Page 26 of Playing Dirty

I can’t help the scoff that slips out. “I don’t know if I should be glad or offended.”

He waggles his eyebrows suggestively before tossing a dart at the board, where it sticks on the triple eight. “Someone looking for a repeat?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Really, T. If you’re ready to finally take this friendship to the next level, all you have to do is ask.”

“I’ll pass,” I say with a laugh.

There’s a glimmer of amusement in his eyes when he heads over to the board, collects the darts, and tallies his score.

“If that’s the case, then why bring it up at all?” he muses while handing off for my turn.

“Phoenix mentioned it, and I wanted to see if you remembered it better than I did.”

“Mhmm,” he hums, not buying what I’m selling.

But Camden being Camden, he takes it a step further and leans in playfully, puckering his lips at me like a fish. I push my hand against his chest when he gets too close, knowing damn well this fucker may have gone through with it if I didn’t.

“You’re such a cretin sometimes.”

“But it’s why you love me,” he sing-songs, raising his beer bottle in my direction.

“You keep telling yourself that.”

He makes a fair point, though I’d never admit it aloud, let alone to his face. Cam may be the clown of the house and a complete idiot at times, but he’s also one of the realest people I know; unapologetically himself and always fun to be around.

We swap turns again after I’m done throwing, and I take the time to study him while he tosses the darts at the board, my mind still stuck on the topic.

“Do you remember why it happened?”

“I think it was because neither of us had ever kissed a guy before?” hesays, though it comes out like a question. “The details are a bit blurry, but I’m pretty sure that’s how it happened.”

I really wish I remembered it. Or at least the way it made me feel and react. Then I’d have something to compare with these weird feelings I get around Madden. Because again, I can admit Cam is good looking—same as Madden.

But Cam doesn’t make me feel like I’ve been doused in gasoline and set on fucking fire every time he looks at me. Doesn’t fluster me or send electrical jolts into my body every time we make the slightest contact.

Madden, though…

Whatever it is with him, it’s eerily similar to attraction. But there’s so much frustration, resentment, and tension built into whatever else my body is feeling, I can’t figure out if that’s actually what it is. It doesn’t make sense in my brain.

Of course, trying to do so right now is a fool’s errand since I’m not entirely sober, but I digress.

Marcus rejoins us from the bathroom right as our game comes to a close, Camden coming out the victor, and I promptly drop my line of questioning. Which gets rather difficult considering the whiskey swimming in my veins wants me to hyperfixate, but I manage to shove it away before the three of us find seats back at the bar again.

Another round is ordered while we continue bullshitting, and I’m able to get all things Madden off my mind for a while. But as the saying goes, all good things come to an end, and that includes my blissful state of distraction when Cam clears his throat and looks over my shoulder to the other end of the bar.

“I…think you need to check your pockets, dude,” he says slowly.

My brows crash together while I’m mid-sip, only for understanding tosmack me in the face when I follow Cam’s gaze and find none other than the bane of my fucking existence.

You’ve gotta be kidding me.

I look away just as quickly, then finish off my drink before slamming it to the wooden bar top.

Cam watches me silently, observing my reaction before asking, “Guess I was right about that being him, huh?”

“Yeah,” I manage through gritted teeth. “But I’ll take care of it.”