CHAPTER FIVE
CONNOR
My foot hits the pavement, and the sudden stillness throws me more than I expect, my hand closing around Theo’s shoulder while I pull my other leg over the bike. The ground feels strangely unsteady after the constant movement.
My hand stays on Theo’s shoulder until my balance settles, though somewhere along the way I stop needing it there. The realisation has me pulling away, my fingers curling uselessly against my palm once there’s nothing beneath them.
My keys are buried somewhere in my pocket, and I dig them out, far too aware that Theo is still sitting behind me.
I could thank him. That would be the polite thing to do.
He came all the way across campus in the pouring rain because Marcus abandoned me, and regardless of how irritating he is, I’d probably still be halfway home with water in my shoes if he hadn’t.
I turn the keys around my finger, eyes flicking towards the front door before settling back on Theo. Leaving him standing out here after he came all this way to get me would be ridiculous, even if some part of me already suspects I’m going to regret this.
“Come on,” I sigh, tipping my head towards the house. “You can come in.”
Theo pushes his fingers through his damp hair. “Don’t put yourself out on my account.”
God forbid he make one thing easy.
I turn towards the door before he can see my expression, hearing him fall into step behind me at that same infuriatingly relaxed pace he seems to do everything at.
Apparently being soaked through doesn’t bother him.
Meanwhile, my wet clothes are clinging in places they shouldn’t, my socks are squelching inside my trainers, and every cold scrape of fabric against my skin makes me want to crawl out of it.
“I like you less every time you open your mouth,” I grit out, glancing back at him.
Theo catches his tongue briefly between his teeth, the beginning of a smirk already there. “First time a guy’s ever said that to me.”
My eyes fall to where the rain has left his lips wet, the silver bar through the bottom one shining when his tongue disappears again, and I’m still looking when the corner of his mouth starts to lift, that familiar fucking smirk slowly taking shape.
I look away before that smirk can spread any further, turning my attention to the door instead. It’s the way he says things, that low, amused edge he puts on perfectly normal words until they sound nothing like they’re supposed to.
I shove the door open and step inside. “You’re disgusting.”
“Uh huh,” Theo hums behind me. “Keep telling yourself that, princess.”
His voice lands right behind my shoulder, near enough that I feel the low vibration of it before I’ve fully registered just how closely he followed me inside.
I startle forward and spin around, the insult already on my tongue, only to come within inches of walking straight into him. My hand shoots out between us, landing flat against his chest to stop the collision, and whatever I was about to say disappears.
Damp cotton sticks beneath my palm, stretched over muscle that barely gives beneath my hand, and I should move it now that I’m not in danger of walking into him, except somehow I’m still standing there.
Still touching him. Feeling the steady rise of his chest beneath my fingers while my own breath catches high in my throat.
“I…”
Theo’s eyes drop between us, and mine follow until I’m staring at my own hand still against his chest.
Theo’s tongue slips across his bottom lip, catching briefly against the silver bar, the corner of his mouth lifting slowly, heat rushing up the back of my neck.
“I admit,” he drawls, his eyes dropping briefly to my mouth, “I thought you’d be a little harder to win over.”
My stomach clenches, my fingers pressing deeper into his chest.
“You know,” he continues, tilting his head, those green eyes settling back on mine, “being straight and all.”
I scoff and shove away from him, reclaiming the space I apparently forgot I had.
“In your dreams, Knox.”
I rake a hand through my hair, pushing it back from my face while I try to ignore how hot my skin still feels. My shirt drags with the movement, riding higher across my stomach.
Theo doesn’t come back with anything, which might be the first time since I met him that I’ve managed to shut him up.
My hand pauses in my hair.
His attention has dropped to the sliver of stomach exposed beneath my shirt, whatever smartass response he had apparently forgotten somewhere along the way.
Heat rushes through me so quickly that for one ridiculous moment it almost manages to drown out how cold I am. Theo doesn’t even pretend he wasn’t looking, his eyes travelling slowly back up until they reach my face.
“You have no idea,” he hums.
