CHAPTER THREE
THEO
Iround the corner towards my room and stop, staring at the door sitting slightly ajar. It’s barely a crack, and normally I wouldn’t give enough of a shit to notice, but I know I fucking closed it.
Mostly because Marcus has a habit of helping himself to my shit, and I’ve started locking the bastard out on principle.
I glance back down the hallway, half expecting to catch one of the guys disappearing around the corner, but it’s empty.
The rest of the assholes sound like they’re downstairs, trying to bring the fucking house down.
Music pounds, muffled laughter bleeding up through the floorboards, followed by a shout loud enough that I can almost make out the words.
I push the door open wider, already preparing myself to find one of the guys digging through my shit, but whatever insult I’m about to throw at them disappears the second I see who’s actually in here.
Connor is sprawled across the middle of my bed.
Well, fuck.
One ankle is hooked lazily over the other, a notebook propped against his raised knee and a pencil trapped between his teeth while he glares down at the page like it’s personally offended him.
His hair’s fallen over his forehead, messier than it was earlier, and apparently Princess has made himself right at fucking home.
I lean against the doorframe instead of saying anything, watching him worry the pencil between his teeth.
It might be the first time I’ve seen him without a stick shoved firmly up his ass. He’s usually so put together it’s painful, looking like relaxing might actually kill him.
This version of him is new.
He looks comfortable. Relaxed, even, which is weird enough that I almost don’t recognise him.
He looks out of place in here. Too neat against my tangled sheets and the general shitshow I call a bedroom.
This is the same guy who spent half an afternoon looking personally offended every time I put a box somewhere he hadn’t decided it belonged, and now he’s somehow managed to make himself comfortable in the middle of my mess.
There’s a pile of clothes taking over the chair that’s been there long enough I’ve stopped pretending I know what’s clean, and he hasn’t so much as looked at it.
I should probably be more bothered by the fact he’s taken over the middle of my bed without asking. I don’t particularly like people in my room, and I like them touching my shit even less.
Connor, apparently, doesn’t count.
He shifts against my sheets, still completely oblivious to me, and I finally lose the fight with my smile.
“Lost, princess?”
Connor’s head jerks up so violently I almost wince for his neck, his eyes snapping to mine. His lips part around the pencil before his teeth clamp down on it again, brows pulling together as he looks me over with all the warmth of a slammed door.
“I’m waiting for Marcus.” Connor pulls the pencil from his mouth, his legs dropping from the bed, straightening, every trace of that loose sprawl disappearing with them.
I push away from the doorframe, in no hurry to put him out of his misery just yet. “And you didn’t want to wait for him in his room?”
Connor’s brows furrow, and I can practically see him working through what I’ve just said. His mouth opens, probably to tell me he is in Marcus’s room, then closes again. His eyes leave mine and dart around the room before dropping to the bed beneath him.
His head snaps back towards me, and I have to bite the inside of my cheek.
Fuck, I wish I had a camera.
“I didn’t know this was your room.” His voice has gone clipped, but the pink creeping over his cheeks ruins the effect.
The tank sticking to my stomach is starting to piss me off, so I head for the dresser, tugging the damp fabric away from my skin only for it to slap straight back into place. Apparently, standing around watching Connor make himself comfortable in my bed distracted me from how badly I need a shower.
“Sure you didn’t.”
The silence behind me stretches long enough that I can practically feel him glaring holes into my back, which should probably be my cue to leave it alone. Instead, I drag open the top drawer, rummaging through the mess for something clean.
“What, were you hoping to accidentally end up in my bed?”
“Jesus Christ,” Connor hisses under his breath. “Do you ever stop talking?”
“Nope.”
I hook my fingers beneath the bottom of my tank and drag the clammy thing over my head, tossing it towards the growing pile of shit by the chair. When I glance back at the bed, Connor’s eyes are already on me.
More specifically, at my chest.
By the time my brain catches up with what I’m seeing, his attention is already buried in the notebook again.
I stare at the top of his bowed head, tank forgotten in my hand.
Oh, Princess.
That was definitely not nothing.
Connor’s fingers tighten around the notebook, twisting together while colour creeps steadily into his cheeks. He’s still glaring at me, which is impressive considering he’s the one sitting in the wrong bedroom.
“Marcus said second floor, first door on the right,” he grits out.
My eyes flick to Marcus’s door across the hall.
“Left.”
Connor’s eyes flick towards the hallway, and his expression falls.
I bite down on the inside of my cheek and turn back to the drawer before the look on his face gets me. I manage to find a clean t-shirt buried beneath two hoodies and tug it over my head, giving Connor enough time to come to terms with the fact he’s been lying in the wrong bed.
I glance back at him, tipping my chin towards the door across the hall.
“That one.”
Connor’s eyes narrow on the open doorway, and I almost feel sorry for Marcus. Almost. He grabs his notebook, snapping it shut with enough force to make his feelings on the whole thing pretty fucking clear.
“I’m going to kill him,” he mutters under his breath.
I laugh under my breath as I head for the mini fridge beside my desk. He makes it almost embarrassingly easy, trying so hard to act unaffected, but he’s fucking terrible at it.
Makes it difficult not to keep pushing.
