cuts across the ice with the puck tucked close to his stick.

His helmet is gone now, abandoned somewhere near the bench, dark hair damp and falling untidily across his forehead. He tips his head back when he laughs at something Lucas says, and the sound reaches faintly into the stands.

Theo tips his head back, exposing the long line of his throat, and when he swallows, muscle shifting beneath the skin, I watch.

“Needed somewhere to study.”

Marcus takes his time looking around the rink, eyebrows lifting as his attention comes back to me.

“Right,” he drawls. “Because when I think hockey rink, I think studying.”

I press my lips together.

“You’re a terrible liar.”

“I’m not lying.”