Page 11 of Playing Dirty (Leighton U #4)

Theo

Though I was sent to Vermont with a mission from Wyatt, I’ve taken up a side quest of far more importance dubbed: Operation Avoid Madden At All Costs.

It went into effect promptly after the incident on the mountain day one, but it’s clear I’m failing miserably with the follow-through. Even when I wake up alone every morning, thinking I’ll manage to make it through the day without any incidents or run-ins, it doesn’t take long to be proven wrong.

Because Madden is fucking everywhere.

We’ve been here five days now, and I swear to God, every time I turn around, there he is, within spitting distance. And I’m not talking about at night when we’re sharing a room or at our standard “family” meals to start and end the day.

I’m talking about all the other hours in the day when we’re supposed to be blissfully free of one another but apparently aren’t.

Day one started off this chain of unfortunate events out on the slopes—which I’m still ridiculously sore from.

Then the next day, he was in the same to-go deli I stopped at to get lunch, and we quite literally ran into each other in the doorway of one of the public restrooms in the main lodge a couple hours later.

After that, it was the gift shop, then the sauna and pool in the main lodge, and don’t even get me started on the moment I found him sitting in my sunrise nook yesterday morning.

Fuck, last night, when I went to the on-site gym—looking to work out some of my frustrations in a healthier, more productive way—I walked in to find him running on the treadmill. Shirtless, I might add, though that’s an entirely different layer of annoyance.

I mean, honestly. Who works out in public without a shirt on?

And while this resort isn’t the largest one around, it’s still plenty big enough to prevent us from running into each other multiple times a day. Or so I thought. Fate—or my really shitty luck—has proven otherwise, because no matter how hard I try, I can’t escape him.

Even with calling down to the front desk and having a quick chat with good ole Jeremy every day, I’m still stuck sharing a room with Madden. Sharing a bed, my space, my fucking life with this total stranger who I want nothing to do with.

I’m so desperate for a reprieve, I came straight back to the room after breakfast this morning.

It’s not exactly how I wanted to spend my day, but I binge almost all of the Echoes mini-series on Netflix by the time a keycard disengages the lock, alerting me of Madden’s inevitable return to change before dinner.

Rustling of his jacket and snowpants sounds from near the door for a minute before he comes into view, stripped down to his thermals. The layers of fabric cling to his body, molding to every muscle like a wetsuit, and his sweat-slicked hair sticks up haphazardly from taking off his beanie.

“Oh, hey,” he says, his movements halting when he notices me lying on the bed. “I didn’t think you’d be in here already.”

Already?

Frowning, I glance at the clock to see it’s…barely two in the afternoon. Literally hours earlier than either of us have come in for the day since getting here, and yet here he is. Jesus Christ, it’s like he knows exactly where I am at any given time and makes sure he pops up.

“Yeah,” I mutter, my gaze flicking to him briefly. “Was a little sore and wanted to take the day off.”

He nods, a few strands of hair flopping onto his forehead. “I get it. I took a bit of a tumble myself today, so I wanted to relax a bit before dinner.”

I don’t respond, because really, what the hell am I supposed to say to that? I’m sure as hell not gonna offer for him to join me here when the entire point of me turning into a recluse for the day was to avoid him.

So instead, I shift my attention away from the six-foot-two bane of my existence in favor of my show.

Which works…for all of thirty seconds. I’m on edge with every movement he makes while rifling through his bag, making all kinds of noise and drawing my attention back to him.

By the time he’s dropped his clean clothes on the mattress, I have no clue what is happening with Leni and Gina on the screen.

I’ve been dragged into an episode of Madden’s World instead.

He’s completely oblivious to my blatant staring when he drops down on the foot of the bed and starts stripping out of his socks, only to notice what I’ve been watching on the screen.

“Oh, this is a good one,” he says, the muscles of his upper back flexing beneath the black fabric of his shirt. “You like thrillers? ”

I shrug, despite him facing away. “Sometimes, yeah.”

He glances over his shoulder, his bright hazel eyes finding mine. “If you’re ever looking for a good mind-fuck, you should watch Bodies. It’s a British mystery thriller mini-series.”

I’ve actually already seen it—and, yeah, it’s definitely a great show. Probably one of the best I’ve seen recently, though telling him this will likely invite more conversation, which is something I’d like to avoid.

So instead, I just nod and offer an impassive, “Cool.”

He stays seated at the end of the bed for a bit, turning back to the television and silently watching through the end of the episode, but once again, all I can focus on is him. Thankfully, as soon as the credits roll, he pops up with his fresh clothes in hand.

“Uh, I’m gonna shower before dinner. Do you need to get in the bathroom at all?”

“No, but let me get my stuff out of the way,” I tell him, knowing I left my shaving kit and other toiletries on the counter this morning.

