28. CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
THEO
I’ve spent three days pretending Connor Reid calling me a mistake didn’t bother me, keeping my eyes off him whenever we’re in the same room and acting like I don’t notice he’s been doing the exact same thing.
Which is why I take the stairs two at a time, fingers working through the buttons of my shirt as I go, already grinning at whatever bullshit Lucas is shouting from downstairs. By the time I hit the bottom, I’ve managed maybe half of them, the thing still hanging open to my navel.
Fuck it.
Good enough.
Better than good enough, judging by the way Lucas lets out a low whistle the second I step into the room.
I spread my arms and turn slowly for them. “Well?”
Marcus leans forward with a grin, dragging a hand down his face. “Damn, Knox.”
“Thank you, thank you.” I tip my head back, laughing as I finish the turn. “Try to contain yourselves.”
This is easy.
Lucas being a dick. Marcus encouraging him. Me giving it straight back without having to think about cold sheets or unanswered texts or four fucking words I’ve heard enough times in my head to last a lifetime.
I’m still laughing when I turn and catch Connor staring at me from across the room, the sound dying in my throat.
He’s sitting with a book open across his lap, except he hasn’t looked at the thing since I walked into the room. His eyes are on me instead, tracking over the open front of my shirt before lifting slowly to my face.
It’s the first time we’ve properly looked at each other in three days, and the longer Connor holds my gaze, the more the smile on my face starts to slip.
His jaw is tight, blue eyes darker than they have any right to be, and there’s none of the discomfort I’ve been expecting. None of the regret he was so certain about when I stood in his flat wearing his shirt.
He looks pissed off, jaw tight and eyes dark, but I know that look now. I know what Connor looks like when he wants me, and the fact my stomach still tightens under the weight of it only pisses me off more.
His attention snaps back to the book, fingers closing around the edges, bending the pages.
Three fucking days of barely looking at me, disappearing whenever we end up in the same room and acting like the best way to deal with what happened is to pretend it fucking didn’t.
And now he’s staring at me like that.
Heat crawls beneath my skin, tangled up with enough irritation that I can’t tell one from the other.
I bite down on the comment sitting behind my teeth and force my attention back to the room, refusing to give Connor’s stare any more thought than it’s already stolen from me.
Lucas is still looking me over, shaking his head slowly as he scrubs a hand across his jaw. “If I was gay-” he mutters, nowhere near quietly enough, eyes dragging shamelessly across my chest, and a grin pulls at my mouth.
“You sure you’re not trying to tell us something, Carter?”
Colour climbs into his face, and my grin widens, which earns me a cushion launched straight at my head. I duck out of the way laughing, the thing smacking uselessly into the wall behind me.
“You’re such an asshole.”
“Don’t get embarrassed now. This is a safe space.”
“Fuck off.”
The laugh comes easier this time, familiar enough that some of the tension finally works its way out of my shoulders. This is normal. Lucas talks shit, I make it worse, Marcus sits there encouraging whatever stupidity is happening without ever admitting he’s encouraging it.
No one calls anyone a mistake.
And because I have absolutely no instinct for self-preservation, my attention finds Connor again.
I don’t even need to turn properly. One glance from the corner of my eye is enough to catch the flush sitting high across his cheeks and the way his fingers are wrapped around that poor book.
His eyes drop to the open front of my shirt, linger over my chest and stomach, then drag themselves back up with enough irritation that my tongue runs slowly over my bottom lip.
Connor can call the other night whatever the fuck he wants. His body clearly didn’t get the memo.
Satisfaction spreads warm and mean through my chest, easing something that’s been raw there for the last three days.
Connor snaps his book shut and gets to his feet. “I’m gonna head out.”
His voice is steady enough to fool anyone who doesn’t know how Connor sounds when he’s holding on to his temper by his fucking fingernails.
Unfortunately for him, I’ve made something of a hobby out of causing it, and instead of leaving him alone like I probably should, I settle more comfortably against the wall and let my shirt fall farther open.