I turn and make for my bedroom, moving faster with every step until I’m through the door and Theo is finally out of sight. My mouth is dry, my heart hammering, and I brace both hands against the dresser, staring down at the scratched wood between them.
He was looking at me.
Not teasing. Not smirking. Looking.
My heart is still hammering from the bike. It has to be. I was just clinging to the back of a motorbike in the pouring rain while Theo drove it far too fast, and apparently my body hasn’t figured out that I’m standing safely inside my flat now.
I scrub a hand down my face and close my eyes.
“What the fuck,” I whisper.
A dull thump from behind me has my eyes opening again.
Theo is leaning against the other side of the doorway, shoulder braced against the frame and arms folded loosely over his chest, looking completely at ease while I feel anything but.
That smirk is still there.
“Do you not understand the concept of personal space?” I snap, pushing away from the dresser.
My hands go to my shirt, pulling the wet fabric away from my stomach only for it to stick straight back against me. I hate the feeling of it. Hate how exposed I feel with Theo standing there looking at me.
Theo shrugs one shoulder. “I’m nowhere near you. How much more personal space do you want?”
I turn away and yank open the dresser drawer, nearly pulling the entire thing off its tracks.
“You’re in my bedroom.”
Theo doesn’t answer, which irritates me enough to turn around. He only lifts his brows, eyes dropping pointedly towards the floor between us until mine follow.
His boots stop directly at the threshold, every inch of him still firmly on the other side.
“I could be,” he says, his voice dropping, “but I’m not.”
“Yeah, well, you’re too close.”
I turn back to the drawer and grab the first hoodie my fingers close around, bunching it into a ball before throwing it at him.
Theo catches it against his chest, looking down at the bundle in his hands.
“If you wanted to see me in your clothes, Reid,” he hums, “you could’ve just asked.”
My teeth grind together.
I should have thrown a shoe.
“What I want, Knox,” I spit, digging back through the drawer, “is for you to stop dripping on my floor.”
Theo chuckles quietly behind me, followed by the soft drag of wet fabric peeling away from skin, and my hands still inside the drawer.
He’s changing right behind me.
I keep my eyes firmly on the clothes in front of me, shifting through the same two shirts twice while every quiet rustle of fabric makes it increasingly difficult to remember what the hell I came over here for in the first place.
Standing here pretending to be fascinated by the contents of my dresser isn’t getting me any drier.
I hook my fingers into the neckline of my t-shirt and drag it upwards, more than ready to be rid of the cold, clingy thing.
It makes it halfway over my head before refusing to move another inch.
The soaked fabric sticks to my chest and twists around my ribs, catching beneath my arms when I pull harder. I tug again, only managing to trap myself, both arms stuck above my head with wet cotton covering half my face.
“Fuck.”
I yank at it again, harder this time, and it doesn’t move so much as an inch.
I twist, trying to free one arm, my foot catching awkwardly beneath me. My hip cracks against the edge of the dresser, pain shooting up through my side.
“Shit.”
Hands close around my waist, firm enough to stop me mid-twist, and my stomach jolts beneath them.
“Stop fidgeting,” Theo says behind me, his voice rougher than it was a moment ago.
“I can’t while you’re—”
I twist again, and his fingers press harder into my bare waist, holding me still before my hip can catch the dresser for the second time. The rest of the sentence sticks somewhere in my throat, every inch of skin beneath his hands impossible to ignore.
“Touching me.”
It comes out quieter than the rest.
His palms are warm. That’s the first problem. The second is that his hands span far too much of my waist, calloused fingers pressing into skin gone cold from the rain, and now that I’ve noticed them, I can’t seem to notice anything else.
“My touch that distracting for you?”
Of course that’s what he takes from it.
“More like repulsive.”
“You flatter me,” Theo hums absently.
His fingers leave my waist, and my stomach has barely unclenched before they catch the bottom of my shirt instead.
Theo works his fingers beneath the wet fabric where it’s plastered against my chest, peeling it carefully away from my skin. His knuckles skim my ribs on the way up, and every place they touch seems to register separately.
