Page 64 of Playing Dirty
There’s an unbearable amount of sympathy in his eyes for the eleven-year-old Madden, and, part of me thinks, for the version of me in front of him too.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers, causing me to shake my head.
“Don’t be. I’ve had a lot of time to come to terms with it, you know?” A rueful smile pulls at my lips before tacking on, “A lot of therapy too.”
He glances over at me, gaze drawing over my exposed arms before meeting my eyes again. “I don’t think tattoo appointments count as therapy.”
Laughing, I shove his shoulder playfully with my own. “I meantactualtherapy, dick. The ink therapy was a bonus.”
“Based on all these tattoos, I think you have that backward.”
“Maybe you should give it a try. See for yourself.”
“First you want me to talk about my feelings with my father, now you’re telling me I should spill them to a complete stranger?” he says, his tone teasing as he turns to stand directly in front of me.
“Who says I wasn’t talking about the ink therapy?” I ask while arching a brow.
“Well, either way, I think you’re asking for a bit much, MadDog.”
I snort and roll my eyes. “Call me that again, I dare you.”
Theo hums softly, a glimmer of playful defiance dancing in his eyes as he takes another step toward me.
“Or what,MadDog? What’re you gonna do about it?”
This fucker.
“I swear, you get off on pushing my buttons,” I murmur with a scoff.
His head tilts in secession before he shrugs. “Or maybe it’s fun seeing your composure slip every once in a while.”
I wrap my palm around the side of his neck, letting my thumb skate up and down over his Adam’s apple in long, slow strokes. My eyes track the movement before slowly lifting to meet his gaze.
“Is that really what you want?”
“You know what I want,” comes back without hesitation.
God, what am I doing?
I wasn’t planning to touch him today, let alone anything else. Partly because I have no idea if him asking to hang out is meant to be platonic or not, but more so because I don’t want to put any pressure on him.
Unfortunately for me, the way his gaze keeps dancing between my eyes and mouth makes it impossible to do anything but press my lips to his.
It’s a gentle, sweeping kiss—a far cry from the way we’ve devoured and dismantled each other previously—but it by no means lacks in intensity. It’s just a different kind; driven by something other than pure lust. It’s understanding and respect. And as my tongue sweeps gently along his lower lip, it feels eerily like…new beginnings and fresh starts. Like something fragile needing to be protected, shielded from the harsh realities of the world around us.
I’m the first to break away, not looking for things to get too heated. I don’t go far, though, keeping my eyes closed and resting my forehead against his. My thumb traces along his jaw, committing the sharp line and slight scrape of stubble against my skin to memory.
“Do you want to come over sometime?” he whispers, his breath hotagainst my lips.
He pulls back, the loss of contact causing my lids to lift and find him already looking at me with those eyes that…fuck. I’ve never seen anything like them.
I should be embarrassed by the way my stomach churns or how quickly my mind begs me to agree. It should be enough for me to rethink my answer entirely.
Yet, instead, I find myself whispering, “When were you thinking?”
Truth be told, he could ask me to go home with him right now, and I don’t think I’d have the strength to refuse. The want I have for him is too great.
“Friday?” he says after a moment. “Most of my roommates will be gone for the hockey game.”
