Page 19 of Playing Dirty

I nod, my lips pressing into a tight line. “Figured that out about five seconds after the trip was mentioned, actually.”

“And you still came?”

“You really think I had a choice?” The words come out with an incredulous bite. “It was one of thosefall in line or elseconversations. I fell in line.”

“He doesn’t seem the type,” Madden murmurs, though it might be more to himself than me.

“Yeah, well. You don’t know him very well.”

Though, I’m starting to realize, neither do I.

I keep my gaze locked on the menu in front of me, vividly recalling the screaming match Dad and I had on the phone a few weeks back when the topic of this trip was brought up again. In all the years of my childhood and adolescence, we never fought like that, and it only served as a reminder of how much he’s changed.

But one thing that’s always been true about Adam Greyson is he won’t make idle threats. So, while I had no idea whator elseentailed, I wasn’t planning to push enough and find out, especially if it could potentially risk Mom.

The waiter comes to take our drink and food order rather quickly, and unfortunately, takes the menu with him. With that distraction gone, myattention has nothing else to focus on other than the person across from me.

When my gaze flicks up to Madden briefly, I find him already staring at me, an air of intrigue in his eyes, but also something almost like…pity? It doesn’t sit right with me. I don’t want his pity or his concern.There’s no reason for it. My dad might be a complete dick at times, but at least he’s around to—

My train of thought screeches to a halt, and a wave of guilt slams into me the moment I realize how similar it was to what I’d said to Madden at Thanksgiving.

Fuck me.

I pick at the napkin resting on the table, feeling a pain sparking in the back of my throat that grows and grows the longer I stay silent. To the point where I have to speak.

“Listen. It’s no excuse, but I had no idea your dad…” I trail off, not knowing how to put it.

Died? Passed away? Is no longer with us?

Madden saves me from having to say it, shrugging and offering a clipped, “It’s fine,” despite it being anything but.

I don’t know if he’s letting me off the hook because it feels easier than addressing the elephant in the room or if there’s some other motivation, but either way, I’m not gonna accept it.

“No, seriously. It was uncalled f—”

“We both said some shit at Thanksgiving that went too far,” he cuts in, lifting his gaze to mine. “I’m willing to just leave it and move on if you are.”

It’s evident from the intensityin his stare, he wants to drop the subject. And when I recognize the look as the same one I’d just given him…I do.

“Okay,” I murmur with a nod.

Thankfully, our food arrives less than a minute after that, giving us theperfect excuse to leave that conversation where it lay. But while I’m under the impression we’ll be eating in silence, Madden chooses to fill it with conversation. Mostly about the mountain, how long I’ve snowboarded, yada yada, and I do my part to answer when necessary, but not giving much more than that.

If he’s perturbed or put off by it, he doesn’t let on. He just keeps trying.

I don’t really understand why he’s doing it, though. It’s not for our parents’ benefit; they aren’t here to keep an eye on us or make sure we’re getting along. They couldn’t be bothered to show up at all. And despite my pleasant mood this morning, every fiber of my being wishes I would’ve done the same.

Another shot of frustration slices through me at the thought, and I drop my fork after eating another bite of my unusually bland eggs. I reach toward the center of the table with the plan to douse them in salt and pepper, but Madden’s there first when he realizes my intention.

“Do you need—”

His words cut off when our hands collide, and my heart stumbles in my chest from the zip of electricity coursing through my body at the contact with his skin. I quickly pull away, but unfortunately, the movement has me knocking over the water glass the waiter just filled, spilling it all over the table and floor.

“Shit, shit, shit,” I mutter.

Instinctively, I toss napkins down to soak up the water before it can end up on either one of us. Madden has the same idea, his inked hands coming into view while attempting to help clean up the spillage.

“Here, let me—”