Page 18 of Playing Dirty (Leighton U #4)

Madden

“Shit, looks like we picked a good night.”

My attention shifts to Dillon, who is looking out my window from the driver’s seat of his SUV.

Following his gaze, I find throngs of people on the lawn in front of Leighton’s Kappa Sig house; at least thirty-something of them dancing and laughing between the house and where we’re parked on the curb.

Leave it to drunk college kids to think standing outside in the dead of winter with four inches of snow on the ground is a good time.

I’m not one to go to parties, but under no circumstance was I letting him or any of my other teammates come over here without me tonight.

Tensions are always high when Blackmore crashes a Leighton party, and more often than not, I can talk them out of whatever ridiculous shenanigans they cook up while mingling with our rivals .

Sliding my gaze back to him, I ask, “Exactly how do we know it’s a good night to crash a Leighton party?”

“Lots of people, obviously,” he says before shoving open the driver’s door.

An uneasy feeling settles in my stomach, but I know if there’s ever a time I’m gonna let them run loose, it should be now.

Let them get the partying out tonight and tomorrow, because starting Monday morning, we’re in game mode. Apart from the time we’ll be spending in class, our lives will be nothing but fielding drills, batting cages, and hitting the gym.

My entire body buzzes with excitement just thinking about it.

My teammates on the other hand? Well, from the way they’re piling out of the SUV, they’ve got a completely different kind of buzz on their mind.

Lights flash inside the house, and I can feel the bass thudding all the way from the curb. The beat is strong enough to drown out the sound of my racing heart, which is now pounding in double time, as I stare up the walkway.

“You’re still good to DD, right?” Dillon asks, tossing his keys to me, which I quickly pocket after locking the doors.

“Yeah, all good,” I reply, flicking my attention back to the house. “Remind me again…what exactly are you hoping to accomplish with this?”

“Why do we have to accomplish something, Hastings? I’m just lookin’ to have a good time.” He holds his hands out to his sides, a big, dopey grin on his face. “Plus, if it pisses off the Leighton guys, isn’t that just an added bonus?”

For the rest of the guys, maybe. But I think I’ve done enough pissing off Leighton baseball players to last a lifetime, and all without even trying. One in particular comes to mind, but I shove him as far away from my thoughts as I can muster.

Which isn’t far. It never is, as of late .

“Just keep your ears open while you’re having a good time, all right?” I request. “Tell the other guys too.”

Confusion flashes over his features briefly, only for understanding and another ridiculous grin to take its place. “Absolutely, man. Fingers crossed someone has a set of loose lips tonight.”

“My thoughts exactly,” I muse, a little grin of my own appearing now.

If I’m gonna play DD to my teammates at a Leighton frat party, the least the rest of them can do is a bit of recon for the Penny Play while they’re enjoying their night.

And since ninety percent of the people in this house will be drinking, stoned, or both, there’s a good chance they could overhear a conversation at the right time.

Even if none of Leighton’s baseball team is here, there’s still a chance someone else will mention seeing it around campus.

Hell, eavesdropping on two drunk sorority girls was how we found out the Leighton pennant was in the admin building my freshman season. We don’t always get that lucky, of course, but we may as well start somewhere.

Dillon takes off after Zander, Shawn, and the others, joining them about halfway up the walk to alert them of their side quest, but I’m slow to follow.

My blood thrums through my veins faster than the bass filling the cool, winter air, even from outside the house, and at first, I don’t understand why.

I’ve crashed a few parties at Leighton with my teammates the past couple years—some at this very frat house—and I’ve never felt antsy or nervous like this.

It’s almost…anticipatory. Similar to when I’m stepping up to the plate for an at-bat, and the feeling doesn’t go away even after we’re inside. It actually gets worse when the mass of dancing and grinding bodies comes into view.

It’s only when I’m scanning the faces in the room, my gaze falling on a set of seafoam eyes near the staircase, that it clicks into place…and the feeling disappears.

Goddamnit.

I’ve done my best to forget about those eyes in the past couple weeks, to no avail. And now that they’re right there, locking with mine in a silent battle, I realize there’s a chance I never will.

Theo’s face remains stoic and impassive, a mask of indifference, even after our gazes collide.

If I didn’t know any better, I’d think he doesn’t recognize me at all.

