Page 94 of Wicked Court

Sheets twist around my legs, a testament to the few hours of agitated sleep I caught.

“Hey, El.”

Sasha’s voice cuts through the haze.

“Was I dreaming, or did an intruder in leather try to have sex with you last night?”

She peers at me from her bed, her dark eyes disconcertingly sharp with curiosity, considering she’s not a morning person.

“Definitely a dream.”

My reply is automatic, seized upon as a lifeline to pull me from the depth of fantasies that threaten to consume my waking moments.

Sasha hums in thought. “Too bad. I thought you nabbed one of the Untouchable Four. Because then you would have achieved the impossible. Every single one of us dreams of banging one of them. Hell, sometimes when I’m with a guy, I ask him to put a blindfold over me so I can pretend it’s—hmm. I can’t think of who I’d sleep with first. I don’t even care which one it is.”

“Oh, come on.” I snort. “You said yourself how scary they could be.”

“I’m serious,” she presses on, an earnest glimmer in her eyes belying her usually nonchalant demeanor. “You need to own it, girlfriend.”

“Own what?”

“You know…” She waves her hand vaguely in the air. “All that.”

Her gaze sweeps over the parts of me that aren’t buried in covers, from my rumpled hair to my bruised lips, from my disheveled t-shirt still carrying hints of Wilder’s scent to my nose.

A blush heats my face at her frankness, and I fumble out of bed for something to do. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Sasha sighs, an exaggerated show of frustration that has me rolling my eyes. “You’re in denial. You’re knee deep in some heavy emotional shit and still pretending it’s not happening.”

I open my mouth to protest, but she cuts me off.

“I’m there for you, okay? I’ll always be there. But sometimes, with your rigid schedule and your constant presentation to the world, you need to be roughed up a little. That’s something you should explore rather than suppress.”

My mind stutters to a halt at her words. My denial isn’t new to me; it’s been biting at my heels like a rabid dog ever since I met Wilder—and the others.

“You have got to loosen up a bit.” Sasha follows suit and slips out of bed. “Sooner or later, you’ll have to admit that mere friendships and study groups won’t satisfy you anymore.”

“Maybe,” I mumble.

If only she knew.

The thought makes me freeze halfway to my vanity.

I tell Sasha everything. Hasn’t she just mentioned my emotional shit? Only she knows about my brother. Correction: she and the Court. And yet, I haven’t breathed a word to her about what I’ve been doing and … who I’ve been doing it with.

Multiple times.

Shame fills my cheeks as easily as a blush.

“I have an idea. You could use some fun.”

Sasha smiles, but her gaze is searching, as if she senses the turmoil beneath my composed facade.

“What are you thinking?”

Sasha pulls at the hem of her oversized shirt she uses as pajamas, her long black hair tangled around her shoulders. “So, there’s this exclusive kind of party I go to once in a while. I haven’t told you about it because, well, I’m not really allowed to talk about it.”

Frowning, I cock my head. “That’s not like you. You spill tea over everything.”

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