21. CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
THEO
Idrop my forehead against the cool tiles and let the water stream down my back, heat sinking into sore muscle, easing some of the tension there in slow, heavy waves.
It does fuck all for the rest of me.
My knuckles throb where the skin’s split open, each pulse of my heartbeat pushing fresh pain through them. My lip isn’t much better. The cut has started to clot, tight and swollen, and every time I move my mouth it cracks enough to sting.
I tip my head back beneath the spray anyway, water running over my face, catching the split in my lip.
“Fuck,” I hiss, scrubbing a hand down my face.
The sting cuts through some of the fog still sitting in my head, but it doesn’t touch the ache beneath it. If anything, it makes me more aware of everything. My ribs. My cheek. My hand.
The restless energy that beating the shit out of Davey did nothing to get rid of.
The locker-room door creaks open, and I still beneath the spray, my head tilting as I listen over the rush of water.
Footsteps.
I frown.
The guys shouldn’t be off the ice yet.
Shutting the shower off, silence rushes in around me, broken by the faint squeak of shoes against tile.
I knot my towel low around my hips, pushing open the cubicle door, barely making it a step before freezing.
Connor is leaning against the lockers, his eyes flicking up, locking onto mine, neither of us saying anything.
I stare at him longer than I should.
Story of my fucking life lately.
“Marcus isn’t here,” I say, turning away before I can make the mistake of looking anywhere below those stupid blue eyes.
I cross to my locker and yank it open, putting my back to him.
Footsteps sound behind me, slow against the locker-room floor, each one bringing him closer while I stand there pretending I can’t feel every inch disappearing between us.
“I know.”
My hand stops inside the locker.
“He’s still on the ice.”
My hand stays buried in the locker as I turn that over. He knows Marcus is still on the ice. Knew it before he walked in here.
So what the fuck is he doing here?
I snatch the towel from my locker and scrub it over my hair.
“Okay,” I say bluntly, slamming the locker shut.
Connor flinches, his scowl rising quickly, blue eyes narrowing on me, the familiar irritation after days of nothing slipping straight under my skin.
“What are you doing here, Reid?”
I turn, stepping into him, Connor holding his ground, but he has to tip his head back to keep looking at me. His mouth presses into a hard line, tension pulling through his jaw.
My eyes catch on his mouth.
Days of staying out of his way, of looking anywhere but at him, and apparently none of it means shit when he’s standing this fucking close.
Now all I can feel is the memory of that mouth against mine.
My eyes lift back to his, but I’ve already leaned closer, drawn into the same space I’ve spent days making sure I never got close enough to enter.
My forearm hits the locker above his head, boxing him in as a smirk pulls at my mouth.
“Don’t tell me you were worried about me,” I laugh, enough bite behind the words that Connor’s brows pull together.
Good.
Better pissed off than whatever the fuck we’ve been doing for the last few days.
His palm slams into my chest, shoving me back, the force of it catching me off guard, giving him the space to duck beneath my arm.
“Why are you being like this?” he demands.
I stare at him, genuinely wondering if he’s fucking serious. He kissed me, told me it changed nothing and then spent days barely looking in my direction, but apparently I’m the one behaving strangely.
I turn away before any of that makes it out of my mouth and head for my bag, digging through it until my fingers close around a clean t-shirt.
“I’m not being like anything.”
The lie is barely out before Connor is snatching the shirt straight from my hand.
He tosses it back onto my bag, grabbing my bicep and yanking me towards him before I can reach for it again.
“You’re behaving like an asshole,” he bites out.
Frustration prickles beneath my skin as I turn with the pull, but the second I meet his eyes, I know exactly what he’s doing. He’s searching my face, staring at me with those fucking blue eyes as if he can dig around long enough to find whatever answer he came in here looking for.
I laugh, giving him an easy shrug, reaching for the version of myself I actually know what to do with. “I’m always an asshole, princess.”
Connor’s eyes change, the anger giving way to a brief flash of hurt that knocks the smirk straight off my face.
Fuck.
Too far.
Connor’s grip loosens around my arm. “Not like this.”
There’s no bite behind it this time, nd that gets to me worse than his anger did.
“This isn’t-” His thumb brushes once against my arm before his hand finally falls away.
When he looks back at me, there’s no anger left to hide behind.
“It’s not you.”
My mouth opens, but nothing comes out.
