Page 68 of Make Me Mean It

Or turn around.

I haven’t looked towards the stands since sitting down, but Connor’s presence sits between my shoulder blades anyway, prickling across my skin until I’m half convinced those blue eyes are still fixed on me.

I throw the bottle harder and catch it against my palm with a sharp slap.

The bench groans beside me, Marcus dropping onto it, the impact travelling through the wood beneath my ass.

I know exactly what he’s doing beside me, sitting there with that patient fucking stare while he waits for me to crack first. Marcus has known me too long to bother asking what’s wrong. He’ll sit there until the silence gets unbearable and let me do the work for him.

“Fuck off,” I growl, already reaching for my bag.

Marcus blows out a long-suffering breath, his hand closing around my bicep.

“What the-”

He yanks me backwards, dumping my ass straight back onto the bench.

I whip around. “You hard of hearing now, Reid?”

Marcus raises a brow, completely fucking unmoved, then settles back with one arm stretched along the bench as if he didn’t just physically force me to sit down.

“What’s got your panties in a twist?”

“You mean besides you?”

He snorts and takes a long drink from his bottle, watching me over the rim. “We both know me putting you in your place isn’t what’s got you acting out.”

“I’m not acting out.”

Marcus doesn’t even bother answering. He lowers the bottle and tips his head slightly, giving me that patient, assessing look that makes the back of my neck prickle.

I hate that look.

Worse, I hate the urge to check the stands again.

I push a hand through my damp hair, blowing a sharp breath out through my nose. “It’s nothing.”

Marcus’s brow climbs.

“Seriously.” I shake my head, already feeling my patience fray beneath the weight of his stare. “Drop it.”

I hold his stare and keep my mouth firmly shut, because there is absolutely no fucking universe where I tell Marcus that his little brother kissed me yesterday. That I kissed him back. That every time my concentration slips, I’m right back in that lake with Connor’s hand on me and his mouth taking mine.

Marcus would fucking kill me.

I should probably be more worried about that.

Instead, all I can think about is Connor standing across the rink and whether he’s still looking.

Marcus sighs, finally looking away with a shake of his head.

“Whatever it is,” he says, pushing himself off the bench, his voice losing some of its bite, “drop it. It’s fucking with your game.”

I scoff. “Thanks for the concern.”

Marcus glances back over his shoulder, the corner of his mouth already twitching. “Want a cuddle?” He tips his head, opening his arms slightly. “Need some love, baby?”

I grab my water bottle, launching it at his head.

He catches the thing one-handed without even flinching, his laugh breaking out across the rink as he hops back over the barrier and pushes off onto the ice.

I watch him skate away, some of the pressure in my chest easing, before turning back towards the stands.

Connor’s seat is empty.

He’s gone.

Disappointment catches me so cleanly I don’t have time to pretend it’s anything else, irritation hot on its heels.

What the fuck did I expect?

Apparently, for him to still be there.