Connor’s gaze drops straight to my chest.
Heat kicks through me, but this time I don’t let myself look away from it. I watch his eyes catch on the bare strip of my stomach before snapping back to my face, my mouth curving.
“Don’t wanna stay for the show, Reid?”
His glare could strip paint, and fuck, I’ve missed it.
“Is your date supposed to be impressed that you can’t button up a shirt?”
A laugh slips out of me as it finally clicks.
Three days of Connor barely looking at me, acting like the whole thing was some terrible fucking mistake, and now he’s standing there glaring because I’m going out with someone else.
The satisfaction that rolls through me is probably meaner than it should be, but fuck him.
He doesn’t get to tell me he regrets touching me and then look at me like he wants to tear apart anyone else who might.
I fish my keys from my pocket, letting them swing loosely from one finger. “Less for him to undo.”
Lucas whoops from somewhere behind me while Marcus chokes on whatever he’s drinking, but their reactions barely register, because Connor has gone completely still.
His eyes stay locked on mine now, all that careful avoidance finally gone, and the anger burning there is so obvious I can practically feel it from across the room.
Connor looks like he wants to come over here and knock the smirk straight off my face, and the only thing keeping him planted beside that couch is probably Marcus and Lucas watching us.
Because Connor doesn’t make scenes. He doesn’t lose his temper in front of people or let anyone see when something gets beneath all that neat, polished control.
Except I’ve seen what happens when it breaks.
Better yet, I know I can break it.
I turn for the door before staring at Connor turns into something even stupider, like crossing the room and finding out whether he’d still look at me like that with my hands on him.
“Oi, Knox,” Marcus calls behind me. “Drop Connor on your way?”
My steps slow, some stupid part of me reacting to the idea of having Connor alone again, before he shuts it down with a firm, immediate, “No.” My fingers tighten around the keys as Marcus raises a brow at him.
“You’d rather walk?”
“Yes.”
I clench my jaw and keep heading for the door, already reaching for the handle when Marcus calls after me to wait, and Connor talks over him with another refusal. I stop with my hand hovering near the door and exhale slowly through my nose.
Jesus fucking Christ. Can I just fucking leave?
“Will you two make up your minds?” I turn back, keys digging into my palm. “I’m gonna be late.”
Marcus barely acknowledges me. He’s too busy staring Connor down with that particular expression he gets when he’s decided he knows what’s best for everyone in the room.
“Stop acting like a child. Take the ride. It’s late.”
Connor stiffens.
It’s subtle, just his shoulders pulling a fraction higher and his mouth pressing into a hard line, but I know how much he hates when Marcus talks to him like that.
The urge to tell Marcus to knock it off rises so quickly I nearly do.
But I bite it back. Connor doesn’t need me jumping in to fight with his brother for him, and after the other night I’m probably the last person he wants doing it anyway.
Still, I find myself moving closer, stopping behind him, leaving enough space that Marcus won’t think twice about it, but close enough to catch the faint flush spreading over the back of Connor’s neck.
“Take the ride, princess,” I murmur, keeping my voice low enough that the words stay between us.
Connor goes still beneath them, and the nickname catches me almost as hard as it does him.
Fuck. I haven’t called him that since before everything went to shit, but standing this close to him, it slipped out as easily as it always used to.
For a long moment he says nothing, his shoulders held tight while it hangs between us with everything that’s happened since the last time I used it.
Then he lets out a slow breath, some of the tension finally easing from his body.
“Fine,” he says, quiet enough that Marcus probably thinks he won.
I know better, the agreement settling dangerously warm in my chest, and my hand twitches with the urge to press against the small of Connor’s back and guide him towards the door.
I curl my fingers into my palm and make myself step away.
He doesn’t get to call me a mistake and still have all the little pieces of me that came with whatever the fuck we were doing before.
“Come on,” I mutter, turning for the door before I can make this any more complicated than it already is.
I don’t look back to see whether Connor follows, but a few seconds later his footsteps fall into place behind mine.