Page 12 of Dirty Tricks

I move, not thinking, just obeying some primal urge. I dab a drop of my release onto her thumb, then stare in wonder as she wriggles her shoulders, turns onto her side again, and sucks it into her mouth. An adults-only pacifier.

The tip of her vibrator pokes from beneath the pillow and I paint it with my cum, dotting it, smearing it, then adding another layer, coating it, basting it; knowing she’ll probably rinse it clean before she uses it again, but imagining her pushing the wand deep inside, our fluids mingling, clenching her muscles around it as she orgasms, encouraging my team of swimmers to push towards their goal.

Thoughts of birth control are wiped away by the image of one of them succeeding, of her concave belly growing fat with my baby.

And I jerk my hand away because that’s borderline delusional for a girl who’s never shown the slightest interest in me. For a girl I’ve never even had the balls to talk to… at least not while she’s awake.

I move into her bathroom, quickly rinsing my hand and drying it clean on her towel, inhaling the scent of her from it before returning it to the rail.

Her breath hitches and I freeze, eyes guilty as I stare at my reflection. Then she sighs, falling deeper into sleep, and I move back into the room, filling my soul with one last languorous look before I slide under her bed, pulling the baseboard back into place before dropping through to the crawlspace beneath.

Someone’s going to catch me. Each day I get away with a little more, but I’m well acquainted with how luck works in my family. We get the bad stuff, or we get nothing at all.

But tonight, I make it out with no one seeing. Tonight, I sneak into the shed, pull out the bedding I keep there, and spread it on the concrete floor with no one the wiser.

There’s a sheet over the window to hide any glow but I still wait to turn on my phone until I’m snuggled inside my sleeping bag.

The link to the camera feeds takes a while to connect, the pause tightening my gut as I wonder if it’s caught my fake credentials. Once it loads, I navigate to the cafeteria cameras, and click to view the half hour when Lexa was in the room.

It starts a few moments before she steps back into me and I watch the footage closely, seeing if it vibes with what I remember.

The stumble, her weight briefly—far too briefly—against my chest. The moment she turns, stares up at me… and stops.

My eyes scan the video, rewinding to replay it, to see the same incident over and over again.

Lexa falls. I catch her.

She looks at me. Sheseesme. She smiles.

For the past few months, I’ve tailed her as much as I dare, stayed as close to her as I could, but she’s never so much as glanced my way. Not while she’s awake and her sleepwalking state doesn’t count. Whoever she looks at during those dreams isn’t me.

In the footage, my hand automatically extends, catching her elbow when the tray tips, palm buzzing from the touch, righting it so she won’t lose her meal to the floor, losing myself to her gaze.

A moment that lasts until a palm shoves me back; Finn’s angry features thrust an inch from my face.

The footage carries on, not caring that something incredible took place. It shows her walking back to the table, head bowed as it often is, shoulders hunched, hands gripping her tray so tightly I’m surprised the thick plastic doesn’t snap.

Lexa takes a seat next to Finn. Her eyes flicker to and away from him as he speaks, making polite listening expressions as she eats her meal.

She forces herself to eat the yoghurt even though she hates it, even though her nose wrinkles every time she passes it on the buffet line, something her oblivious boyfriend could see if he wasn’t so self-absorbed.

She takes a spoonful, tries not to wince, and glances across the room to where her friend sits, snagging the attention of Jenna’s boyfriend instead.

Something happens. My nerves flare into high alert.

I can’t see Todd’s face. There are four cameras in the room, but their angles aren’t trained for subtlety.

He must mouth something, make a gesture. It frustrates me I can’t pinpoint it, especially when she flees from the cafeteria seconds later. I search through the feeds, picking her up as she sprints along the hall to the girls’ bathroom, a hand clapped over her mouth.

My stomach draws tight, tiny pinpricks of fury tingling across my shoulder blades.

I rewind, play out the scene again. Rewind. Again.

Each time, I miss the cause for the dramatic reaction.

My stomach muscles clench and I rub a hand across my abdomen.

I’m sickened that something happened, somethingright under my nose, and I can’t see a fucking thing. I can’t work out if Todd’s teasing or telling her important information. If he’s making a face or issuing a threat.

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