Page 57 of Wicked Dreams

My mood sours, and I find my attention drifting back to Margo’s window. The light is on, now, which kills my plan of sneaking in before she got up there. She moves past the window, which is open to allow the cool night air in.

My aunt’s voice continues in my ear, talking about some dinner plans with who the fuck knows. My uncle must’ve drifted away, because she sounds more relaxed. Even though I’m ignoring her. She just talksso muchabout nothing at all. It’s exhausting.

What’s it like in her mind?

Mine is sometimes so quiet, I may as well be meditating. Other times, it races and screams. Right now, I’m somewhere in the middle. Considering my options as I would consider a chessboard.

She pauses, waiting for a response.

“Theo’s mom is calling us. I’ll talk to you later?” I lean to the side to get a better glimpse of Margo through her window. The curtains block the details of her body, but her silhouette is clear. My mouth waters.

“Yes, yes, of course. We’ll see you tomorrow!”

She hangs up before I can get to it, which is impressive. My thumb was poised above the redendbutton.

I settle in to wait, and an idea strikes me.

What are you wearing?

I stare at my phone until Margo’s little typing dots pop up on the screen.

Margo

Completely unsexy pajamas.

I’m going to need proof of that.

No.

I grit my teeth. No is not a word I hear very often.

Why didn’t you wear a skirt today?

The typing dots appear.

Disappear.

Reappear.

Margo

Because I don’t want you tasting me, and I’m not going to give you any ideas.

Baby, you should’ve seen yourself in those pants today. Your ass is tight enough to bounce a quarter off of.

Please stop.

I do like it when you beg…

I toss my phone on the passenger seat, smiling to myself. Mainly because I don’t need to see her response to know I’m under her skin.

Please stop. Those sweet words would sound better coming out of her mouth.

Her light goes out. I give it another hour—passing the time by watching Lion’s Head hockey videos and doing some of the assigned math homework—then climb out of the car. I shut my door gently, the lights flashing as it automatically locks.

Scaling the trellis this time is as easy as the last. I have a folded knife in my pocket just in case her window is locked, but she left it open.

I peer in. Her body is buried under blankets in the middle of the bed. I carefully pop the screen out and set it in her room, push the window open farther, and slip inside.

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