“You really think he keeps his room this clean?” I ask, crouching in front of the fridge and pulling it open. Cold air washes over my skin while I grab a sports drink, reaching automatically for one of the waters beside it before nudging the door shut with my knee.
I toss the water towards Connor.
He fumbles it against his chest, staring down at the bottle with enough surprise that a laugh works its way out of me.
“Relax, princess. It’s water.”
His eyes lift slowly to mine, and I raise a brow. Christ, anyone would think I’d just handed him the keys to my bike instead of a bottle of water.
“I wasn’t exactly inspecting the decor,” he huffs, twisting the cap from the bottle before bringing it to his mouth.
I take a drink of my own, watching him over the rim.
His head tips back. His throat stretches, exposing the long line of it. I watch the muscles move beneath his skin, the small bob of his Adam’s apple marking each swallow before he lowers the bottle.
My eyes jump back to his face.
His eyes lift to mine, and the moment they meet, his fingers flex around the bottle, colour working its way back into his cheeks. They fall away, finding the label very interesting.
I bite the inside of my cheek.
Leaning my hip against the desk, I take another slow drink while keeping my eyes on him. Connor’s doing a terrible job of pretending he doesn’t feel them there.
That alone is enough to make me want to keep going.
I settle my hip against the edge of the desk, taking another drink. Connor’s back to staring at his notebook, except he hasn’t written a thing since I came in.
“You alright there, princess?”
“Fine.”
His answer comes too quickly, eyes still fixed on the page.
My mouth twitches. “You look it.”
That gets his eyes back on me, narrowed now, and the impulse to push at him wins out before I bother questioning it. I set the water down and move towards the bed.
Connor stills when I get closer, but he doesn’t move. Doesn’t tell me to fuck off or ask what the hell I’m doing. His eyes stay on mine the entire way, his chin tipping higher the closer I get until I’m standing directly in front of him.
I stop there, close enough that he has to tilt his head back to keep looking at me.
Still nothing.
For someone who’s had no problem telling me exactly what he thinks of me since we met, he’s gone awfully quiet.
The bottle creaks softly between Connor’s hands, his long fingers squeezing around the plastic.
Then I make the mistake of looking at his mouth.
His cheeks are still pink, lips parted slightly, and when I drag my eyes higher, he’s already watching me. Those stupidly blue eyes don’t waver from mine.
Fuck.
I lean in before I’ve decided to, pulled forward by the need to know what he’ll do.
If he’ll move.
If he’ll let me.
“What exactly is your problem?” Connor asks quietly.
There should be more bite behind it. Usually there is. Instead, his voice comes out lower than I expect, and neither of us moves.
“You’re assuming I have one.”
His lips part, but nothing comes out. The bottle gives another quiet creak between his fingers, his eyes holding mine.
I’m still leaning towards him.
Close enough to feel the warmth coming off him, to see the faint flush still caught beneath his skin.
All it would take is another few inches.
Connor freezes, his throat working around a swallow. The irritation that’s been there since I walked in finally cracks, his eyes widening slightly while he stares up at me, nowhere near as sure of himself as he was a minute ago.
Fuck.
Now I really want to know what he thinks I’m about to do.
Knuckles crack against the open doorframe, the sound cutting through the silence so sharply that whatever I was about to do dies with it.
“Yo, there you are,” Marcus says, slightly breathless, his gym bag hanging off one shoulder.
Connor jerks at the sound of his voice, and I straighten slowly, biting down on the smile that wants to surface when Marcus’s eyes move between us. His brows pull together, gaze dropping briefly to where Connor’s still sitting on my bed before returning to me.
“What you doing in Theo’s room?”
I step away from the bed, putting some space back between me and Connor, though the way Marcus’s eyes narrow tells me I’m already too late.
“You suck at directions,” I tell him, clapping a hand against the centre of his chest on my way past. “Your brother ended up in my bed instead.”
Marcus’s frown deepens. “No, I don’t.”
“The fuck you don’t,” Connor snaps from behind me.
The look Connor shoots his brother breaks whatever control I had left, laughter slipping out before I can swallow it. I turn away, pressing my knuckles against my mouth in a useless attempt to hide it.
Marcus squints between us. “I said left.”
“You said right.”
“Ah.” He scratches at the back of his neck. “Same thing.”
Jesus fucking Christ. I’ve trusted this idiot with my life on the ice.]
Connor’s fingers curl tighter around the notebook pressed to his chest, his stare never leaving Marcus. If his brother has even the slightest sense of self-preservation, now would probably be a good time to start running.
My mouth twitches again.
I grab the towel hanging over the back of my chair before I start laughing again and head for the en suite.
I’m almost at the bathroom when I feel his eyes on me again.
I know they’re Connor’s before I turn, though I couldn’t say how. Maybe because some part of me has been waiting to see if he’d look again.
I glance back over my shoulder.
There’s a small crease between Connor’s brows, and he holds my eyes just long enough that I start to wonder if he’s actually going to keep looking this time.
Then the bottle comes up.
He takes a drink, gaze shifting somewhere past my shoulder, and I have to press my tongue against the inside of my cheek.
Right.
Because that was subtle.
I stay where I am for another moment, towel hooked over my shoulder, waiting to see if he’ll look back.
He doesn’t.
The smile follows me into the bathroom anyway.