Playing Dirty (Leighton U, #4)

by C.E. Ricci

To the ones with the odds constantly stacked against them: Fuck what everyone else will think or say. Use it as fuel to write your own happy ending.

My lips twitch at the sound of Theo referring to himself by his full name, though I’m quick to school my features before he notices.

“I might be annoyed about this whole situation, but I’m not a complete asshole.” I could write a dissertation on why I don’t believe him, but if we’re gonna get through this week without killing each other, it’s better I keep my opinion to myself. However, I do offer him another opportunity to take the out I’m providing.

Unfortunately, after I come out of the bathroom from brushing my teeth, I realize the one massive problem I’ve overlooked. One that’s impossible to ignore now that he’s stripped down to nothing more than a pair of tight-fitting boxer briefs. Theo Greyson is hot as hell.

What the hell am I supposed to say? No? Go put on a snowsuit before getting in bed so I don’t have to think about your sinful body lying beside me all night? Yeah, not happening. If there’s one thing I’m not gonna do, it’s admit to any sort of attraction. Not now, when things are barely civil between us. Probably not ever.

Fuck, last night, when I went to the on-site gym—looking to work out some of my frustrations in a healthier, more productive way—I walked in to find him running on the treadmill. Shirtless, I might add, though that’s an entirely different layer of annoyance. I mean, honestly. Who works out in public without a shirt on?

Unfortunately, Madden’s faster than me—and possibly a mind reader—grabbing my wrist before I can even take a step back toward Camden. His skin singes mine where it makes contact, and there’s an intensity in his gaze as he leans in a little closer. “Don’t worry, Theo. The only guy ending up in my bed tonight is you.”

“I don’t need to read your mind, Theo. Not when your body is screaming.”

But I don’t get the chance, because Theo’s hand lands on my forearm. And those emotions? Well, they boil over the second his lips crash into mine.

I don’t know what caused me to snap, only that the second I do, I realize it’s the greatest mistake I’ve ever made. Because nothing—fucking nothing on this planet—could prepare me for kissing Madden.

He drags me under with hatred, holds me captive with wrath. And it’s a taste too fucking addictive to fight.

“What do you—” “You!” I shout instantly. “Jesus fuck. It’s you, okay? I want you.”

This. I want this. His anger and aggression when he fights me back. The addictive, wicked way he takes control or puts me in my place.

Theo Greyson hasn’t just gotten under my skin. He’s clawed his way into my psyche, burrowed himself through muscle and cartilage, sliced straight to the bone—and he’s managed this in an unthinkably short amount of time.

“I love watching you like this. Seeing how turned on you get when I’m barely touching you.” I melt into goo any time he touches me, and I’d probably be embarrassed by it if I wasn’t so desperate to touch him. Taste him. Learn every inch of his body to the point where it may as well be my own.

His tongue rolls along the inside of his cheek and he shrugs. “Guess I hadn’t found the right person to try it with.” “Well, look no further,” I tell him, still grinning, and it has a hesitant little smile pulling at his own lips. “Yeah. I’m starting to gather that.”

He damn near jumps out of his skin, spinning in a quick circle before whisper-shouting, “Goddamnit, Madden. Do you have some kind of scare kink you haven’t told me about?” “Depends. Would you be into it?” His brow arches and a disbelieving laugh slips out. “No. Like most people, I don’t really enjoy the feeling of my heart dropping out of my asshole.”

I have no clue. Not when he’s right here—in my space, my arms, my fucking veins—stealing my ability to think.

I crave him down to the marrow of my bones, the ends of the earth. To the edge of my fucking sanity. So this is what addiction feels like.

Quinton’s brow arches, and there’s a patronizing smile on his lips when he says, “Theo, I say this with love, but you’re kinda fucked.”

If I’ve ruined him, he’s decimated me. He’s taken me apart, piece by piece, and left me in shambles at his feet. Clawed his way into my very essence, lay claim to the organ beating inside my chest. Plucked every ounce of sanity straight from my being and tossed it aside as if it were never there in the first place.

“Because I love you, okay? God, I thought that’d be fucking obvious.” A soft, exasperated laugh leaves him, and he shakes his head. “I love you so much, sometimes I fucking hate you for it—for making me fall to the point where I’d abandon everything else for you. Because I would. I’d sell my team out and give you the pennant. I’d hand my soul over to Hades himself if it made you smile.” He licks his lips and releases a resounding sigh. “You’re the one I’d turn around for, Theo. Over and over again.”

Just like he also refuses to let me live down getting drafted to be a Coyote. Or as he likes to say: a Timberwolf’s lesser cousin.