Page 164 of Make Me Mean It

Marcus picks up the black T-shirt crumpled there, and I know what it is before he’s even lifted it properly.

Theo’s.

My pulse kicks hard.

Marcus frowns down at it, turning it slightly between his fingers, and panic moves through me so quickly I don’t even think before opening my mouth.

“Sleep shirt.”

The words come out far too fast.

Marcus looks at me.

I cross the room before he can say anything, snatching the shirt out of his hand and stuffing it deep into the laundry basket.

The movement sends the faintest trace of cologne into the air.

It hits me so hard my knees actually weaken.

For one horrible second I’m back in his room with my face buried against his neck, breathing him in while his arms tighten around me. I lock my knees before Marcus can notice and pull the blanket tighter around myself instead.

Silence.

Too much silence.

I look up.

Marcus has gone completely still.

His eyes flick from me to the laundry basket, then slowly back again, something sharpening in his expression.

“Since when do you wear Dior?”

Heat crawls up my neck as I retreat further into the blanket, clutching the edges together beneath my chin like that’s somehow going to hide anything.

“When did this turn into an interrogation?” I snap.

Marcus blinks.

His brows shoot up, genuine surprise flashing across his face for a second, and I know immediately I’ve fucked up.

Because Marcus knows me.

And now he knows there’s something to find.

“What the fuck is going on with you lately?” Marcus fires back, dropping the laundry basket at his feet with a dull thud.

I turn away before he can get a proper look at my face, yanking the blanket from around my shoulders and shoving it onto the bed. It lands in a tangled heap, and I immediately start straightening it, dragging one corner out even though there’s no fucking point. I just need something to do with my hands, something to focus on other than the way my heart is pounding against my ribs.

“I don’t know what you mean,” I say, forcing the words out as evenly as I can.

I just want this over.

I want Marcus to take the hint and leave before he starts pulling at threads I’ve spent days trying not to look at too closely myself.

Marcus steps further into the room, squaring his shoulders as he gestures at me like I’m the problem he’s trying to solve. He somehow manages to take up what little space there is, making the flat feel even smaller.

“This, Connor. This new fucking attitude.”