Page 48 of Don't Let Me Go (Don't Let Me 2)

“And I think I’m still pretty much clothed,” I point in, my not-boyfriend naked but forgotten beside me. Because right now, I don’t care. My competitive instinct is in full-blown overdrive, and if Theo thinks he won because he knocked Burrows out of the game, he’s got another thing coming.

“Then, we’ll call it a tie,” he decides.

“No. We’ll keep playing until one of us loses.”

“I’m not gonna lose, Blake.”

“Pretty cocky for someone who’s missing his shirt.”

“Pretty confident for someone who’s missing both shoes,” he counters.

“Then, I’d say we agree, and this game is far from over.”

“Fine. Claim the title.” He pushes himself away from the makeshift Ping-Pong table. “You win.”

I pause, my mouth falling open as the truth dawns on me.

No. Freaking. Way.

“You don’t want to see me naked, do you?” I accuse.

The crowd falls quiet, their attention shifting from Theo to me and back again.

A beat of silence passes, and Theo announces, “Good game, everyone. Burrows, get your pants back on. Depp, you too.”

He’s ignoring me. Acting like I’m a petulant child. Which means, whatever effort he’d been putting into looking at me like I’m an equal is a bunch of bullshit.

Marching toward the bastard, I jab my finger against his bare chest. “Is that what it is? Gwyn can show her boobs to everyone, and Tukani can hang out in your hot tub without a swimsuit, but I’m not allowed to play a simple game of Strip Pong all because you might catch a glimpse of my chest?”

“Blake––”

“The only reason you decided to jump in was so you could end the game as quickly as possible. Am I right?” I demand.

A vein in his forehead throbs as he finally gives me an ounce of his attention and turns his heated gaze on me, staring me down. The rest of the party is silent. Or maybe they aren’t, and I’m too invested in the conversation to notice. Regardless, in this moment, it’s only me and Theo. Going head-to-head over something so stupid, yet so important, it’s mind-boggling.

“Am. I. Right?” I repeat.

“Good game, Theo,” Burrows interjects, sidling up next to us. His jeans are back on, but he’s clutching his T-shirt in his hand as he slides an arm around my waist.

Theo’s gaze drifts to Burrows’ grasp on my hip. It stays glued there until he shakes his head and steps around us. “Good game, guys.”

I watch the muscles along his back bunch and flex as he walks a few feet away. I yell out, “Teddy!”

He stops.

“Teddy!” I call again. “Look at me.”

As if in slow motion, he turns around and faces me. And while I have no doubt I look about two seconds from ripping his head off, he looks…indifferent. Cold. Detached. Like an asshole.

I hold his stare with my own, blindly reaching for a red Solo cup on the table. I’m not sure why I do it or what’s spurring me on. It’s like I’m looking down at my body from up in the clouds but have no control over what I’m doing or how stupid it is. But it doesn’t matter. Because I don’t stop. I lift the beer to my lips as Theo’s eyes narrow. It tastes bitter and warm as I throw the drink back, all while staring at him a few feet away. Then, I grab the hem of my shirt, yank it off, throw it on the ground, and pick up another cup of beer.

“What are you doing?” Theo growls.

“Playing the game.”

Theo’s gaze darkens as I pick up a second cup and shoot down the alcohol, then reach for the button on my jeans. Burrows stops me with a gentle hand on mine.

“Blake,” he warns. It isn’t harsh or commanding. It’s soft. Hell, it’s the only voice of logic swimming in my brain, and yet I still don’t want to listen. I don’t want to be logical. I want to be pushed. I want to be dared. I want to take back an ounce of the power Theo manages to strip every single fucking time he’s around me.

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