Page 31 of Playing Dirty

He nods through his scowl before muttering, “Let’s go.”

I expected a fight when I walked over, so it’s a surprise when he just continues scowling some more before grabbing his coat from the back of his stool. Clearly, he wants to get out of here as much as me, because he even beats me out the door.

It’s chilly, the temperature dropping well below freezing at this point. I can barely tell, though, what with the flamethrower aimed at me in the form of Theo’s gaze.

“Are you ordering the Uber or am I?”

“I have the rental,” I tell him, holding up the keys for him to see.

“How?”

I blink at him a couple times. Because…really?Does it matter?

“I asked the valet at the resort to get it,” I reply sharply. “Kinda how a valet works, there, Theo.”

“But you don’t have the ticket.”

I roll my eyes before pulling the piece of paper he’s talking about from my jacket pocket. “Actually, I do. You left it on the desk in the room when you bolted this afternoon.”

The reminder is enough to shut him up and have him follow me to where the car is parked around the corner, though his glare aimed at me over the roof before he climbs into the passenger seat says plenty in itself.

He’s dead silent the entire drive back to the resort too, and honestly, I’m glad. Not much good can come of us trying—and failing—to communicate while he’s been drinking. Especially when I don’t have agauge for how much he’s had.

I stand by him not being drunk since he’s walking fine and isn’t slurring his speech in the slightest. Even still, there’s a chance he’s buzzing with enough liquor to wanna pick a fight, and I’m not in the mood for that tonight.

Handing off the keys to the valet, I head toward the lobby doors. Theo’s a few steps in front of me, going in the same direction, when he loses his footing on a patch of ice.

Instinct has me grabbing him by the wrist and hauling him toward me. His chest collides with mine as I save him from falling flat on his back, and my other hand lands on his waist to steady him so we both don’t go down from the sudden movement.

We’re in each other’s face, only a few inches separating our noses from brushing. So close, I can see the tiny ripple design—almost wave-like—in his green eyes.

“You good?”

“It was ice, I’m not shit-faced,” he snaps in response.

After yanking himself free from my grip, he storms through the doors and into the lobby. I’m left there, staring after him for a second, before irritation sets in. Then, I’m hot on his heels, barreling in after him.

“You know, it wouldn’t kill you to just say thank you to someone trying to help you instead of bitching and fighting them at every turn,” I call out.

The statement has him halting in his tracks, spinning to face me in such a quick and fluid movement, I know he definitely can’t bethatintoxicated.

Contempt rages in his eyes, and he hisses out, “Except I don’tneedyour help, let alone want it.”

I let out some mixture of a laugh and scoff while shaking my head. “Trust me, Theo. If there’s anything I know about you, it’s that you’drather die than accept a goddamn thing from me.”

“Funny sentiment, considering you don’t know me at all,” he snarls.

This time, straight-up laughter leaves me. Because I should’ve predicted this. It’s a cycle with him at this point. Something is done or said that he doesn’t like—that requires him to look at himself a little too closely— and rather than taking accountability, he tries to bite back.

He did it at Thanksgiving, out on the slopes earlier this week, and apparently, right now too.

“And whose fault is that, Theo? Certainly not mine, and definitely not for lack of trying.”

“I’m trying my best—”

“Trying your best?” I admonish. “The only thing you’ve succeeded in is avoiding me at all costs, so if this week was you trying your best, I’d hate to see what not giving a fuck looks like.”

He tosses his arms out to his sides and growls, “It’s not like I have any practice with this shit.”