Page 110 of Playing Dirty
The comment takes me off guard, and I frown. “What are you talking about?”
“I bet Holden you’d go the seduction route instead.” A mischievous smirk appears before he tacks on, “After Cam let it slip that you asked him to kiss you again over break, I thought maybe you were working up the nerves to test your moves on the captain after all.”
My heart rate spikes, and I feel my spine stiffen at his statement. He’s not entirely off-base with his theory, though the team was far,farfrom my reasoning for getting into bed with Madden. The motivation for that comes strictly down to selfish desire.
“Cam clearly isn’t recalling the conversation the way itactuallyhappened, then,” I mutter while spearing my food a little too aggressively.
“Damn,” he says, sighing out the word. “I really thought I had it all figured out. Especially with Logan mentioning your house guest.”
Another bolt of panic rushes through me. “What guest?”
“He mentioned over-hearing you having a bit of extra-curricular funin the shower a month or so ago. Paired with what Cam said, I kinda just…” He pauses, searching for the words. “Made the leap.”
For a so-called leap, the accuracy is pretty astounding. Enough to have the bite of eggs I took threatening to make a reappearance.
I do my best to look unbothered, though, and mutter, “Since when do you and Logan braid each other’s hair and gossip?”
“He doesn’t hate everyone in this house. Just most of you,” he says with a laugh.
“Yeah, well, it wasn’t me in the shower, and it definitely wasn’t me with Madden.” My gaze lifts to his, and I make sure to look him dead in the eye when the next words leave my lips. “You and I both know consorting with the enemy like that would earn me a one-way ticket to prison.”
“Eh, screwing him for intel is fine,” Phoenix says, waving me off. “But anything else? Then yeah, it’s straight to the slammer for you, my friend.”
My stomach revolts instantly, despite having been the one to route the conversation this direction. But I had to see if I was right; if my teammates—even one of my best friends—would accept me sleeping with the enemy. His response, even with the playful lilt behind it, only proves I was correct in my assumptions. No one will understand the choices I’ve made.
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.
Twenty-Eight
Madden
I’ve been swamped with practice and midterms all week, and with Theo being in a similar boat, we’ve only seen each other twice since I snuck out of his house. Both of those instances were at the batting cages, which is frustrating considering how addicted I’ve gotten to his presence. But it’s better than nothing, so I’m taking every hour-long hitting session—followed by a quick make out or blow job—I can get.
Today, though? I’m full of anticipation and excitement knowing I’ll be spending most of the weekend with him, even if we’re on opposite sides of the diamond.
Our first conference game of the year is always against Leighton—yet another layer of the tradition between our two schools—but it feels different this year. And while I might be sleeping with the so-called enemy, as I stare out at the field from where I lean on the dugout railing, I don’tthink it has anything to do with Theo.
It’s knowing this might be the last time I experience all this.
If all goes well this season, there’s a chance I won’t be back next year. Won’t play another series against the Timberwolves, because I won’t be a Falcon anymore. It’s bittersweet to think about, because the hype of a rivalry game, the Penny Play…itdoesmean something to me, even if it’s not on the same level as Theo or my other teammates. It’s actually in these moments that I understand his feeling of being torn between me and his team.
We’re part of something special here, and it doesn’t last forever.
“Think any harder and you might pop a blood vessel.”
The sound of Theo’s voice pulls me from my musings, only to find him walking around the warning track behind home plate. He’s still dressed in his street clothes; a pair of jeans and a long-sleeve shirt, but he looks as delectable as always when he descends the set of stairs into the dugout.
“What are you doing here already?”
“Looking for you,” he says matter-of-factly. “I stopped at your place and Miles told me you’d already left for the field.”
My brows hike up and I cock my head. “You’re telling me youwillinglywent on Falcon territory just to find me?”
“Technically, I still am.” He rolls his eyes and motions around the dugout—ourdugout—before muttering, “Even more so right now.”
“Truly behind enemy lines, it seems,” I say with a laugh.
“Yeah. That’s happening more often than not, thanks to you.”
