Page 39 of Make Me Mean It

The tension holding him rigid against the tile gives all at once, his shoulders dropping as a long breath spills warm across my palm, and some answering release goes through me with it. I let my forehead fall against his shoulder, breathing out into the soft fabric of my hoodie.

“Fuck.”

I stay there longer than I need to, forehead pressed to him while footsteps cross the locker room outside and someone bangs a locker shut.

Then Connor breathes against my hand.

My hand.

Still covering his fucking mouth.

I lift my head and find him looking at me, blue eyes moving over my face while neither of us says a word. My palm is warm from his breath when I finally peel it away, fingers grazing his cheek before my hand falls between us.

There’s no hand on the other side of the door anymore, no Marcus waiting to catch us, nothing keeping me crowded into Connor’s space when all I have to do is reach behind me, lift the latch and walk the fuck out.

My eyes drop to where my hoodie has ridden up between us, exposing a strip of Connor’s stomach above the dark band of his boxers. My hand is still curved around his hip, thumb resting close enough to bare skin that one careless movement would put it there.

The next breath drags rough up my throat.

My thumb sweeps over the fabric, and when I drag my eyes back up, Connor is already staring at me.

Those blue eyes widen.

I barely have time to straighten before both his hands slam into my chest, sending me shoulder-first into the cubicle door with the latch cracking against the frame behind me.

“What the fuck, Reid?”

I shove myself upright and roll the sting from my shoulder, irritation flaring hot enough to burn straight through everything else.

Connor’s chest rises unevenly between us, blue eyes burning into mine.

“Stop touching me.”

“You’re fucking welcome.”

I wrench the cubicle open and walk out before the rest of what I want to say follows it, but Connor is hot on my heels.

“I didn’t ask for your help,” he snaps. “I don’t want it.”

My feet stop.

For one ugly second, I’ve got nothing. No smartass response waiting on my tongue, no easy comeback to throw at him, just those four words sitting there while I turn and lean my shoulder against the lockers. The smirk comes easier than anything else, familiar enough that I can hold it there while Connor stares at me.

“Noted.”

He stops a few feet away, still breathing too quickly, and whatever he finds when he looks at me has his hands closing at his sides. His mouth opens, but I’ve got fuck all left to give him now, so I lift my brows and wait.

He turns, shoving out the door, and it slams behind him.

I keep smiling at the empty space he leaves behind until my cheeks start to ache.

“What the fuck?”

I push away from the lockers and drop onto the bench, scrubbing both hands over my face and down my jaw while the last ten minutes refuse to fuck off with him.

I scrub harder over my jaw.

Connor walked out wet and flushed in my hoodie, smelling like my body wash, and I’d barely managed to keep my eyes off him before I had him backed against the tile with his breath hot against my palm and his eyes on my mouth.

Marcus’s little brother.

Fucking Connor.

I tip my head back against the locker and crack my skull against the metal.

Pain blooms across the back of my head, clean and uncomplicated enough that I welcome it.

“Fuck.”