Page 7 of Playing Dirty (Leighton U #4)

Madden

My phone buzzes on my nightstand as I finish packing my bag for Vermont, and I’m hit with mixed feelings when I read over the text from my mother.

Mom: Let me know when you board your flight. Can’t wait to see you!

I heart-react to her message despite feeling very little enthusiasm about these plans.

Am I excited to see her? Absolutely.

Theo Greyson, on the other hand, I could do without.

Add in that Mom and Adam are still so deep in the honeymoon phase, and there’s a seventy-five percent chance Theo and I will end up stuck together during this “family trip” she’s planned.

I’m hanging on to the smallest thread of hope imaginable, praying to any deity in existence, for us to keep the blows to a minimum and be…

civil. We’re both adults, and there’s no reason we can’t just coexist in peace, no matter how irritating it might be to do so.

Not for ourselves, but for our parents. Then I remember our verbal smackdown a few weeks ago, and I realize there’s a very good chance my thread of hope will snap before Theo and I even reach the airport this evening.

But even with that in mind, I somehow garner enough willpower to drag my suitcase down the hall until I reach the front door.

Miles is in the living room—watching some documentary on penguins, of all things—when I walk by, and I’m surprised to find Torin there too.

I hadn’t heard him come over from the other half of our duplex, and honestly, I thought he was heading back home over break like Vaughn did.

Though, from the way he and Miles are both laid up on the couch with drinks and snacks, neither one of them intends to leave anytime soon.

The sound of my suitcase wheels rolling over the laminate grabs their attention, and I’m met with two sets of brown eyes staring at me apprehensively over the back of the sofa.

“I’m about to head out,” I tell them, unable to muster the faintest hint of enthusiasm.

“You look like you’d rather be heading off to war,” Miles notes, arching his perfectly shaped brows in concern. “Remind me again why you’re not just staying here with me and Tore?”

Well, that gives me an answer about Torin’s break plans.

“You say it like I have a choice in the matter,” I retort before tacking on, “And I’m sure as hell not gonna let my mom spend Christmas alone.”

“Except she won’t be alone,” Torin points out.

As if I needed the reminder of the shitstorm I’m about to walk into.

If I’d known last year would be the final Christmas Mom and I would spend alone, I would’ve done a lot more to appreciate it at the time. But, hindsight and all that.

“You know what I mean.”

“I still can’t believe you’re gonna be sleeping with the enemy over break,” Miles says, one of his signature shit-eating grins forming.

Scoffing, I roll my eyes at his overexaggeration. “Remind me again why you’re not the theatre major instead of Vaughn?”

“Because he can’t sing for shit,” Torin supplies, to which Miles flips him off.

“No, but I can come up with some pretty theatrical narratives. Like stepbro breaking both his legs on the ski slopes.” Miles’s grin widens and he snaps his fingers before pointing at me excitedly.

“Ooh, or maybe you could push him off the lift on your way up the mountain. Take matters into your own hands.”

From the look on my roommate’s face, I’m not even sure if he’s kidding.

Torin hums softly before he murmurs, “That would be the captain-ly thing to do.”

“One, can we not call him stepbro ?” I laugh, shaking my head. “And two, there will be no attempts at sabotage, all right? Besides, I have a feeling we’ll be doing our best to avoid each other as much as possible.”

Torin runs his fingers through his dark, shaggy hair, clearly in thought, before he drops his hand to his lap and shrugs. “We can always fake an emergency if you need an escape plan. Your mom would understand if you left to come and rescue one of us.”

Miles snorts and shakes his head. “That’d never work. I wouldn’t put it past Carla to come busting down the door alongside him if she thought one of us was in trouble.”

The comment has the two of them diving into all their favorite Carla moments from our high school years, attempting to back up either of their stances on this hypothetical situation.

My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I make a quick grab for it while chuckling at the ridiculous picture the two of them continue painting. Only, the second my gaze lands on the screen, it’s like a bucket of ice water, sending my mood straight into the toilet.

Theo: If you aren’t out here in the next two minutes, your ass can find your own way to the airport.

Releasing a long, frustrated sigh, I shove my phone back in my pocket with every intention of using those 120 seconds just to piss him off. I only get through about ten of them, though, before the sound of a car horn blaring outside instantly grates on my nerves.

