Playing Dirty (Leighton U, #4)

by C.E. Ricci

Maybe not, but harnessing anything other than distaste and resentment when it comes to my family is pretty difficult these days. In fact, it only grows as my father’s house comes into view from the end of the street, filling me to the brim with all the emotions I’ve done my best to push down while I’m away at school. Everything looks exactly the same on the outside…but I know nothing behind those four walls actually is.

But while Madden Hastings may look like a straight-up delinquent, he’s currently the best catcher in all of college baseball. He was awarded an All-American designation last year, and there’s talk of him being drafted into the Majors once he becomes eligible at the end of the school year. For his athletic skills, and that alone, he has my respect—though I’d never be caught admitting any praise for a Blackmore Falcon aloud.

It’s weird, being in a home that isn’t mine, yet sleeping in a room filled with all my things. Same dresser and mattress, and the trophies lining the wall that I insisted she didn’t need to set up. Everything looks so identical to how it was this time last year, but none of it feels that way. Part of me thinks I’ll never get used to it. But I do my best for my mom, and that’s a lot more than I can say for Theo.

Don’t get me wrong, I’ve never been the person who needs to fill silence with meaningless small talk—I’d rather shove a rusty needle in my eyeball. But spending that long in someone’s presence without exchanging any sort of conversation is just painfully awkward…and definitely not my idea of a good time. Needless to say, this whole family bonding shit is going terribly.

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.

Madden, though… Whatever it is with him, it’s eerily similar to attraction. But there’s so much frustration, resentment, and tension built into whatever else my body is feeling, I can’t figure out if that’s actually what it is. It doesn’t make sense in my brain. Of course, trying to do so right now is a fool’s errand since I’m not entirely sober, but I digress.

I’m not the jealous type; never have been with any of the girls I’ve dated over the years. Yet, for some ungodly reason, a green-eyed monster rears its ugly head as I glower at the two of them across the room like some jealous boyfriend. Which is fucking insane. It’s not like I want him for myself.

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.”

“Play with fire, and you’re gonna get burned, Teddy Bear,” I utter, the warning coming out barely more than a gruff whisper. “Especially if you keep looking at me like that.” “I’m not looking at you like anything.” “Bullshit. You’ve been playing this coy little game with me most of the week.”

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. Kissing doesn’t even feel like the right word. Kissing implies soft or gentle, sweeping brushes of lips before they mold together, and this is nothing like that.

It’s only when I’m scanning the faces in the room, my gaze falling on a set of seafoam eyes near the staircase, that it clicks into place…and the feeling disappears. Goddamnit. I’ve done my best to forget about those eyes in the past couple weeks, to no avail. And now that they’re right there, locking with mine in a silent battle, I realize there’s a chance I never will.

But him being a guy isn’t my hang-up. At least, not anymore. After talking with Quinton, I’m realizing maybe it never was at all. I’d just let that unexpected development twist me into knots rather than look at the real issue. Because my sexuality had nothing to do with why that night in the hot tub came to a grinding halt. It’s that the guy was Madden.

There’s more, I’m sure of it. If we’re gonna do this, there has to be. But he clearly doesn’t care about them right now, because he shakes his head and whispers the most sinful words he’s spoken to me yet. “The rest can wait ‘til after I make you come.”

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 can’t help it. Despite how dangerous it would be—succumbing to this dark desire when the worst possible people could find us—it only makes me want him more. Madden’s seduction is an art form; one proving nearly impossible to resist. To the point where I consider it, if only for a moment.

There’s so much of himself he’s giving away, allowing me to learn during these small, seemingly meaningless moments together; ones crafted in a pocket of space where the outside world fades away, and he’s not a Timberwolf or my stepbrother anymore. He’s just Theo. Just…mine.

In the weeks since Vermont, I’ve resigned myself to this—to wanting him the way I do, no matter the countless reasons I shouldn’t. By some miracle, I’m able to push them all to the recesses of my mind, allowing this uninhibited, forbidden desire to fill the space instead, but it doesn’t make them disappear entirely. I’m still completely aware of just how messy things have become by giving in to this attraction, and I can’t help but think it’ll only get worse if we continue down this path. It’s just not enough to make me wanna stop. If anything, it makes me want him more. For as long as I possibly can have him, enjoying every stolen moment, kiss, and touch before they’re gone.

I never know what to expect with him: if I’ll get the lawless aggressor who puts me in my place and edges me into oblivion…or the version of him looming over me now, sweet and gentle but still with that sexy confidence I can’t get enough of.

No matter how much I want him—no matter how deeply I’ve started to feel for him—we’re a modern day Romeo and Romeo. Which is the very reason why, in order to save my own skin, I had to dig myself an even deeper grave.

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 willingly handing over the pennant? It’s a test of trust. Just not for him. For me. Trusting that everything between us is real. That every word he’s ever said to me is because of how he feels, and has nothing to do with that piece of fabric hanging on the wall. And trusting that, even with it in his possession, he’ll still want me even a fraction of the amount I want him.

The last one nearly has me coming undone, because I’ve never believed anything to be more true. Every piece of me—mind, body, and soul—belongs to Madden Hastings. And fuck, if he doesn’t belong to me too.

And then I kiss him gently, letting every ounce of love and hope and admiration I have for him flow from my body into his. And despite all the bullshit that led to this moment, I know this is only the beginning for us. The start of a new chapter in a story we get to write; no one else has a say in what we do or how we feel. I won’t let anything, or anyone, stop me from loving him.

I know damn well if I don’t put distance between us soon, I’ll end up giving in to his incessant desire for sex. Because, let’s face it, I’m a huge pushover when it comes to Theo Greyson.