Page 69 of Triple Play
“You need to go,” she says, but there’s no conviction in it.
I gesture down at the obvious bulge in my jeans, painful and impossible to hide. “You’re really going to leave me like this?”
She bites her lip, and I watch her eyes track down, see the moment she registers exactly how hard I am. “Jordie—”
“I’m not asking for anything you don’t want to give.” I step closer, backing her against the wall again, letting her feel exactly what she does to me. “But if you send me down there like this, everyone’s going to know exactly what we were doing up here.”
She’s quiet for a moment, thinking, and I can see the war happening behind her eyes. Want versus fear versus practicality.
“Come to my room later,” she finally says, and the words send heat straight through me. “After everyone’s gone. After Grant goes to sleep.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.” She reaches up, fixes my hair where her hands messed it up. “But for now, you need to go get your party under control before Grant comes back up here.”
“You sure?” I’m giving her one more chance to change her mind, to tell me this is still just tonight.
She kisses me once more, soft and promising. “I’m sure. Now go.”
I check the hallway again—still clear—and slip out, my heart doing something complicated in my chest that has nothing to do with almost getting caught.
Downstairs, the party is exactly as messy as Grant described. Someone’s passed out on the couch. There’s beer spilled on the hardwood. The living room smells like a brewery and bad decisions.
Time to shut this down.
“Alright, everyone out!” I clap my hands, raising my voice over the music. “Party’s over. I got a hookup waiting and you all need to leave.”
The team starts razzing me immediately, exactly as expected.
“Dickson’s getting laid!”
“About time, you’ve been useless all night.”
“Who’s the lucky girl?”
I just grin and start herding people toward the door, playing into it because it’s easier than the truth. Let them think it’s some random girl from the party. Let them think whatever they want.
Within twenty minutes, the house is clear except for those us who live here.
Grant’s in the kitchen, watching me with those cold blue eyes as I clean up red cups and bottles. He doesn’t say anything, but I can feel the suspicion radiating off him like heat.
Wyatt’s on the couch, staring at nothing, and something about his expression makes me pause. He looks… wrong. Hollow in a way that sets off alarm bells.
I walk over, clap him on the shoulder. “You okay, man?”
“Fine.” But his voice is flat, empty, and his leg is bouncing with that nervous energy I’ve learned means he’s barely holding it together.
“You sure? You look—”
“I said I’m fine.” He stands abruptly, shaking off my hand. “Just tired. Going to bed.”
He’s up the stairs before I can say anything else, and I hear his door close. Not slam. Just close with careful, controlled precision that somehow feels worse.
I look at Grant, who’s still watching me with those calculating eyes.
“What?” I ask, defensive despite myself.
“Nothing.” But the way he says it, the way he’s looking at me, says everything.
