Page 123 of Playing Dirty

I don’t get a laugh or any response at all. He’s too awestruck to do anything besides stare past me.

“Is that…?”

He pauses and shakes his head, blinking a few times before he finally looks back at me. I see about a thousand unspoken questions in those ensnaring light-green eyes, melding with at least that many emotions too. It’s not often he’s been at a loss for words, but from his deep intake of breath, he is right now.

But I wait, allowing him to voice them whenever he’s ready.

He visibly swallows and motions over my shoulder, to where I know the orange and black pennant—emblazoned with the Blackmore logo—hangs on the back wall of the mezzanine, directly next to the exit.

Right where I put it.

“It’s the pennant,” he finally manages, the statement coming out barely more than a whisper.

I don’t even turn around, just nod and utter an equally soft, “Yeah, it is.”

Theo’s gaze darts between me and it, not knowing where to look. So I solve the problem for him, taking his hand in mine and leading him back up the stairs until he’s only a few feet from it.

I release him as we get closer, and he keeps walking as if being pulled in by gravity or some kind of magnetic force. As I watch, I’m once again hit with a sharp pang of fear, but I don’t stop him from approaching, nor when he reaches out to run his fingers across the stitching.

“I can’t really take all the credit,” I find myself saying, the need to fill the silence too great to withstand. “It was Vaughn’s idea to put it somewhere in the theatre.”

“Did they all know?” he asks, clearly referring to my friends.

“Just Vaughn. He said their shows aren’t usually full enough to use the mezzanine, so the only people who’d come up here are horny theatre kids with the same idea you just had. And the stray theatre employee.”

He shakes his head a few times, still fiddling with the fabric where it hangs on the wall.

“It’s genius,” he finally whispers.

Swallowing hard, I correct, “It’s yours.”

Those two words snap him out of his reverie, and he drops his hand to his side when he turns to look at me over his shoulder.

“Are you serious?”

My lips pull up in a smirk, despite the unease still curdling my stomach like sour milk. “I might love to edge you, baby, but I wouldn’t bring you here and dangle it like a carrot, only to snatch it away.”

I’m more than aware bringing him up here still may end up backfiringon me in spectacular fashion, but it needs to be done. I need to put any shadow of a doubt I have to rest, once and for all.

Because willingly handing over the pennant? It’s a test of trust.

Just not for him.

Forme.

Trusting that everything between us is real. That every word he’s ever said to me is because of how he feels, and has nothing to do with that piece of fabric hanging on the wall.

And trusting that, even with it in his possession, he’ll still want me even a fraction of the amount I want him.

I wait for him to pull it down from the wall—officially claiming it for himself and for his team—yet all he does is stare at me in a way I’ve never seen before. Like I’ve lost my mind, absolutely. But as his gaze traces over my face, it’s also like he’s seeing me for the very first time.

Just when I think he might finally do just that, he surprises me by descending the stairs again, closing the distance between us.

I motion back toward where he left it hanging, feeling my face contort in confusion. “You can take it, Theo. I promise, it’s not a trick.”

“I know it’s not.” The words leave him instantly while he shakes his head.

Then he’s stopping in front of me, sifting his fingers through my hair and dragging my mouth to his. And it’s a kiss I’d travel to the fucking Underworld for, over and over again.