Chapter Thirteen

Mark is changed when I find him. You couldn't have guessed he was in a fight moments ago, his shirt all clean-lines, crisp corners, and his hair perfectly tousled. I feel strange approaching Mark first and not waiting for him to find me.

He turns, spotting me in the doorway. His expression brightens.

"Are you still up for a drink? Or do you need to go home and lick your wounds?"

"What wounds?" Mark asks innocently. "I didn't notice anything worthy of a bruise."

His statement is unconvincing, given his still-healing black eye. He walks toward me, and I wait for him to get closer before speaking. "Are you sure?" I ask. "I know you like your bruising cream."

Mark rolls his eyes. "As much as I like my ice packs, yes. Come on, before Tommy spots us leaving and tries to impound you."

We walk, Mark falling into step on my left. Once we're outside the building and out into the twilight of late evening, he places his hand against my back. "Are you cold?"

"I'm good. Should we take the bus?"

"How about we drive to yours? And we can call a taxi from there," Mark suggests. "Did you have somewhere in mind?"

Most of the venues I've been out to in the past were places suited to large groups of people since my nightlife used to be after-club drinking sessions and hang-outs. I'm sure there's going to be one tonight after the volleyball finishes up, so that strikes every one of those bars from the list instantly. I don't want anyone we know stumbling upon us and end up getting too shy to actually talk to Mark. I've made it this far; I want it to go well.

"I actually can't drink too much tonight," I begin, glancing away from Mark. I don't want to admit it, given that I invited him out for a drink, but I don't think Mark will get mad at me for it. "So, I thought we could go somewhere outside of the night district. There's a pub off the main shop street that is doing a trivia quiz, which could be fun?" I suggest it as a question. If Mark hates the idea, I can put up with a busier spot.

Relief crosses Mark's expression, and he nods. "That sounds good."

I frown as we get into the car. "What is it?"

"Hm?"

"You made a face."

"Did I?" Mark's smile is self-conscious. "I was worried you were going to say Yeats or Vale. It gets so hectic in there, I'd be worried about someone knocking into you."

"World's a busy place. It's going to happen plenty more times, whether I avoid crowds or not." I don't mention that I was thinking the same thing or that I'm touched that he's put some thought into our night out together, too. It wasn't just something he agreed to and then forgot about.

"I know. But if I ever see someone kick your crutches out from under you again because they can't use their eyes, then I'm making sure they'll never make the mistake again," Mark says, issuing his threat very casually.

"That was an accident."

"Yeah, which is why I didn't say anything. If I'd realised then how much pain that thoughtless—" Mark stops abruptly with a hard exhale. "Anyway. Trivia night sounds perfect."

???

Trivia night is far from perfect. It's so bad that I wonder how I'm doing well at college, and I wonder why I ever thought Mark was smart. Between the two of us, the only topic we get more than half the questions correct is the sports section.

"I didn't realise my general knowledge was so bad," I admit, sipping alcohol-free beer. I'm tucked into a cushioned alcove with Mark, who, throughout the night, has gotten closer and closer. I think one of his hobbies is feeling up my thigh and turning me on. He keeps rubbing with his thumb and squeezing at random moments.

Mark leans back, spinning the pen around his fingers. Our sheets for round four have just been collected, and we're waiting for the next round to begin.

"This isn't trivia, Kyle. This is a blood-thirsty competition that we've stumbled into. Look. Every other table has dictionaries." Mark nods across the room. I'm glad he's taking our failure in good humour.

"Oh they do , " I say. "We should bring one next time."

"Do you own a dictionary? Because I don't."

"I'll buy one."

"Something tells me we'll still come last." Mark sets the pen down, swapping it with his drink. He squeezes my thigh as he does. I twist away, doing my utmost not to squirm. I haven't cursed at Mark once all evening despite my arousal.

"Can I massage your leg later?" Mark asks.

"You've been massaging it since we sat down."

"A proper one. Where you melt into the cushions and groan."

He could easily have that same response out of me now .… if not for the witnesses. I turn back to him. "I'll think about it."

Mark grins. "Really?"

The next round is tragic. Mark takes up piano lessons to compensate. Or at least I assume that's what he's doing, because it explains the way his fingers drum incessantly against my thigh.

I cover his hand with mine, flattening it to stop the torture. "Mark," I complain. "That tickles."

Mark hums but slips his hand to rest on the top of my knee. A dark splatter on the back of his hand catches my eye.

"Your hand, Mark." I frown and grasp it to draw it above the table into the yellow glow of the pub lights. The back of Mark's hand, where there are fine bones and numerous vital ligaments, is bruising to a greenish purple and is swollen.

My thoughts drift to Mark and Tommy rough-housing. Bethany had been disgusted, but I genuinely hadn't thought much of it. Compared to my brothers, it had been very tame. Certainly nothing close to what Chris would consider needing intervention. But seeing the bruise, I wish I'd interfered. "It looks sore," I say, unhappy.

"A small bruise is all." Mark shrugs.

I look at the healing bruise around his eye, and the discomfort inside me balloons larger. "I'm sorry. I should have stepped in."

Mark's eyebrows lift. "No, you shouldn't have. It's between me and Tommy to work out."

"You were fighting about me," I say. Apparently, my unease with Mark's bruised body is enough to overcome my inherent shyness.

"We were fighting because Tommy was being a dick."

"Tommy's overcompensating because he feels bad. He's not being a dick." He definitely is, but I'm not dragging Tommy.

"You told him about your leg?" Mark catches on immediately.

"Yeah. And he didn't mind you before, but I think he's just worried that you'll—" I wince, not liking how it makes me sound vulnerable, but I carry on regardless, "—hurt me. Physically."

