Page 49 of Wicked Dreams

I sink to the floor, wrapping my arms around my legs. But I was ten years old. Had I known the ripple effect that was going to be set off, I wouldn’t have?—

Please don’t, his voice whispers in my ear. The younger version of him.

I hang my head, the answer for his anger finally in front of me.

It’s my fault. It’s always been my fault.

Chapter 10

Caleb

Itransferred into this math class this morning. Liam told me she was in it with him, and I couldn’t resist. Not after last night.

Damn girl has a magic mouth.

How many guys has she blown?

And why do I want to kill all of them?

But anyway—this math class is pretty much the same as the one I was in, but I just wanted to fix my schedule to get maximum Margo time. She’s always thrown when I show up, seeming caught between scared and excited.

Isn’t that funny? She thinks she can wreck my family and then be happy to see me.

The teacher is a balding man in his seventies. I don’t know him personally—haven’t had the pleasure of taking a class of his—but he scans the slip from my guidance counselor and gruffly waves me into the room.

Late or not, I suppose it doesn’t matter.

I pick the chair next to Liam’s, and we bump fists. There’s rustling of paper as my classmates pull out notebooks and folders, pencils, textbooks. I don’t even have a bag with me, just a single notebook and pen.

People who do math with pencils just don’t know how to commit.

Mr. McGuire drops off a textbook at my desk. He ambles to the front of the room just in time for Margo to enter. Her face is redder than when I left, her eyes bloodshot. Her makeup—which is always too intense, in my opinion—has smeared some under her eyes.

Oh, no. Did I make the poor little lamb cry?

I lean back in my chair, kicking out my legs. My feet extend under the chair in front of me. The open desk that I’d bet she’s going to take.

Liam eyes me, his brows pulling down, but I ignore him.

Mr. McGuire gives her a bit of a hard time for being late without a pass, and I catch the wordrestroom. Little lamb knows how to lie, then.

That’s expected.

She looks around the room, and her gaze settles on me. I meet it with a raised eyebrow. A silent,Well?She takes the seat in front of me, and I lift my foot until my toe touches the bottom of her seat.

I kick it gently. Just a tiny thump, and she jolts.

She’s got to be turned on by me. By that BJ last night, sure, but also… I’m pretty confident I can smell her arousal whenever I get close enough. She’s just too prim and proper to say anything.

And the worst thing is that she’s wearing pants. It’s definitely because of that text I sent this morning about the skirt… but that’s just because I’m an asshole, and I jacked myself off to the memory of her mouth as soon as I got into bed that night.

Fortunately for me, her uniform pants hug her ass and create an entirely new picture.

She was mostly sitting when I found her in the mall food court. Her jeans didn’t accentuateanything, and I didn’t exactly stand behind her.

Anyway, all that to say, I’m not mad about the pants.

There will be time later to talk her into skirts. Or, if she doesn’t acquiesce on her own, to blackmail her into it.

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