Page 76 of Make Me Mean It

I turn, stepping into him, Connor holding his ground, but he has to tip his head back to keep looking at me. His mouth presses into a hard line, tension pulling through his jaw.

My eyes catch on his mouth.

Days of staying out of his way, of looking anywhere but at him, and apparently none of it means shit when he’s standing this fucking close.

Now all I can feel is the memory of that mouth against mine.

My eyes lift back to his, but I’ve already leaned closer, drawn into the same space I’ve spent days making sure I never got close enough to enter.

My forearm hits the locker above his head, boxing him in as a smirk pulls at my mouth.

“Don’t tell me you were worried about me,” I laugh, enough bite behind the words that Connor’s brows pull together.

Good.

Better pissed off than whatever the fuck we’ve been doing for the last few days.

His palm slams into my chest, shoving me back, the force of it catching me off guard, giving him the space to duck beneath my arm.

“Why are you being like this?” he demands.

I stare at him, genuinely wondering if he’s fucking serious. He kissed me, told me it changed nothing and then spent days barely looking in my direction, but apparently I’m the one behaving strangely.

I turn away before any of that makes it out of my mouth and head for my bag, digging through it until my fingers close around a clean t-shirt.

“I’m not being like anything.”

The lie is barely out before Connor is snatching the shirt straight from my hand.

He tosses it back onto my bag, grabbing my bicep and yanking me towards him before I can reach for it again.

“You’re behaving like an asshole,” he bites out.

Frustration prickles beneath my skin as I turn with the pull, but the second I meet his eyes, I know exactly what he’s doing. He’s searching my face, staring at me with those fucking blue eyes as if he can dig around long enough to find whatever answer he came in here looking for.

I laugh, giving him an easy shrug, reaching for the version of myself I actually know what to do with. “I’m always an asshole, princess.”

Connor’s eyes change, the anger giving way to a brief flash of hurt that knocks the smirk straight off my face.

Fuck.

Too far.

Connor’s grip loosens around my arm. “Not like this.”

There’s no bite behind it this time, nd that gets to me worse than his anger did.

“This isn’t-” His thumb brushes once against my arm before his hand finally falls away.

When he looks back at me, there’s no anger left to hide behind.

“It’s not you.”

My mouth opens, but nothing comes out.

Because the worst part is how certain he sounds. No hesitation. No question. Just those blue eyes fixed on mine as if somewhere between all the arguing and insults and deliberately pissing each other off, Connor figured me out well enough to know when I’m faking it.

I’m not sure when the fuck that happened.