Page 59 of Playing Dirty

“You and Tore already know, which is what it is, but can we just…not loop Vaughn in quite yet?” I hedge, feeling guilty for even asking it.

None of us like secrets in the Core Four—it’s a surefire way to make all these years’ worth of trust we’ve built crumble to ruins—but Vaughn is just…Vaughn. He’d want to know every single detail that went down, more so than Miles just did, and he wouldn’t let it rest until he was satisfied he’d uncovered every one.

Miles shoots me a knowing smirk. “Not looking to face a full-fledged interrogation, complete with cavity search?”

“I’d prefer not.”

“Fair enough.” He waggles his eyebrows suggestively. “Though from the sounds of it, you and Theo are heading in that direction anyway.”

My morning goes by rather quickly, my first class being a breeze before hitting the gym for a quick lifting session. The only thing standing betweenme and fielding drills at the practice facility is my hour-long lecture on the Revolutionary War era.

Sometimes I wonder why I chose to take a ton of history classes as electives, but the information we’re given on this unit is so easily digestible, I usually just sit back and listen rather than take notes. But today, my mind seems hell-bent on wandering aimlessly instead of hearing anything Professor Rittenhouse is saying.

No, wandering aimlessly isn’t quite right.

It sprints in a straight line until it reaches the events of last night, and it sits there, replaying the encounter on a loop. Every time I catch myself daydreaming about it, I revert my focus back to the lecture, but it doesn’t take long for me to end up right back there again.

After twenty minutes of this, annoyance starts to fester in me.

Thisis the kind of distraction I was worried about. I need to keep my head down, eyes on the prize this semester. Push through the school work to stay eligible for the season and then go hard all year to show any of the MLB scouts who turn up that I’m worth the investment.

Because, while I know I’ve got what it takes to play at that level, they have to believe it too. And they’re sure as hell gonna be harder to convince.

Releasing a soft sigh, I grab my pen and notebook from my bag, hoping that actually taking notes will cure my incessant thoughts of Theo. And it works, for a bit. But then my phone buzzes, drawing my attention to the screen where I find a waiting text.

FromTheo.

I wasn’t expecting to hear from him so soon—or at all, despite his promise to not go all Casper on me—which is why I can’t stop myself from dropping my pen to open it immediately.

Theo: I can’t stop thinking about last night.

I hate the way my pulse thrums as I read the text a few times, and I hate the little smile pulling at my lips even more. It’s almost…giddy.And while it irritates me, it isn’t enough to stop me from quickly typing out a reply.

Me: Really? And what part exactly is your mind stuck on? In explicit detail, please.

Theo: Are you trying to get me to sext you right now? While I’m in a lecture hall with like 200 other people?

I smirk, picturing him in a seat similar to the one I currently occupy, while I type out a one-word response.

Me: Depends.

Theo: On?

Me: If you’ll do it. Obviously. And if it helps, I’m also in class.

Then, for the hell of it, I snap a quick picture of my view from the back of the lecture hall and send it off as proof.

My eyes remain fixated on the screen as those damn three dots pop up and disappear at least a dozen times, only for them to stop entirely. A brief twinge of disappointment zaps me in the stomach, but I shove it away, set my phone back on the desk, and do my best to pay attention to the rest of Professor Rittenhouse’s lecture.

It’s not until there’s only a few minutes left that another text pops up.

Theo: I was wondering how long it’ll take me to be as good at giving head as you.

My heart rate ratchets up when I read it, and just like that, my mind is right back where it was earlier: fixating on the two of us naked and exploring each other. And even without the experience, Theo’s mouth on me was nothing short of heaven and nirvana rolled into one. So the idea of him wanting to get better at it?

Shit, sign me up for being the one he practices on.

Me: You’re an athlete. You should know just how true the whole “practice makes perfect” thing is.