“Hold still for me,” Theo says, firmer now.
I do, my body going still beneath his hands with an ease that sends a strange little pulse through my stomach.
The shirt finally gives, sliding over my head and freeing my arms. I suck in a deep breath, blinking against the sudden light while cold air rushes over my bare skin.
With it gone, there’s nothing left to distract me from the hands still resting on my hips.
His fingers are curled against my skin, tattoos disappearing beneath the sleeves of the hoodie I gave him, and my heart gives one hard, uneven thump.
“Stop touching me,” I grind out, pulling myself free.
Theo lets his hands fall. “Most people just say thank you.”
I grab the first dry t-shirt I find and drag it over my head, tugging the hem down over my stomach until bare skin disappears beneath the fabric.
“Most people,” I spit, “aren’t undressed against their will.”
I get to the end of the sentence before I hear what I’ve actually fucking said, and every word seems to hang there between us, impossible to take back.
Oh, God.
No.
Theo goes completely still.
The change is so immediate that my stomach lurches. Every trace of amusement disappears from his face, his eyes turning cold enough that the apology is already pushing up my throat.
“Bold choice of words, princess.” There’s nothing playful in his voice now. “From where I was standing, you needed the help.”
The apology catches.
Because I did need his help. I know I did, and somehow having him point it out makes everything already twisting inside me pull that much tighter.
“I could’ve managed,” I argue instead, hating how weak it sounds even to me.
Theo scoffs under his breath and yanks the hoodie properly into place, muttering something I don’t catch.
“What?”
“Nothing.” His voice has gone completely flat. “Have a great night, Reid.”
Reid.
The name sounds wrong coming from him, stripped of all the amusement that usually makes me want to strangle him, and by the time he turns away, the argument dies on my tongue.
Shit.
“Theo.”
He keeps walking.
The apology is there. I know what I need to say, but somehow getting the words out feels impossible when my chest has pulled painfully, and every version of them sounds worse than the last.
I swear under my breath and hurry after him, catching his wrist before he reaches the door.
Theo stops.
The easy looseness he carries everywhere is gone, his shoulders rigid beneath my fingers. He looks back at me, then down at where I’m holding him.
I let go, shoving my hands into my pockets, not knowing what else to do with them.
“I didn’t mean—”
“What?”
My head lifts, and the rest of the apology disappears. Theo has turned fully towards me, his eyes fixed on mine, every trace of that lazy amusement from earlier gone.
“Huh?” he presses, stepping towards me, and I take one back, my shoulders pulling up when he follows.
“You think what?” Theo snaps, shoving a hand through his wet hair. “Because I’m gay, I’ll force myself on any guy?”
My stomach drops so violently I feel sick.
“Theo-” His name catches on the way out. “Fuck. No- I wouldn’t-”
I shake my head, trying to get the words into the right order, but they keep tripping over each other.
“I didn’t even really know you were-”
I stop.
Gay.
The word sits there, perfectly ordinary and somehow impossible to say with Theo glaring at me.
Because I didn’t know.
I knew he flirted with me. I knew he liked making everything sound suggestive because apparently irritating me is his favourite form of entertainment. But knowing he’s actually gay is different, and now every stupid interaction we’ve had rearranges itself in my head.
Theo scoffs, shaking his head.
“Whatever. See you around.”
He turns away again.
“Theo, wait.”
I follow him this time, but he doesn’t slow down.
Theo yanks the door open and it slams behind him hard enough to shake the frame, cutting me off with the rest of the apology still sitting uselessly on my tongue.
I stay where I am, staring at the closed door, waiting for something that doesn’t come. Another smartass comment. His footsteps coming back. Anything.
Nothing.
Fuck.
He thought I meant it.
Worse, I knew he did, and somehow I still let him walk out of here believing it.
My legs feel unsteady beneath me. I stumble backwards until my shoulders hit the wall, sliding slowly down it, dragging my knees up when I reach the floor.
I tip my head back against the wall and close my eyes, but all I can see is the exact moment Theo’s face changed.