Page 23 of Make Me Mean It

I manage three lines before my eyes lift again.

Theo’s head is tipped back, exposing the line of his throat while he laughs, and his shirt has risen higher while dancing.

Warm skin flashes beneath the hem.

There’s a narrow strip of his stomach on display now, tanned skin pulled taut over muscle, and every shift of his hips pushes the fabric a little higher. A dark trail of hair disappears beneath the waistband of his joggers.

I swallow, my mouth dry.

It’s too warm in here.

There are too many people packed into one room, and apparently nobody has considered opening a window.

“Take it off! Take it off!” Marcus starts chanting, my head snapping towards him.

It takes approximately two seconds for the rest of the room to pick it up, because apparently not one person in this house possesses an ounce of restraint.

The noise becomes deafening, fists pounding against walls and people shouting while Theo presses his tongue against the inside of his cheek, visibly trying not to give them what they want.

His hands drop towards the hem of his shirt, and my pen stills against the page.

He’s actually going to do it.

Theo hooks his fingers beneath the fabric and starts dragging it upwards, slowly enough that I become painfully aware of every inch he uncovers.

More skin appears, the muscles across his stomach tightening when he lifts his arms, dark ink curling along his ribs. My eyes follow before I can settle them anywhere else, tracing the tattoos disappearing around his side and the hard lines of muscle beneath them.

The shirt disappears over his head, Theo flinging it blindly into the crowd, sending the entire room into hysterics.

I barely register any of it.

My pen is still pressed uselessly against the page while Theo stands there shirtless, and for some reason, looking away feels impossible.

Theo stands beneath the low lights, his chest rising with laughter, skin flushed from the heat, tattoos covering his arms and stretching across muscle whenever he moves.

He looks-

I don’t get any further than that before Theo turns, his eyes finding mine across the room.

His smirk falters, my stomach dropping when I realise exactly what he’s looking at.

Me.

Staring at him.

The amusement drains from his expression while his head tilts slightly, green eyes holding mine across the room.

I should look away, especially now that he’s caught me staring, but my eyes stay exactly where they are.

Heat crawls up my throat and into my cheeks, but Theo keeps watching me, and the longer he does, the harder it becomes to remember why I haven’t already dropped my eyes.

His chest rises with another breath.

Fuck.

His lips are parted slightly, metal catching beneath the low light, and the memory of rain shining across his mouth comes back so clearly that my stomach clenches.

I finally force my attention back to the notebook open across my lap, where my pen is still sitting uselessly.

I can feel every beat of my heart in my throat, and I grip my pen until the plastic creaks faintly.

This is ridiculous. It’s Theo, the same irritating bastard who’s spent weeks getting under my skin for fun, and more importantly, he’s a guy.

A loud, irritating, relentlessly inappropriate guy who has spent every interaction we’ve had deliberately trying to make me uncomfortable.

So why the hell am I still thinking about his mouth?

Another cheer tears through the room, Marcus shouting something I can’t make out over the music.

I keep my eyes firmly on my notebook, still feeling Theo’s eyes on me.