Page 44 of Playing Dirty (Leighton U #4)

Theo

I can barely see straight when I stumble into my hotel room after our double header down in St. Louis. Despite having put in the hours of practice and lifting, I’m always a bit sore after the first few series of our preseason, and playing three games within twenty-four hours only makes it worse.

But being near home did bring one good thing out of the weekend: getting to see my mom. Especially grabbing a late dinner with her after last night’s game at my favorite burger joint, which has the best homemade fry sauce on the planet.

She was at both games today as well, having always been one helluva cheerleader for me through all my years playing ball.

Dad and Carla showed up for our second game this evening too, despite me telling them both it wasn’t necessary.

The last thing I wanted was Mom having to see them together and be reminded of all the shit she’s since left behind, but to my surprise, the three of them were chatting together when I came out after the game.

And if that wasn’t weird enough? Before I got on the bus back to the hotel, Carla handed me one of those to-go containers with her homemade peach cobbler inside. An entire freaking pan worth.

At first, I thought it was for me to give to Madden, but when she explicitly stated it was for me…

something inside me twisted a little. In a good way, though I’d be a liar if I said it wasn’t awkward to accept a homemade dessert after being balls deep inside her son the night before coming down here.

But I guess what she doesn’t know won’t hurt her, and it means I get to try this infamous cobbler Madden’s mentioned more than once.

Which is exactly why I snap a picture of it to send him, along with a taunting little text, before dropping down on my bed.

Me: Look what’s coming home with me.

I glance at the time after sending it, realizing Madden’s day on the diamond likely finished hours ago. A quick google search later reveals Blackmore won both games in their home series—no surprise there—and stats wise, he played one helluva game against Fall River.

I’m in the middle of typing out another text to him, asking about the game, when a response to my photo pops up.

Madden: You better share.

Smirking, I delete my baseball-related message and write out a new one.

Me: Hmm. I don’t know… You know sharing isn’t my strong suit.

Madden: You joke, but I will 1000% withhold sex for peach cobbler.

The threat makes me laugh out loud, knowing damn well it’s an empty one.

We’ve both been pretty insatiable since that first time after game night with his friends.

Even with us getting busier as we creep deeper into the semester, we somehow find the time to sneak onto one another’s campus for some fun between the sheets, and I don’t see either of our libidos taking a dive anytime soon.

Me: Now who’s the one making jokes?

Madden: How easily you forget the consequences for testing me.

As if I could ever forget.

He’s unlocked so many pieces of myself I hadn’t known existed. Not just the bisexual part of the equation, but kinks, positions, all of it. I don’t think I’ve ever felt so…compatible with a partner before him.

Me: You better make good on that promise, MadDog.

Then, for good measure, I pluck one of the peach slices out of the dish and snap a selfie of me biting into it, which earns me an instant response.

Madden: Always playing dirty, aren’t you?

I grin at my phone like a fool, and instead of answering the question, I change topics entirely. After all, if he’s gonna throw out accusations like that, I may as well make good on them.

Me: Looks like you killed it this weekend. Are you as dead to the world as I am right now?

Madden: Nice deflection, Teddy Bear. But nope, still very much alive with too much energy. And since you aren’t home yet, I needed to find a different way to burn it off. ;)

I frown, wondering what the hell he means, when a photo pops up below his text.

It’s a selfie of him outside in the dark, his hazel eyes twinkling beneath the black beanie on his head while he’s standing under a light post. And though it might seem rather innocent, the little blue flag hanging on the pole makes me sit up on the mattress.

“That fucker,” I whisper, zooming in on the spot in his photo.

Sure enough, when I make the little flag bigger, I’m able to make out the Leighton University logo on it.

Meaning he just sent proof that he and his teammates are currently raiding our campus in search of the pennant, which is left completely defenseless whenever we have away games.

It’s just par for the course, both our schools taking advantage of the other’s away schedule whenever we can, but to see it actually happen puts a little pit in my stomach regardless.

Releasing a little huff, I type out a response.

Me: And you say I’m the one playing dirty? I hope you fall into one of the booby traps we set.

Madden: Only if you promise to come set me free tomorrow.

Me: Nope. I’ll leave you there to rot. I’m not a traitor to my team.