Because the worst part is how certain he sounds. No hesitation. No question. Just those blue eyes fixed on mine as if somewhere between all the arguing and insults and deliberately pissing each other off, Connor figured me out well enough to know when I’m faking it.
I’m not sure when the fuck that happened.
I step forward, and this time Connor moves with me, one step backwards as I crowd into his space.
“Don’t pretend you know a damn thing about me,” I growl, enough warning in my voice that anyone else would probably back the fuck off.
Connor’s hand comes up between us and plants flat against my chest, right over my heart, and the contact nearly makes me laugh because the fucking thing is hammering hard enough to give me away all on its own.
“I know enough,” he breathes, chin lifting.
I stare down at him, rolling my tongue against the inside of my cheek.
He doesn’t know I can still feel his mouth every fucking time I look at him, or how badly I’ve wanted it again since the second he pulled away.
He doesn’t know I’ve spent days trying to swallow the fact that he kissed me like he fucking meant it, then looked me in the eye and told me it changed nothing.
And he definitely doesn’t know how close I am to grabbing him now and making him prove it.
“Get the fuck out, Reid.”
I step away before wanting him this close turns into doing something about it.
Connor’s fingers close around my jaw, yanking me back around so fast I barely register the movement before he’s moving too, his back hitting the wall as he drags me into him, his mouth crashing into mine.
I don’t move at first, caught completely off guard by the force of Connor’s mouth against mine.
His mouth catches the split in my lip and pain sparks through it, sharp enough that I taste fresh blood, but I couldn’t give less of a shit. My hand hits the wall beside his head while the other wraps around his waist, dragging him against me as a soft, wrecked sound slips out of my throat.
Fuck dignity. Connor’s kissing me again.
His fingers push into the damp hair at the back of my neck and knot there, keeping me exactly where he wants me while he angles my head and pushes his tongue between my lips.
My knees nearly fucking give out.
“Fuck,” I rasp against his mouth, everything I’ve spent the last few days trying not to want rushing back in twice as bad.
I’ve thought about this too many times, and somehow I still wasn’t prepared for what it would feel like when he actually did it again.
He pulls away, a frustrated sound clawing up my throat as I follow, but he only drops his forehead against mine. Our noses brush as we stand there dragging air into our lungs, his breath warm against my already parted lips.
His hair has fallen into his eyes, but I still see the hesitation return, his brows pulling together.
“I don’t-” he starts, his brain finally catching up with his body.
I close the tiny space between us and kiss him again, cutting off whatever sentence he’s about to use to ruin this before he can get it out. Connor makes a startled sound against my mouth, his fingers tightening in my hair.
“Stop thinking,” I breathe against his lips.
Connor goes rigid against me, and for one sickening moment I’m sure I’ve pushed too far.
Then the tension gives, his body softening into mine, and I don’t waste the invitation, pulling him flush against me.
Connor breaks the kiss again, but this time he barely gets anywhere. His forehead stays against mine, lips still catching against my mouth when he drags in a breath.
“It doesn’t mean anything,” he says, the words practically tripping over each other in his rush to get them out.
A breathless laugh escapes me.
“Uh-huh.” I nod, letting my nose brush his. “Whatever you need to tell yourself, princess.”
My hands slide down and settle at his hips, keeping him against me, and the shift brings the hard press of him against my thigh.
My breath catches, and Connor goes rigid against me, his eyes snap to mine, wide and startled, colour burning across his cheeks while neither of us moves an inch.
My fingers flex against his hips, every comment I could make trapped behind my teeth, because I don’t want to win this one.
I just want his mouth back.
“Just don’t stop kissing me,” I groan against his lips.
Fuck pride.
I’ll let him call it nothing if nothing means he keeps doing this.
We crash together, all teeth and tongue and absolutely no patience, chasing each other’s mouths whenever one of us pulls far enough to steal a breath. Connor gives me everything back, kissing me with the same desperate hunger until I can’t tell which one of us is pushing and which one is giving.
“Theo.”
My name catches between us as Connor’s fingers knot deeper into my hair and pull, the sting dragging my head back and ripping a rough breath straight out of me.
“More,” I rasp, pushing into the pull instead of away from it.
Connor stills, his fingers still tangled in my hair as his eyes find mine, hesitation already beginning to creep back into them.
“This means nothing,” he says, eyes searching mine.
I slide my hands up his sides, fingertips brushing warm skin beneath the hem of his t-shirt.