Page 20 of Playing Dirty (Leighton U #4)

Theo

I’m still stewing well into Sunday night after the run-in with Madden and his teammates at the Kappa Sig house a couple days ago.

At first, I thought I was simply pissed about their audacity for showing up there and starting shit, but the theory was quickly dismissed when I reminded myself that Blackmore students crashing our parties is a relatively normal occurrence.

Even their shit talking isn’t out of the norm, though I’ve never seen it rile Wyatt up the way the comment about Lexi did.

But unfortunately, by ruling their presence at the party out as the source of my irritation, all that’s left is Madden; specifically, the infuriatingly confusing way my body is reacting to him.

It was like my body was attuned to his presence, could feel him in the same room as me, and the sensation only grew in intensity whenever we drew nearer to each other. The way it lights on fire every time we’d touch .

I don’t know how to stop it. The more I try to shove away thoughts of him—of that night—they only fixate harder. It’s been like this for weeks now, a constant cycle I can’t break out of, and it’s driving me insane.

I just want to understand why it’s happening, and why it had to happen right when the rest of my life imploded.

And, fuck, why him ?

I wish I could throw all the blame at Phoenix and Wyatt for putting the thought in my head to begin with, but I’d just be kidding myself. It’s not like they held a gun to my head and forced me into Madden’s lap in the hot tub—that action was completely of my own volition.

Now, I get to deal with the repercussions.

Releasing a frustrated huff, I continue staring up at my ceiling. It’s all I’ve been doing for the better part of an hour, like the solution would somehow appear in the weird texture beneath the paint, but it’s clearly not working.

All right, new game plan, then.

With a relenting sigh, I swipe my phone open and hit the FaceTime button on Oakley’s contact, hoping some kind of distraction might help. It rings a couple times before my old roommate’s face appears on the screen, a big grin pulling at his lips.

“Hey, man. What’s up?”

I offer him the most believable smile I can, and answer his question with one of my own. “You got a minute to talk?”

“Yeah, you’re all good. I’m just making dinner.” He holds the phone up over the stove, allowing me to see a pot of rice and two salmon fillets searing in a pan—though, from the dark coating over them both, I hope he’s going for blackened. “Or, attempting, I guess. I might just order takeout.”

Glad to see some things never change.

“So, what’s going on? Update me,” he insists. “I feel like we’re living on an island over here on the East coast.”

“Uh, shit back home sucks. Holden and Phoenix are screwing like rabbits, but at least they’re locked down on their own floor so the rest of us can maintain some semblance of sanity. Camden is…Camden.”

“And my brother?” he asks, arching a brow. “How’s he faring in the house with you Neanderthals?”

Honestly, sometimes I forget Logan moved into Oakley’s room this fall to start his freshman year. I think I can count the number of times I’ve seen him since Thanksgiving on one hand, and each time I run into him in the hall bathroom or kitchen at odd hours, it’s a little bit of a jumpscare.

After the briefest hesitation, I go with, “Uh, he keeps to himself. Stays in his room when he’s not in class, mostly.”

Oakley lets out a long, frustrated sigh and shakes his head. “I wish I could say I’m surprised, but I was hoping he’d try to be a little more social.”

“It’s possible he is and that’s why we haven’t seen him. Plus, you know better than anyone how hectic our schedules can be.”

Oakley’s expression makes it crystal clear that my attempt to paint the situation better is falling flat. I’ll never understand why Logan took over his brother’s portion of the lease in a house full of jocks—all of whom happen to be his older brother’s friends.

So instead, I just change the topic entirely.

“So, uh, how’s New York? Hopefully you’re enjoying it instead of just working.”

“It’s great. Quinn’s old roommate came out to visit, same with my parents. And living together has been a breeze.”

“Good to see you two haven’t killed each other yet.”

A smirk tugs at his lips, and he glances up at me through the screen. “Damn, T. You must really be in the trenches if you’re trying to make small talk. ”

I frown. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“We’ve been friends for years. I know you well enough to realize you’re not the type to just call and catch up. So what’s going on? Is it the stuff back home?”

“Um. Kind of, yeah,” I say slowly.

Telling Oakley is probably the best option out of all my friends—maybe my subconscious knew that when I called him—but how the hell do I segue into my possibly-evolving sexuality? Or worse, the unfortunate person who’s the catalyst for it?