Madden: Says the one fucking the enemy. ;)

Guilt lances through me like a bullet, as it does whenever I’m reminded of my severe conflict of interest by seeing Madden.

Usually I can push it down, fight it off until it’s shoved back in a box somewhere in the back of my mind, but it’s never an easy feat, and it’s evident from the way I sit here, struggling to find a response.

I’m still staring at the message a couple minutes later when a quick series of texts pop up along the top of my screen in rapid succession. Only these ones aren’t from Madden but a different dark-haired guy covered in ink.

Quinton: Are you alive? I know you are, because I checked your stats from tonight.

Quinton: Great game, btw. Killed it at the plate. But I would much rather have some tea time.

Quinton: Fuck it, I’m calling you.

I’ve barely had the chance to read the final text when a FaceTime notification pops up along the top of my screen. And while I might not know Quinton well, I’m smart enough to realize if I don’t answer this one, he’s just gonna call again, which is why I hit the accept button.

Quinton appears a few seconds later, a pair of dark frames perched on the bridge of his nose. He looks like he’s sitting in their kitchen, though I can’t be entirely sure. Not that I have time to look, because he’s too busy ragging me the moment he sees me.

“You know, sometimes I think all my texts to you end up somewhere in the ether instead of in your iMessages.”

“Hi, Quinton. Nice to hear from you too. I’ve been good, thanks. How’s New York?” I say sarcastically while pinning him with one of those where are your manners looks.

It doesn’t do much, though, and he just rolls his eyes.

“Why the hell would I waste time on small talk when I know there’s a cup of piping hot tea waiting for me?”

I scoff. “I’m not planning to give you the dirty details of my sex life, if that’s what you’re meaning.”

He claps his hands together before pointing at the screen, all the while doing an excited little hop in his seat. “Ah, so there’s been sex. Good. Now we’re getting somewhere.”

I can’t help but laugh, having unintentionally set myself up for him to draw that conclusion. Which, to be fair, isn’t inaccurate.

“Okay, yeah. There’s been sex, but that’s all the information you’re getting.”

The grin on his face is massive—damn near splitting his face in two.

“Never took you for a Puritan, but fine. I’ll take whatever details you’ll give me as long as you start spilling them. Is it one guy or have you been letting your bi-flag fly free?”

I suck my teeth for a second before slowly confirming, “It’s the same guy. The one who kinda started all this. I mean, we’re…together.”

“Fuck buddies together or relationship together?”

I frown as I process the question, realizing…shit, I don’t have an answer to that.

It doesn’t feel like we’re just fuck buddies.

The few times we’ve had full-blown sex since the game night at his place felt just as emotionally charged as the first, and that’s something I’ve never had with any previous friends with benefits.

And then there’s the things outside of sex to account for, like him inviting me to game night to meet his friends.

The batting cages. Planning to see Vaughn in the musical.

All of it screams relationship, just without the label. But the reality is, it’s only been, what, just over a month since this whole thing started? Is that too soon to try and label it?

“It’s something between the two, I guess?”

Quinton sucks in a dramatic breath through his teeth and shakes his head. “Situationships aren’t good, Theo. One of you is gonna get hurt if you’re not on the same page. And I’d really prefer to keep the days of kicking dudes asses in the past.”

Truthfully, the possibility hasn’t even crossed my mind since the first time we had sex.

It’s clear as day to me, both of us are as invested in this as the other.

Though, part of me wonders if maybe we should have a conversation soon about where this is leading.

Especially since neither one of us will be in Chicago next year; me graduating and moving into whatever job comes after, and him hopefully playing on a farm team for whoever inevitably drafts him.

I’m pulled from my musings when I hear Oakley’s voice call from somewhere in the distance, “Who’s on the phone?”

Quinton glances away from me and shouts back, “It’s Theo!”

A couple seconds later, Oakley appears on the screen, in the middle of pulling a shirt on. He fixes his blond hair the moment his head pops through, and I give him a little wave.

“Hey, man.”

“T. Hey,” he says, a frown on his face before he looks at his boyfriend. “You have each other’s numbers now?”

Quinton shrugs. “It’s been over a month, and you weren’t asking him for updates.”

“So you steal his number from my phone?” Oakley asks.