Page 13 of Playing Dirty (Leighton U #4)

He smirks. “If you’re an old fucker, maybe.”

“Pretty sure there’s no age restriction on staying hydrated, for one. And I’m only eight months older than you, you dickwad.”

“Insult me like that again, and I might lay another wet one on you before the night is over,” he teases while leaning in, sticking his tongue out and wagging it back and forth at me.

But something over my shoulder catches his eye before his gaze returns to me.

“Oof, and speaking of… Don’t look, but I think your stepbrother is gonna be getting a wet one of his own by the end of the night. ”

My jaw tics, and I try to tell myself that I don’t care what Madden does; it’s of little to no consequence to me. And yet, it takes all of half a second for me to glance over my shoulder to find him. And it only takes another half second after that to notice the guy he said he was meeting.

He’s dressed in what looks to be a cashmere sweater and pair of jeans, his blond hair styled neatly on his head to pair with the short beard covering the bottom half of his face.

It’s too far to see what color his eyes are, but despite the distance, one thing is abundantly clear: He’s way too old for Madden.

Okay, maybe a slight exaggeration, but he has to be damn near thirty.

“Whew, T. That stare could cut diamonds.”

Camden’s comment draws my attention back to him. “You’re the one who told me to look.”

“There was clearly a don’t in front of that sentence. Not my fault you didn’t hear it.”

“I heard it just fine. But don’t look is the universal statement people make when they want someone to look,” I snap, glaring at him now.

“My God,” he says while holding up his palms in one of those keep away motions. “Doesn’t mean you need to bite my head off about it.”

The guy rests his hand on Madden’s arm while the two of them laugh about whatever the hell they’re talking about, and my jaw locks at the sight. To the point where I swear my molars start to crack, I’m clenching my teeth so hard.

I’m not the jealous type; never have been with any of the girls I’ve dated over the years. Yet, for some ungodly reason, a green-eyed monster rears its ugly head as I glower at the two of them across the room like some jealous boyfriend.

Which is fucking insane .

It’s not like I want him for myself.

The guy he’s with rises from their table and starts heading this way to order another drink at the bar.

Taking a long, deep breath, I remind myself that Madden can do whatever he wants.

If he wants to kiss this douchenozzle? Cool.

Go home with him and fuck him six ways to Sunday?

Even better. At least then I get the bed to myself tonight.

My brain catches on the thought. On the king bed we share back at the resort, and on the possibility that, instead of going home with this dickweed, Madden might—

He wouldn’t.

But all rational thought to talk me out of the possibility is gone. It left the moment the mere idea of Madden bringing this guy back to our room came into play. That’s the only explanation for why I’m seeing red, let alone pushing off my stool and storming over to where Madden is sitting.

This time, he doesn’t see me coming—too busy typing out a text on his phone while his date is otherwise occupied—but it all changes when I slam my palm down on the wood beside his soda glass.

His head snaps up, only for his brows to clash together when he sees me.

“Theo? “What’s—”

“You’re not kicking me out of our room to get laid tonight. And you’re sure as fuck not gonna screw some stranger in a bed I’ll have to sleep in after.”

The words come out in an embarrassing display of word vomit, and if I were sober, I’d probably want to bury myself alive because of it. But the whiskey in my system won’t allow me to feel self-conscious about just how transparent I’m being. I’m too pissed to care.

He lets out a sharp laugh. “What the hell are you talking about?”

I wordlessly motion toward the guy he was just flirting with, who is leaning against the bar while he waits for the drink he ordered .

Madden glances from me to the guy and back again. “What makes you think I was planning to do that?”

“Because I know what flirting looks like.”

Obviously.

What other reason would there be to flirt with someone? I certainly can’t think of any. At least none that would apply to this particular circumstance. But for some reason, he doesn’t look convinced.

Madden’s skeptical at best when he asks, “And flirting means I’m gonna automatically drag him into bed to fuck, does it?”

One of his dark brows arches as he waits for me to reply, but it seems the words “bed” and “fuck” falling off his lips in the same sentence have somehow made my mouth drier than Death Valley. Or maybe that’s the whiskey’s fault.

Wetting my lips, I murmur, “I don’t know what kind of criteria you require to bring someone to bed.”

“Seems like you have some ideas.”

There’s a knowing gleam in his hazel eyes, amused and almost taunting, and I don’t know how I feel about it. Too many things to unpack while I’m under his scrutiny. So instead, I just spew the next thought that comes to my mind.

“I just don’t know why you would be spending your night at a bar with someone you weren’t interested in hooking up with.”

He nods a couple times, leaning forward and resting his elbows on the table. “That’s a fair point, but here’s the thing: I’m not really looking to hook up with my cousin.”

I scoff instantly. “Really? And this cousin just happened to be in the area?”

Madden doesn’t even flinch from the suspicion laced in my question, just supplies me with a seamless answer .

“He lives in Boston now but is originally from here. When he heard I’d be at the resort over break, he asked to meet up since he’d be home for the holidays too.

” He pauses, arching a brow. “If you’d bothered to show up for dinner tonight, my mom would’ve happily confirmed all this for you.

But I guess you’ll just have to take my word for it. ”

I study him for a beat, then two, before my stomach tightens with realization that there’s very little chance he’s lying.

Which means… I just mistook his chatting and having a good time with his cousin as him trying to get laid tonight.

And I don’t know if I’m more pissed about my reaction to watching them in the first place or the relief flooding my system now knowing I was wrong.

“Cousin,” I echo like it’s some foreign concept I’d never heard of.

“Cousin,” he confirms before adding, “Well, second cousin, if you wanna get technical.”

Shit.

Almost as if he can read my mind, he nods again, and his lips roll inward, fighting a smile while I process this new bit of information. It’s obvious he’s amused, and I’m… I don’t know what I am.

Confused as shit, for sure.

There’s no way for me to back-peddle out of this, not when I’ve already made an ass of myself for no goddamn reason.

I don’t have time anyway, because the cousin in question returns from the bar and slides on his stool across from Madden.

His eyes, the same hazel color as Madden’s, but with a dash more green, flash between us.

“Um, hi. You know each other?”

Madden simply offers, “Adam’s son,” as if it explains everything.

But apparently it does, because the blond guy smirks a little and gives me one of those sup bro chin nods. “Archer. Madden’s cousin. ”

The vise constricting my lungs releases when the blond guy confirms Madden’s story, and fuck, I don’t understand why. Why would it matter if he was some random dude Madden’s trying to bed?

Jesus Christ, what is wrong with me?

“I’m gonna hit the head quick, but it looks like the pool table’s about to open up if you wanna grab it,” Archer says, his gaze trained on Madden before flicking to me. He studies me for a minute with the same penetrating stare his cousin possesses before murmuring, “Nice meeting you, Theo.”

I have no idea how he knows my name, seeing as Madden hadn’t used it when he introduced me, but it doesn’t really matter. I don’t bother returning the sentiment either, still too stunned and embarrassed by what just happened.

Madden rises from his seat to go grab the pool table, and the only thought on my mind, once again, is escaping before I can make this situation any worse.

Unfortunately, Madden’s faster than me—and possibly a mind reader—grabbing my wrist before I can even take a step back toward Camden. His skin singes mine where it makes contact, and there’s an intensity in his gaze as he leans in a little closer.

“Don’t worry, Theo. The only guy ending up in my bed tonight is you.”