The horn cuts through Miles and Torin’s conversation, silencing them both and drawing their attention back to me.

“That him?” Torin asks, nodding to the door.

“Sure is,” I mutter with a tight smile. “I’ll text you guys if we manage to both make it there alive.”

“Maybe this will turn into a tale of fratricide after all.” This comes from Miles, and I shoot him a look of annoyance.

“We’d have to actually be brothers for it to be consid—”

Another blare of the car horn cuts me off, and a sharp maniacal laugh falls from my lips.

One of those true, crazed Joker laughs that no doubt makes me look certifiable to both of my friends.

But, God, how am I supposed to go into this with any kind of positivity when Theo manages to antagonize me without even being in the same room?

I have to try, though. I don’t have a choice.

By the time Theo steers our rental car beneath the resort’s awning, my sanity is barely hanging on by a thread. In the six hours of traveling we’ve done together—both on the plane and in the car—I think he’s spoken all of four sentences to me.

Don’t get me wrong, I’ve never been the person who needs to fill silence with meaningless small talk—I’d rather shove a rusty needle in my eyeball.

But spending that long in someone’s presence without exchanging any sort of conversation is just painfully awkward…

and definitely not my idea of a good time.

Needless to say, this whole family bonding shit is going terribly.

The temperature has dropped well below freezing since we landed, and flurries began falling only ten minutes into our hour-long drive to the resort.

They’re still whipping around in the icy wind while the valet unloads our bags from the trunk, making me wonder if I’d have been better off sticking around Chicago with Miles and Torin after all.

It’s too cold for this shit.

We head directly for the front desk once we’re inside the lobby, and a tall, red-haired guy, who’s likely in his thirties, greets us with a warm smile.

“Hello, welcome to Snowline Resort . I’m Jeremy. How can I help you this evening?”

“We’re checking in,” Theo says, already digging through his wallet for his ID and credit card before setting both on the counter. “Last name is Greyson. The reservation is likely under Adam, but he could have put it under Theodore.”

My lips twitch at the sound of Theo referring to himself by his full name, though I’m quick to school my features before he notices.

“Ah, yes. Mr. Greyson mentioned you’d be arriving later in the evening when he checked in this afternoon. Just one second,” he says, quickly tapping away at his keyboard. “Yes, looks like we have you in a king room, mountain view, for seven nights.”

Theo’s brows pull down in confusion, and his gaze darts from the receptionist to me. “King room? That can’t be right.” Pulling out his phone, he taps on the screen a couple times. “My father told me he booked us a double queen.”

Oh, shit.

“Yes, sir. However, we oversold our double rooms this week and mentioned to your father when he checked in that we’d upgraded you to a king room with a mountain view.”

Double shit.

Theo’s shoulders go rigid, and a quick scan reveals the same tension lining his neck and pulling his jaw taut.

But even in his irritated state, I’d have to be completely stupid to not notice he’s extremely good looking, standing at maybe an inch shorter than my six-foot-two, with a sharp nose and defined cheekbones that make him look more like a marble statue than a human.

“That would’ve been nice information for him to share with us,” Theo grumbles, oblivious to my staring. “Are we able to get another king room, then?”

“I’m sorry, sir. It’s one of our busiest times of year. We’re completely booked for the next month.” Jeremy musters up a pleasant smile, offering, “You’re welcome to check back in the morning if we happen to have any cancellations, but for the evening, this is all we have available.”

Theo looks like he might blow a gasket as he glares at the receptionist, and I have to take pity on the guy. After all, he’s just doing his job, which is the only reason I find myself trying to ease the tension.

“Look, it’s fine,” I tell them both, resting my hand on Theo’s forearm to stop him from arguing. “I’ll just sleep on the pull-out, okay? I don’t mind.”

However, I realize what Theo isn’t fine with—probably more than this ridiculous situation we’ve found ourselves in—is me touching him.

In fact, he’s gone stiff as a board, his gaze boring into me like a laser, and I immediately pull my hand back to right the mistake.

But even after I drop it back at my side, his attention remains locked on my face, eyes flaring with… heat?

Then again, it’s likely I’m confusing heat for barely contained rage.

The receptionist’s smile tightens as he glances between me and Theo. “Actually, sir, our king rooms don’t have any pull-out sofas. Just the bed and an armchair.”