If anyone will understand, though, it’s gonna be him. I mean, the guy literally was screwing his sworn enemy for months right under our noses, so why would I ever think he’d judge me for hooking up with—

A switch flicks in my brain all of a sudden, the solution staring me in the face. Ironic, because it’s not actually the person watching me with concern through the phone screen.

“Uh, is Quinton there?” I ask hesitantly.

Oakley’s brows draw together, and he glances away from the screen briefly before stating, “He got out of the shower a few minutes ago. Why?”

Wincing, I slowly mutter, “I…actually think I need to talk to him.”

Oakley’s frown deepens, and he lets out some mix of a laugh and a scoff. “Uh, yeah. Okay. Let me just check on him really quick.”

He disappears from view, and I fight the temptation to hang up, knowing damn well there’s no way I can sort this out on my own. Not without driving myself to the brink of insanity.

“Hey, baby. Who’s on the phone?” I vaguely hear Quinton ask somewhere in the distance, then catch Oakley responding with, “It’s for you, actually.”

Oakley reappears on the screen a couple seconds later, going straight back to the stove, and a wet-haired Quinton is right behind him. He catches sight of me on Oakley’s phone and frowns instantly.

“Theo? Hey, what’s going on?”

I rack my brain for a place to start, only to come up empty every single time I open my mouth to speak. It’s like the words get stuck on my tongue or die in my throat, and eventually, my frustration grows to the point where I simply blurt out what I’m thinking.

“When you and Oakley started sleeping together last year, how did you rationalize it?”

Oakley stops stirring the pot of rice in favor of meeting my gaze through the phone screen.

“ This is what you needed to talk to him about?”

Quinton looks equally as stunned by my blunt delivery but recovers quickly enough before answering. “Uh, well, in the beginning, it was a stupid superstition I’d convinced him to follow through on. But, obviously, it became a lot more involved as the season went on.”

“No, I know that. What I mean is… How did you rationalize hooking up with him as someone who is— was —straight?”

There’s a brief flicker of curiosity on Quinton’s face, but he schools it quickly.

“The first time, it was a bit of a fluke, to be honest. It’s not like I was gung-ho on the idea of sucking dick, I just hated him so much that I wanted to prove a point.

” He glances over at Oakley all lovingly, and smiles.

“Who would’ve thought our love story started out with a hateful BJ in a frat house bathroom, right, baby? ”

Oakley just shoots him a look over his shoulder before going back to their dinner. I, on the other hand, choke on a laugh at the vulgar picture he’s painted, and shake my head .

“Okay, and after the first time, how did you feel about it?”

Oakley lets out a snort. “Full of himself, that’s for sure.”

“Full of something, all right,” Quinton says with a laugh before waggling his eyebrows suggestively at his boyfriend. “And a little bit of myself, yeah, because we both know you didn’t think I’d swallow on the first try.”

“Oh, my God.” Oakley sets the wooden spoon on the counter and sends him another exasperated glare. “Why are you giving him a vivid recount of our first hookup?”

“He asked!”

“He asked how you felt, jackass.”

“You’re the one who decided to make a smart-ass comment before I could answer,” Quinton says with a shrug.

Oakley takes a deep breath and sighs before looking at me. “You know, I wish you would’ve come to me with these questions, because he’s gonna be insufferable for the rest of the night now.”

“Insufferable, probably. But you’ve known you were gay since high school, so your input here is completely irrelevant.”

Oakley frowns. “The hell is that supposed to mean?”

“I could be wrong,” Quinton starts, cocking his head slightly and assessing me with his vibrant blue eyes. “But I think our friend Theo is having a little bit of bi-panic.”

The statement takes Oakley by complete surprise, if his sharp “ What? ” is anything to go on. But Quinton ignores his outburst entirely, keeping his focus locked on me.

Waiting.

I don’t miss the way he left an out for me, and for that, I’m immensely grateful. But if I want honest answers, then I guess I need to be honest with myself too.

I open my mouth, then quickly close it again before letting out a confused laugh. “I…uh, is that what this is called?”

He grins. “I mean, I don’t think it has an official term, but it’s rather fitting.”

If only putting a name to my current state of unrest could do something to assuage it, then I’d be golden.

Oakley’s completely abandoned their dinner now, standing directly behind Quinton to look at me. “Hold the fucking phone. He was right ?”

Quinton frowns and glances up at him over his shoulder. “When are you gonna learn I’m always right?”

Ignoring his boyfriend, Oakley quickly tries to piece things together before asking, “So you hooked up with a guy? Is that what I’m supposed to be gathering?”