Anger sparks in Mark's eyes before it sinks away into another emotion I'm unable to identify. "Kyle, I wouldn't ever—"

"I know."

Mark withdraws his bruised hand from mine to rub the back of his neck. Despite his embarrassed posture, his gaze doesn't waver from mine. "I did grab you at the party. It wasn't to hurt you—I have never intentionally tried to hurt you, ever, no matter how much we competed. And you said yourself that I can be bossy, which I generally can be, yes. But if I ever do something you don't like, you can tell me to stop, and I will."

I let that sink in, even though no part of me harboured doubts about my safety regarding Mark.

He must mistake my silence as doubt because he continues, "The exception being when I think your ankle is broken and you tell me to fuck off. In that situation or any like it, I'll not be fucking off anywhere."

I meet his worried, earnest gaze, and soften at how serious Mark is being to reassure me. I believe every word. "I'm pretty sure there's a bigger chance of a toddler hurting me than you, Mark. I'll talk to Tommy tomorrow."

Mark looks reassured and his bruised hand makes its way back to my thigh. "Leave him be. We'll sort it out ourselves."

"I don't like seeing you all beaten up." I shake my head.

Mark and I stay at the pub until the end of the quiz—where, having come dead last, we are rewarded with a consolation pitcher of cider—and then hail a taxi to my apartment. I'm bizarrely on edge and relaxed at the same time as we ride the elevator to my floor. Nothing date-like has happened, really, but we've talked normally all evening, and I'm thrilled.

Mark is probably shocked that I've been friendly at all.

"What was Bethany saying to Eddie on the court?" I ask as we step out of the elevator. Harsh white lights illuminate the hallway. "I noticed her giving him a hard time at your birthday party, too."

Mark snorts. "The usual. He wants them to go steady. She wants him to take charge and stop his friends fighting with her friends."

"Uh…"

Mark grins at me. "Didn't know they were dating?"

I hadn't the slightest clue.

"What? You have nothing to say about that?" Mark teases.

I grunt as I dig my keys from my pocket. "Wouldn't want to drive you insane with my pretty mouth, would I?"

Mark goes still.

I can't look at him. My face warms in embarrassment, and I fail at turning the key in the lock. And…I can't help but to peek at him.

Mark stares at me intently.

"What?" I ask, my voice coming out all sorts of aggressive. Damn it. I've done so well until now.

I turn away, disappointed in myself, and finally get the key in.

Mark steps in so close, his chest presses against my back.

"What?" I ask again, even more aggressive now, provoked by his physical closeness. His warmth.

"I've been doing my best not to think about your pretty mouth all damn evening," Mark mutters. One of his hands presses into my abdomen as he pulls me flush against his chest. I grunt in surprise, but he anchors me against his body, not even giving me the chance to stumble. His other hand slips up the curve of my neck and holds my jaw, angling my head to the side.

Mark moves, too, so that once he's got my face positioned where he wants it, his mouth is there to press against mine. I gasp in surprise, pressing my hand against the wall for support. I startle when the door swings open. I feel like I should be falling, but I don't budge.

Mark's mouth parts from mine when I jerk. "I've got you," he says.

And then his mouth is back on mine. I'm still unsure, but I grip the hand planted on my stomach and clutch at the sleeve of the hand holding my face in place. I don't have experience kissing, though it really doesn't matter. Mark's lips expertly part mine, his tongue sweeps in, and I just melt.

My legs are unsteady, but that doesn't matter—Mark's not about to drop me. And even as I sink, it's only into Mark's body, and only as much as he allows. Which is just enough for my ass to make contact with his cock. His grip tightens as I grind against him and he breathes out hard before kissing with renewed enthusiasm.

He pins me to the wall, and I'm too eagerly kissing Mark to pay attention to anything else. Positions? We're touching everywhere. The details don't matter to me. My experience level? I don't think I need to worry about disappointing Mark; he groans when I try to get my tongue in his mouth.

The very rude individual having a coughing fit at the door of the stairwell?

It jogs me from the moment enough to realise I've guided Mark's hand down the front of my trousers and I apparently have no interest in an innocent first kiss because I'm also grind my ass against Mark's growing erection.

Mark breaks the kiss. "Let's go in," he says, shooting the man standing in the doorway to the stairwell a dirty look.

I don't copy the dirty part. I just look.

And jump a solid mile. "Chris!"

My eldest, physically intimidating, big brother stands there with a rucksack on his shoulder and an impossible-to-read expression on his face. Mark tenses behind me, subtly withdrawing his hand from my trousers. Chris's gaze darts down, seeing it all.

I die inside.

"I thought you were coming tomorrow," I say, my voice very high.

"I arrived early," Chris says, his tone level and unreadable.

I step away from Mark and clear my throat. "I have your room prepared…"

Mark shifts his weight, hand sliding to rest on my back as Chris stares at him.

"We can all go in?" I cast a questioning look at Mark. If he wants to ditch, I won't hold it against him. He rubs my lower back and studies my expression before nodding.

"Come in," I lead the way, with Mark right behind me.

He bends down. "Did you tell Chris about your leg?" he whispers into my ear as we cross the threshold.

"No. I was planning to when he arrived tomorrow." My heart is calming down and I'm really glad that Mark doesn't seem put off by the interruption. "I'm sorry. I didn't know he'd be here."

"No worries," Mark says. He straightens up as Chris follows us into the apartment.

Chris glances around the apartment as he approaches me. Mark steps back as Chris slips his rucksack from his shoulder to the ground and pulls me into a hug. It's warm and familiar, and I hug him back twice as hard. "It's good to see you," he says.

I relax. "You, too."