Page 8 of Playing Dirty (Leighton U #4)

My stomach sinks at this bit of information, and I hear Theo curse, “Well, isn’t that just fucking wonderful,” under his breath.

Honestly, my thoughts are running along similar lines, but what else are we gonna do? Draw straws for which of us will risk hypothermia or death by sleeping in the car? Sure, it’d be an escape from this tenth circle of hell I’ve landed in, but I’d still prefer to make it out alive.

Jeremy, the poor guy, looks like he’d rather be anywhere but here when he slowly slides Theo’s credit card, ID, and a pair of room keys across the counter toward us.

“Your suite is located on the sixth floor, room six-twelve. You’ll want to head down this hallway on the left until you hit the second set of elevators.” He pauses briefly before adding, “Is there anything else I can help you with?”

“No,” I immediately reply, glancing over at Theo. “Thank you for your help, Jeremy.”

The silence is deafening between us as Theo and I wait for the elevator, then ride up to our floor. I can almost feel his irritation coating me like a second skin; one I’d love nothing more than to shed like a snake, yet can’t.

He doesn’t say anything when we enter our suite either, just shoves the door open and heads to the far side of the room without a word.

It’s a spacious room, plenty big enough for a sofa sleeper, which grates on my nerves a bit too, but I’m determined not to focus on the things I can’t control.

If we’re going to survive this, I have to worry about the things I can.

“We can check tomorrow afternoon if there are any cancellations,” I tell him, stopping short of the bed. “But until then, I can sleep on the floor or whatever.”

“It’s fine. You don’t need to sleep on the floor.” He glances up from where he’s going through his bag, meeting my gaze. “I might be annoyed about this whole situation, but I’m not a complete asshole.”

I could write a dissertation on why I don’t believe him, but if we’re gonna get through this week without killing each other, it’s better I keep my opinion to myself. However, I do offer him another opportunity to take the out I’m providing.

“I don’t mind. I just…don’t want you to be uncomfortable sharing a bed with me.”

Sleeping on the floor doesn’t sound like the best thing, but I’d rather do that than have him pissed that I slept beside him without outing myself as—

“I don’t care that you’re gay.”

His nonchalant tone takes me off guard, especially paired with his statement. Not because I don’t want him to know about my sexuality. I’ve been out since freshman year of high school, and it’s far from a secret. It’s more him knowing this bit of information that’s surprising.

“Uh. Okay. Good to know.”

I know he’s roommates with a few queer athletes at Leighton, but I’m fully aware that sharing a house and common spaces is a lot different than sharing a single bed .

Apparently not to Theo, though, because a sharp bark of laughter fills the room, and he shakes his head. “I’m more uncomfortable with being forced to act like we’re some great, happy family all week.”

“You just didn’t seem too thrilled down at the desk.”

His gaze collides with mine again. “Because my father has become way too comfortable making decisions for other people without running it by them first.”

I don’t miss the bitterness tainting his voice.

His anger with his father—and yeah, even my mother—is more than justified, and it’s always been the thing to rise to the surface first. Even now, it does its job, masking everything else.

But not well enough, because I catch a flash of something different lingering in his eyes, glimmering in their sage depths.

Hurt and sorrow.

It’s unexpected, and it’s enough to make me pause.

The thing is, I wasn’t thrilled when I found out about Mom and Adam’s affair either, but seeing Mom happy outweighed it for me.

After watching her give her all for me as a single parent for the better half of my life, I want nothing more than for someone to take care of her; it was my plan all along, especially if I make it to the MLB.

So now with Adam in the picture, I don’t have to worry about her anymore, and I’ll always feel somewhat indebted to him because of it.

It’s something my father never did. He destroyed her—both in life and after his death.

So, in Theo’s eyes, is his dad really that different than mine?

Adam might be a godsend to me, but to Theo, he’s nothing more than a selfish man who put his mother through living hell. And the whole time, the only thing he could do was stand by and watch, utterly helpless .

I’m not banking on it, but maybe there’s a way we can find some common ground in that.

Theo’s gone back to unpacking, completely oblivious to my epiphany, and I break out of my reverie enough to do the same.

The silence lingering between us is slightly less awkward now, becoming more of a skin-prickling sensation rather than a toxic fog, and I take it as a sign of progress. Or at the very least, a step in the right direction.

Unfortunately, after I come out of the bathroom from brushing my teeth, I realize the one massive problem I’ve overlooked. One that’s impossible to ignore now that he’s stripped down to nothing more than a pair of tight-fitting boxer briefs.

Theo Greyson is hot as hell.

I’d gotten an up close and personal display of him shirtless back at Thanksgiving, but this is a whole different level.

With him facing away from me, my gaze travels the long, lean muscles of his back all the way down to a sculpted ass I could probably bounce a penny off of.

Two dimples indent his skin just above the elastic waistband sitting low on his hips, and I curse inwardly.

Although he’s not the kind of guy I’d go for, it doesn’t take away from the truth. Him likely being straight—and my fucking stepbrother—doesn’t change that.

Theo runs his fingers through his hair, the golden-brown strands just long enough in length to start rippling with waves. But it’s his eyes—the color of soft seafoam—that stun me nearly speechless when he turns and lifts them to mine.

There’s a beat after he notices me standing there, and I swear, I see the tiniest tint of pink creep over his cheeks.

“Is this okay? I usually sleep in just my underwear. ”

What the hell am I supposed to say? No? Go put on a snowsuit before getting in bed so I don’t have to think about your sinful body lying beside me all night?

Yeah, not happening. If there’s one thing I’m not gonna do, it’s admit to any sort of attraction. Not now, when things are barely civil between us. Probably not ever.

Feigning indifference, I shrug. “Yeah, same. I don’t care if you don’t.”

He nods before disappearing into the bathroom, and I take the opportunity to get my libido in check. I’ve nearly succeeded when he returns a few minutes later, but I keep my gaze cast downward to avoid stirring it back to life.

“Left or right?”

“I’m a switch,” I reply instantly. Having been asked that question more times than I can count, the answer comes out on autopilot now.

But he already knows that, so why—

He stifles a laugh, and when I glance up, he motions toward the bed. “I meant for sleeping, not in the batter’s box, Hastings.”

Oh, right. Context clues.

“Uh, it doesn’t matter. I can do either, so whatever you wanna do.”

His brow hitches up ever so slightly. “I stand corrected. Switch it is.”

Fucking Christ.

Little does Theo know, switch very much applies to all things in the bedroom for me, and hearing it leave his lips does absolutely nothing to help the attraction I’m trying to shove away. Especially knowing we’re about to climb into the same bed.

At least it’s a king. Plenty of room to share without even knowing the other person is there, even if both of us are well over six-feet tall.

The fact that he’s half-naked? Well, that’s my problem.

He chooses the left, sliding between the sheets without a word, and starts scrolling on his phone. I avoid joining him for as long as I can, but when it’s time for me to pull back the comforter and top sheet on my side, I offer him one final out.

“You sure you’re good with this?”

“As long as you promise not to smother me with a pillow while I’m asleep, I’ll be fine.”

I hum out a little laugh. “There’s an idea.”

His lips twitch, fighting a smile, and I realize it might be the first time I’ve ever seen one from him—or at least something remotely close to one.

Damn.

Maybe there’s hope after all, and he’s not nearly as bull-headed and blinded by resentment as he’s made himself appear. Or maybe hell has frozen over and we’re entering the apocalypse.

Based on how things are looking outside, it’s a toss up.