I gather my stuff as quickly as I can, piling it all back in my toiletry bag and not bothering to zip it, so I can get out of his way. But in my haste, I don’t see Madden standing in the doorway, and I run smack into him.

Deodorant, razor guards, and all my other bathroom essentials spill to the tile floor along with his clean clothes.

My immediate response is to drop down to my knees and collect my crap, already set on fire with embarrassment.

But as if that wasn’t enough, I realize, while I was busy tidying up, he stripped out of his thermals, leaving him clad in only a pair of tight-fitting navy boxer briefs.

Which are directly at eye-level now, along with the valleys of his abs and the taut muscles carving a V down to the elastic waistband clinging to his hips .

More heat rises to my cheeks—churning in my stomach as well—as I glance back down to toss my shit in the bag.

“Fuck, sorry,” Madden apologizes before dropping down beside me to help pick everything up. “I thought you saw me there.”

“Clearly not,” I mumble.

All the hair on my arms stands on end as the two of us work to clean up the mess I made, wondering why in the ever–loving fuck I keep making a fool of myself in front of this guy.

I do my best not to dwell on it too much, instead focusing on the task at hand.

The sooner this shit is all cleaned up, the sooner I can pretend it never—

“You forgot these,” Madden says gently.

My gaze lifts, and I swear on the rivalry, my mom, on everything I hold dear, the universe is out to get me. Because of fucking course the thing I missed grabbing had to be a strip of condoms.

What did I do to deserve this?

I shouldn’t be embarrassed. After all, we’re both consenting adults who can admit protection is important when it comes to sex—though I haven’t had much of that in a while. And yet, I’d rather crawl in a hole and die than claim them as mine right now.

But it’s not like I can blame housekeeping for dropping them, having been the only one in here all day, so I hold out my hand for them and utter a raspy, “Thanks.”

He just nods and presses them into my palm, but the pads of his fingers brush against my skin with the movement, and the touch sends a bolt of lightning through me.

What the hell is happening?

Is he pulling up static electricity and sending it straight into me every time we accidentally make physical contact? Jesus Christ .

Rising to my full height, I make sure to zip the stupid bag in my hands this time, and go to move around him. Except, with him still kneeling at the doorway to pick up his clothes, there’s nowhere for me to go unless I decide to jump over him like a hurdle.

My gaze scrapes over his arms and shoulders, taking in the black ink permanently decorating his skin, while I wait for him.

I haven’t seen his tattoos this close before now, and despite myself, I follow the seamless designs with my eyes, all the while wondering what each of them mean—if anything—before moving on to the next.

They glisten with a sheen of sweat, making the black lines and shading contrast even more against his tanned skin.

Even when he shifts and stands, I continue examining them, taking in the ones covering his chest and creeping up the side of his neck now. But as my attention slides over his body, a strange tingling sensation forms in my stomach, and I can’t quite put my finger on what it is.

Madden clears his throat, snapping me out of my perusal before he murmurs, “Uh, I’m gonna go shower now.”

Shit.

Somehow, I manage a choked, “Yeah. My bad,” before stepping out and leaving him in peace.

My pulse thrums beneath my skin as I sit on the edge of the bed, feeling nauseous and mortified all at once. And though the bathroom door is now closed and I can hear the faint sound of running water, it doesn’t go away.

What the fuck is going on?

I run my fingers through my hair, searching for a reason as to why he’s turned me into a bumbling buffoon over the past few days.

I’ve seen shirtless guys in their underwear before—sweaty ones too. Plenty, in fact. I’ve been surrounded by them in locker rooms more times than I can count, and yet, for some reason, the sight of him stripped down to almost nothing causes me to feel more flustered than a virgin at a porn shoot.

Unless it’s the shit Phoenix and Wyatt said getting in my head? All their ridiculous chatter about how good looking he is could have poisoned my brain, making it so that’s the first thing I notice when he’s in various states of undress.

Of course, with the whole condom debacle we just had, I’m sure the rest of this time we spend in cohabitation will be miserable.

It’s only two more days, but that also means two more nights sharing a bed, and at this point, nothing short of a lobotomy or a stiff drink is gonna do much to help me survive them.

I have to get out of here.

Thankfully, my mind chooses that moment to cling to another thing Phoenix said—this bit being far more appealing to me than anything regarding my stepbrother—and I pull out my phone to send a quick text to Camden.

Me: You’re near Snowline, right?

His response is almost immediate.

Cam: 20 mins away. Why?

Me: Down for a drink?

Cam: Awe, T. You miss me already? :)

I roll my eyes while my fingers fly over the keyboard before hitting send.

Me: More like you’re the lesser of two evils.

Cam: Well, you’ll have to double my evil if you wanna meet up, ’cause I’m about to grab dinner with my brother.

At this point, I’d take an army of Camdens in their most duncey form over a single Madden. Which is why I’m already grabbing my wallet and jacket when I send him a response.

Me: Text me the address.