The only hint I get to prove otherwise is the burn of his penetrating stare licking against my back like flames when I follow the rest of my teammates deeper inside the house.

Zander makes a beeline for the keg near the back door, Dillon right behind him. Shawn and a few of the other guys break off and dip into the backyard, likely trying to get in on a game of beer pong.

“Say what you will about these Leighton fuckers, but they always have the good beer,” Zander muses, already sipping on the golden liquid he’d poured only a few seconds earlier.

“Wouldn’t know,” I murmur back, though it’s not loud enough for either of them to hear over the thumping beat of the music.

It’s funny to me, how Dillon and some of my other teammates haven’t noticed my lack of alcohol consumption—and therefore haven’t questioned it—yet Theo somehow clocked it in only the brief amount of time we’ve spent together.

Stop thinking about him.

But how can I?

Though he’s not in view, I can still feel him somewhere in the room. The hairs on my forearms rise to stand on end while a tingling sensation travels from my skull all the way to the base of my spine, so I know his eyes are on me.

I stand by what I told him—he’s too messy for me to even consider allowing anything else to happen between us.

There’s too much on the line for me this year—things I’ve worked damn hard to achieve—to get distracted by the allure of a pretty face and sinful body, but especially one belonging to my stepbrother.

Messy doesn’t even begin to cover the potential fallout, and that’s not even adding the Blackmore-Leighton rivalry into the mix. Yet, despite knowing all this, I can’t reason or think the desire away. And, God, how I’ve tried.

Theo Greyson is in my bloodstream, whether I like it or not.

I just hope like hell I get better at ignoring it.

Besides Dillon, my teammates have long since scattered, popping off to flirt with some of the girls or taking to the makeshift dancefloor in the center of the living room.

They all seem to be having a good time, and to my surprise, none of Leighton’s baseball team has even spotted us among the throngs of party-goers.

Which has me wondering if Theo’s the only one of his teammates here.

But our luck runs out when, maybe half an hour after our arrival, I spot Wyatt and Phoenix heading in our direction, Theo hot on their heels. There are a few other guys from Leighton’s baseball program too, and none of them look happy to see us crashing their party.

Fuck.

I shoot off a quick SOS to Zander and the others, our version of the bat signal, just in time for Leighton’s captain to stop behind Dillon and tap him on the shoulder.

“What the hell are you doing here?” he snaps, his tone all ice and toxins. “The parties over at Blackmore aren’t cutting it anymore? ”

Dillon’s eyes light up when he hears Wyatt’s voice behind him, and he turns with a grin. “On the contrary. We were simply in the neighborhood and thought we’d stop in. See what all the fuss is about when it comes to these infamous Leighton parties.”

I snort, smiling to myself at his obvious bullshit. Every single one of us have been here before, and all the way across town can hardly be considered in the neighborhood.

Wyatt doesn’t pick up on it, though. “Well, you came and saw. Now, feel free to leave.”

“Leave? But we just got here.” He motions to me before aiming a grin back at Leighton’s captain. “Some of us haven’t even had a chance to grab a drink.”

I can feel Theo’s gaze burning a hole in me at Dillon’s comment, but I ignore it and focus on the scene unfolding in front of me.

“Yeah, and most of us would like to keep it that way,” comes from Phoenix, who’s glaring daggers at both me and Dillon.

Zander and the others choose that moment to appear, having woven their way through the countless bodies dancing and talking to find us, and Phoenix lets out a sharp laugh.

“Oh, wonderful. So you’ve brought an entire crew of incels, have you, Hastings?”

I scoff and cross my arms over my chest. “You know, you really need to get more creative with your insults, Mercer. They’re getting a bit bland, even for you.”

“Well, the good news is, once you get the fuck out of here, you don’t have to listen to them anymore,” bites Wyatt.

Dillon and Wyatt take turns tossing jabs, Phoenix throwing in one every so often, and I glance around us. My tongue rolls against the inside of my cheek when I notice we’ve gathered a bit of an audience now, some of the party-goers taking notice of the showdown happening between our two groups.

I find Theo’s gaze in my quick once-over, pausing there when I realize he’s already staring at me intently.

From the way his brows draw together and the rigid set of his jaw, it’s not the team’s presence that he takes issue with but mine.

But where there’s also animosity and irritation, I also see something else—the same thing I caught in his gaze the last time I saw him.

Desire.