Page 60 of Playing Dirty

Me: Of course, I’m more than happy to help with that. It’s the brotherly thing to do.

I have to clamp my teeth on my lips to keep from laughing out loud at the text, but a little snort still manages to escape when his response pops up a second later.

Theo: For the love of God, never say that again.

Me: Take the offer, and I promise I won’t.

Theo: Blackmailing me into performing sexual favors? Isn’t that against the code of conduct?

Me: Probably. But we’ve already broken the most sacred rule of this rivalry. May as well go all in, right?

Just like earlier, those little dots pop up and disappear a few times as he writes and rethinks his response until, after what feels like an hour, it appears at the bottom of my screen.

Theo: When are you free to hang out next?

A little zing of electricity hits me in the stomach, right below my belly button, and I have half a mind to ask which kind ofhanging outthis would be. Because right now, my mind is firmly on the naked kind.

But I behave myself, barely, and offer him the safe response.

Me: I don’t have practice tomorrow, so I’m open once class is over. You?

Theo: Anytime after 3. What do you wanna do?

The question gives me pause because…I have no clue what Theo likes—other than to drive me fucking insane. Every attempt I made at getting to know him over break was met with the cold shoulder or toxic venom, so we’re basically starting at square one.

But then an idea hits me, because I do knowonething Theo likes.

Me: I’ll pick you up at 3:30. Send me your address.

Seventeen

Madden

“Too embarrassed to be seen on campus with me, huh?” I tease the second Theo climbs in my passenger seat the following afternoon. “Had to make me park down the street?”

There’s a glint of mischief in his eyes when he reaches for the door handle. “I can get out right now if you’re—”

The sound of the lock clicking into place has him pausing, and he immediately starts laughing. It might be the first time I’ve heard it in its purest form; the rich sound filling my car like a melody that makes my stomach swirl.

“Smooth,” he muses. “I wasn’t expecting to be kidnapped today.”

“You’re the one who asked me tohang out,” I remind him before pulling away from the curb in the direction of our destination. “I hardly think kidnapping applies in that case.”

“You just locked me in your vehicle and are now taking me to an undisclosed location. Still seems a little like kidnapping to me.”

I chuckle and shake my head, keeping my attention on the road while we continue discussing whether or not this really fits the definition of kidnapping. Newsflash: it doesn’t, but if it keeps the conversation light and easy, I’m all for letting him argue in circles.

Part of me was expecting this drive to be stiff and awkward like our travel day to Vermont—and that the chemistry we felt the other night was only reserved for the bedroom—but I quickly realize how wrong those preconceived notions were.

It’s amazing what happens when effort is reciprocated.

I’m in the middle of my rebuttal, which is squarely focused on not being able to kidnap the willing, when I feel Theo stiffen beside me. At first, I think it’s because of something I said; a thought that disappears as soon as I shift my attention his way, finding him staring at a notification on his phone screen. And while I don’t typically make a habit of reading other people’s texts, it doesn’t take more than a quick glance at the contact name to realize the issue.

Dad.

“Sorry,” Theo whispers, the word coming out gruff. Clearing his throat, he drops his phone to his lap and mutters, “He fucking ruins everything sometimes.”

I’m not sure what was said, and I don’t have any intention of asking, but from the way his mood shifted on a dime, it can’t be anything good.