Page 177 of Make Me Mean It

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

THEO

The picture on my screen makes my heart stop.

Not fucking metaphorically either. For one second, everything inside me just stalls, my thumb freezing halfway through a scroll while I stare at the image like my brain has forgotten how to make sense of what I’m seeing.

Then my eyes drop to the handle beneath it.

Connor.

I check it again because apparently I’m a fucking idiot who thinks staring at his name twice might make it belong to someone else.

It doesn’t.

And then I see the caption.

Missing you.

My breath catches.

Two words. No name. No explanation. Nothing that actually says who the fuck he’s talking about.

So fucking Connor it almost makes me laugh.

I would if there was any air left in my lungs.

My thumb hovers uselessly over the screen for a second before I scroll down, even though I already know it’s a bad fucking idea.

Who?

Are you taken?

Who is he?

Question after question stacks beneath the post, people guessing, digging, asking Connor for the part he’s very fucking deliberately left out.

I keep scrolling anyway.

I don’t even know what I’m looking for until I realise I’m searching for him to deny it. Some sarcastic reply telling everyone they’ve got the wrong idea. Something that makes it clear this isn’t what it looks like, because that would make sense.

That would be Connor.

Except there’s nothing.

No denial.

No admission either, obviously, because apparently the stubborn little shit has found the exact middle ground most likely to fuck with my head.

I drag my gaze back to the picture before I can read another comment.

It’s careful.

That’s what gets me.

Careful enough that he hasn’t shown either of our faces. Careful enough that nobody who doesn’t know us would have any fucking clue who he’s sitting with.

But not careful enough to actually hide me.