Page 163 of Make Me Mean It

“Oh,” I manage, the word barely making it out.

Marcus either doesn’t notice or decides not to acknowledge it. He shoulders past me into the flat, using his hip to nudge the door open wider.

“Don’t worry, it’s not poisoned,” he throws over his shoulder as he carries everything toward the table.

A laugh tries to escape me, but it catches halfway up my throat and comes out hollow instead.

Marcus takes another couple of steps.

Then stops.

I watch his shoulders stiffen as he looks around properly for the first time, his gaze moving from the dishes to the wrappers, then across the clothes scattered over the floor.

“Christ,” he breathes.

I pull the blanket tighter.

“I’ve never-” He trails off.

When he turns back to me, whatever stupid comment he was going to make is gone. His eyes narrow as they drag over me properly this time, taking in the blanket, my face, probably the fact I haven’t done anything with my hair in days.

“What’s going on, Con?”

I drop my gaze, staring at my socks instead. One has twisted slightly around my foot, the seam sitting wrong across my toes, and I focus on that because it’s easier than looking at him.

“Just a stupid cold,” I mutter.

The lie feels heavy the second it leaves my mouth.

Marcus hums.

I glance up just enough to catch him rolling his lips together, staring at me with that look he gets when he knows I’m full of shit but hasn’t decided how much he wants to push.

“You’ve always been a shit liar.”

“Thanks.”

He doesn’t answer.

Worse, he doesn’t push.

Marcus just turns away from me and grabs the laundry basket from beside the bed, carrying it into the middle of the room before he starts picking up clothes.

I stare at him.

“What are you doing?”

He ignores me, grabbing a pair of joggers and shoving them into the basket before reaching for something else.

I should stop him. Tell him I can clean my own flat.

Instead, I stand there wrapped in my blanket, watching him out of the corner of my eye while tension slowly winds tighter through my body.

Then his hand reaches toward the edge of the couch.

My stomach drops.

No.