Page 41 of Playing Dirty
“Why do we have toaccomplishsomething, Hastings? I’m just lookin’ to have a good time.” He holds his hands out to his sides, a big, dopey grin on his face. “Plus, if it pisses off the Leighton guys, isn’t that just an added bonus?”
For the rest of the guys, maybe. But I think I’ve done enough pissing off Leighton baseball players to last a lifetime, and all without even trying. One in particular comes to mind, but I shove him as far away from my thoughts as I can muster.
Which isn’t far. It never is, as of late.
“Just keep your ears open while you’re having a good time, all right?” I request. “Tell the other guys too.”
Confusion flashes over his features briefly, only for understanding and another ridiculous grin to take its place. “Absolutely, man. Fingers crossed someone has a set of loose lips tonight.”
“My thoughts exactly,” I muse, a little grin of my own appearing now.
If I’m gonna play DD to my teammates at a Leighton frat party, the least the rest of them can do is a bit of recon for the Penny Play while they’re enjoying their night. And since ninety percent of the people in this house will be drinking, stoned, or both, there’s a good chance they could overhear a conversation at the right time. Even if none of Leighton’s baseball team is here, there’s still a chance someone else will mention seeing it around campus.
Hell, eavesdropping on two drunk sorority girls was how we found out the Leighton pennant was in the admin building my freshman season. We don’t always get that lucky, of course, but we may as well start somewhere.
Dillon takes off after Zander, Shawn, and the others, joining them about halfway up the walk to alert them of their side quest, but I’m slow to follow. My blood thrums through my veins faster than the bass filling the cool, winter air, even from outside the house, and at first, I don’t understand why. I’ve crashed a few parties at Leighton with my teammates the past couple years—some at this very frat house—and I’ve never felt antsy or nervous like this.
It’s almost…anticipatory. Similar to when I’m stepping up to the plate for an at-bat, and the feeling doesn’t go away even after we’re inside. It actually getsworsewhen the mass of dancing and grinding bodies comes into view.
It’s only when I’m scanning the faces in the room, my gaze falling ona 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.
Theo’s face remains stoic and impassive, a mask of indifference, even after our gazes collide. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think he doesn’t recognize me at all. The only hint I get to prove otherwise is the burn of his penetrating stare licking against my back like flames when I follow the rest of my teammates deeper inside the house.
Zander makes a beeline for the keg near the back door, Dillon right behind him. Shawn and a few of the other guys break off and dip into the backyard, likely trying to get in on a game of beer pong.
“Say what you will about these Leighton fuckers, but they always have the good beer,” Zander muses, already sipping on the golden liquid he’d poured only a few seconds earlier.
“Wouldn’t know,” I murmur back, though it’s not loud enough for either of them to hear over the thumping beat of the music.
It’s funny to me, how Dillon and some of my other teammates haven’t noticed my lack of alcohol consumption—and therefore haven’t questioned it—yet Theo somehow clocked it in only the brief amount of time we’ve spent together.
Stop thinking about him.
But how can I?
Though he’s not in view, I can still feel him somewhere in the room. The hairs on my forearms rise to stand on end while a tingling sensation travels from my skull all the way to the base of my spine, so I know his eyes areon me.
I stand by what I told him—he’s too messy for me to even consider allowing anything else to happen between us. There’s too much on the line for me this year—things I’ve worked damn hard to achieve—to get distracted by the allure of a pretty face and sinful body, but especially one belonging to my stepbrother.
Messy doesn’t evenbeginto cover the potential fallout, and that’s not even adding the Blackmore-Leighton rivalry into the mix. Yet, despite knowing all this, I can’t reason or think the desire away. And, God, how I’ve tried.
Theo Greyson is in my bloodstream, whether I like it or not.
I just hope like hell I get better at ignoring it.
Besides Dillon, my teammates have long since scattered, popping off to flirt with some of the girls or taking to the makeshift dancefloor in the center of the living room. They all seem to be having a good time, and to my surprise, none of Leighton’s baseball team has even spotted us among the throngs of party-goers.
Which has me wondering if Theo’s the only one of his teammates here.
But our luck runs out when, maybe half an hour after our arrival, I spot Wyatt and Phoenix heading in our direction, Theo hot on their heels. There are a few other guys from Leighton’s baseball program too, and none of them look happy to see us crashing their party.
Fuck.
I shoot off a quick SOS to Zander and the others, our version of the bat signal, just in time for Leighton’s captain to stop behind Dillon and tap him on the shoulder.
