Page 34 of Playing Dirty
“Of course not,” he says, a hint of amusement lacing the statement.
“It’s not like you couldn’t have stopped at the desk and asked our pal Jeremy for another pair.”
His lips part, and I wait for whatever rebuttal that’s sure to fall from them. I’ve come to expect his quick-witted remarks by now, so I’m startled when he simply nods in concession and mutters, “Fair enough.”
Well, I’ll be damned.
The quietness of nightfall settles over us, with just the sound of the jets bubbling the water filling the air. It’s comfortable, at first. It feels like a truce, in a way. A white flag to prove that, even for a moment, we can exist in peace.
But as more time passes without either of us speaking, an antsy feeling starts tingling in my extremities; an awareness of sorts, be it from his proximity or his state of undress, and it’s becoming harder and harder to ignore. It builds to the point where all the muscles I’ve been working to relax have begun to tense all over again, knotting tighter than they were before.
Until I’m nothing more than a rubber band, pulled taut and ready to snap.
“I’m sorry about last night,” Theo murmurs out of nowhere, breaking the silence threatening to suffocate me.
His apology is so unexpected, so quietly spoken into existence, I swear it’s a figment of my imagination. It’s only when I risk a glance in his direction, finding his features drawn down in what looks like guilt, that I realize he really did say it.
Feeling my attention on him, his gaze lifts to collide with mine through the steam billowing up from the water.
“An apology is only as good as the intention behind it. So are you saying it just because you’re looking for absolution, or do you actually mean it?”
“I don’t know. A bit of both, I guess,” he replies, and I can’t help my sharp laugh in response.
“Well, at least you’re honest.”
There’s a beat of silence where he worries his lower lip, drawing my attention there for longer than I’d like. It’s only when he finally speaks again that I’m released from the trance.
“I don’t want to fight with you, okay?”
“Right,” I say, unable to stop the little scoff from coming out.
So much for being honest.
His brows draw together in a frown. “You don’t believe me?”
“It’s not like you’ve given me any reason to,” I point out with a shrug. “Your actions haven’t done anything to convince me otherwise.”
“I’m doing my best,” he says, repeating the same sentiment from yesterday. “Not everyone is as evolved as you and can just adjust at the drop of a hat.”
“So taking those frustrations out on me is the answer, right?” I ask, genuinely wanting to know the answer. “Because, from where I’m sitting,you’ve decided punishing me for a situation Ialsohave no control over is the only way you’re gonna make yourself feel better.”
Silence falls over us as we stare at one another, and while I might not know a lot about Theo, I know to prepare for a denial. Another excuse or reason or cop-out that’s sure to follow, rather than him taking accountability for his actions, because it’s what he does.
But it doesn’t come. At least, not in the way I was expecting.
“Believe me, Madden, you haven’t seen me try taking it out on you.”
The heat in his gaze shifts the slightest amount, no longer containing frustration alone. There’s something else lingering in it now. Something more…sinister. Seductive, even. And while I have no idea if there’s meant to be an underlying innuendo in his declaration, I hear one all the same.
I feel it in his blistering glare that’s cutting through the rising steam like a hot knife in butter.
“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 likeanything.”
“Bullshit. You’ve been playing this coy little game with me most of the week.”
On the mountain, in our room, every time we’ve run into each other since arriving here, I’ve felt the way he’s been looking at me—watching me. And yeah, I thought it was purely contempt…until last night. But he was as subtle as a gun when we were at the bar in town, and that was before he stormed over in a fit of jealous rage.
