Page 42 of Playing Dirty
“What the hell are you doing here?” he snaps, his tone all ice and toxins. “The parties over at Blackmore aren’t cutting it anymore?”
Dillon’s eyes light up when he hears Wyatt’s voice behind him, and he turns with a grin. “On the contrary. We were simply in the neighborhood and thought we’d stop in. See what all the fuss is about when it comes to these infamous Leighton parties.”
I snort, smiling to myself at his obvious bullshit. Every single one of us have been here before, and all the way across town can hardly be consideredin the neighborhood.
Wyatt doesn’t pick up on it, though. “Well, you came and saw. Now, feel free to leave.”
“Leave? But we just got here.” He motions to me before aiming a grin back at Leighton’s captain. “Some of us haven’t even had a chance to grab a drink.”
I can feel Theo’s gaze burning a hole in me at Dillon’s comment, but I ignore it and focus on the scene unfolding in front of me.
“Yeah, and most of us would like to keep it that way,” comes from Phoenix, who’s glaring daggers at both me and Dillon.
Zander and the others choose that moment to appear, having woven their way through the countless bodies dancing and talking to find us, and Phoenix lets out a sharp laugh.
“Oh, wonderful. So you’ve brought an entire crew of incels, have you, Hastings?”
I scoff and cross my arms over my chest. “You know, you really need to get more creative with your insults, Mercer. They’re getting a bit bland, even for you.”
“Well, the good news is, once you get the fuck out of here, you don’t have to listen to them anymore,” bites Wyatt.
Dillon and Wyatt take turns tossing jabs, Phoenix throwing in one every so often, and I glance around us. My tongue rolls againstthe inside of my cheek when I notice we’ve gathered a bit of an audience now, some of the party-goers taking notice of the showdown happening between our two groups.
I find Theo’s gaze in my quick once-over, pausing there when I realize he’s already staring at me intently. From the way his brows draw together and the rigid set of his jaw, it’s not the team’s presence that he takes issue with butmine.But where there’s also animosity and irritation, I also see something else—the same thing I caught in his gaze the last time I saw him.
Desire.
It’s faint, but it’s there nonetheless. And it draws me in—a moth to a flame—until I’m taking a fractional step in his direction. Small enough to only be noticeable to someone looking directly at me.
The second I do, his jaw tics and nostrils flare. But it’s the way those eyes—the ones that’ve come to haunt me in every waking hour—harden to stone that is a blade to the gut.
I’ve tried not to think about what caused his sudden change of pace that fateful night. But right now? It’s the only thing I can think about, and it takes every ounce of my willpower not to grab him by the arm, drag him away from all the prying eyes, and demand some answers.
Yet, I somehow fight it, and instead, snap out of the trance he pulled me into.
“Look, we’re not here to cause any trouble—”
Phoenix’s sharp laugh cuts me off. “I highly doubt that, otherwise you wouldn’t be crashing in the first place.”
I roll my eyes, completely unfazed by the venom in his words. “It’s a college party, Mercer, not a wedding. Last time I checked, there wasn’t a guest list.”
Dillon and Zander chuckle under their breaths, but it’s loud enough todraw the attention from a few of the Leighton players, and their lips curl back in disgust.
“Yeah, but we don’t like to consort with a bunch of cheaters. So I think I speak for everyone here when I say you guys leaving would be in everyone’s best interest.”
It’s obvious to any one of us, he’s talking about the steroid scandal the football team was involved in last year. An unfortunate turn of events, obviously, but it has nothing to do with any of us standing here. We’re all clean as a whistle.
“Except not a fucking one of us are juicers,” Dillon retorts before I have the chance. “So why don’t you just go have some fun and forget you ever saw us?”
“Because the lot of you are a bunch of cockroaches, popping up wherever the hell you please, and it’s gotten old. So you can either get the fuck out, or I’ll remove you myself,” Wyatt snarls, stepping in closer to use his size as an intimidation tactic.
Unfortunately for him, Dillon has about twenty pounds and at least an inch on him, so it doesn’t really work, but it’s entertaining to watch him try.
Sometimes I forget just how seriously some of these guys—on both sides—take this rivalry. Until moments like this, when the tension climbs to such high levels, there’s nowhere else to go but down. Then I’m reminded of it, along with the repercussions when someone snaps and starts throwing fists instead of insults.
We’re all screwed if that happens.
And the last thing we need is suspensions before the season officially starts.
