Page 47 of Make Me Mean It

I swallow and search his face, trying to find the familiar Theo somewhere in his expression. The smirk. The amusement. Anything I know how to deal with.

There’s nothing.

I step backwards, my balance wavering beneath me, alcohol making me less coordinated, but the extra space lets me breathe properly again.

I turn towards the bed, and every thought I’ve been trying to keep out of my head comes crowding straight back in.

I grab the edge of the blanket and pull it back before I can stand there making this any weirder than it already is, climbing beneath it with considerably less coordination than I’d like. The mattress dips beneath my weight, sheets cool against my legs as I roll onto my back and drag the blanket up over my chest.

The awareness of Theo watching me sits hot beneath my skin while I pull the blanket higher and stare determinedly at the ceiling, concentrating on keeping my breathing steady when every part of me is still wound tight from having him that close.

The mattress shifts as Theo climbs back into bed beside me, his weight sinking deep enough into it that I slide towards him, my shoulder brushing against his arm.

I pull away, only to find the edge of the mattress. There’s nowhere else to go without practically hanging off the bed, and moving again would make it painfully obvious that the problem isn’t the lack of space.

It’s him.

So I stay exactly where I am, staring at the ceiling while the warmth of his arm sits against mine.

We aren’t touching, but he’s all I can feel, and the heat rolling off his body makes it impossible to forget he’s there. His breathing slows, evening out while mine still feels too shallow, every inhale catching in my chest.

I tug the blanket higher, and Theo answers with a long, put-upon sigh before the mattress shifts beneath us as he rolls onto his side, facing me.

I keep my eyes fixed firmly on the ceiling. Looking would only make this worse when I already know exactly how close he is, his breath brushing the side of my neck every few seconds, stirring the fine hairs there and making me painfully aware of the small stretch of mattress separating his body from mine.

Christ, relax,” Theo mutters.

His voice is rough beside me, sending an unwanted shiver across the back of my neck.

I turn my head and glare at him. “This isn’t exactly comfortable for me.”

My eyes flick pointedly towards the narrow space between us before returning to his.

Theo’s mouth quirks in that distinct way I don’t trust.

“Might be more comfortable if you changed.”

My entire body locks, because for one alcohol-muddled second I think Theo is suggesting I strip off in his bed.

Then Theo glances down.

My jeans.

Right.

I’ve been so busy trying not to think about the fact that I’m lying in Theo’s bed that I’ve been ignoring the denim digging uncomfortably into my hips. Now that he’s pointed it out, it’s all I can feel.

My fingers fist in the t-shirt he gave me. I should change, except changing means taking my jeans off while I’m already lying in Theo’s bed with him barely a foot away.

My mouth goes dry as I glance at him. “Close your eyes?”

It’s soft, dangerously close to a question rather than a demand, and I brace myself for the comment I know is coming.

He holds my gaze, the amusement in his expression fading. His head tips back against the pillow, eyes closing without argument.

The tension in my shoulders eases.

“Thank you,” I breathe, his lashes twitching against his cheeks, though he keeps his eyes firmly closed.