Page 124 of Wicked Games

“He could’ve killed you,” I whisper.

Eli growls. “This is ridiculous. I’m telling my parents—I don’t care what you say.”

Caleb doesn’t react.

“They won’t let David come back. We’ll change the locks?—”

“I just have to last four more weeks,” Caleb says woodenly. “That’s all.”

“At the rate he’s going?” Eli mocks. “You’ll be dead in three.”

I imagine this isn’t the first time they’ve had such a conversation.

We end up back at Eli’s house, and the four of us head inside. I hang back a minute, sending a text to Robert and Lenora. Ms. McCaw made a point about good, open communication, and I want to do well. A part of me fears any more missteps could have me sent away. So much has gone wrong, already.

Hence the texting.

A minute later my phone buzzes.

Robert

Len and I are fine with you sleeping over. We won’t tell. ;) Have fun with Riley!

Okay, so maybe my communication isn’t the best… And yes, a sleepover is technically breaking foster kid one-oh-one. But with a month and a half left, there’s low risk for great reward.

“Come on, Wolfe!” Eli yells from the doorway. “We’re ordering pizza!”

I tuck my phone away and go in, taking a deep breath. Riley and Eli are in the kitchen. I peek into the living room and dining room, then make my way down to the basement.

Caleb is standing in the middle of the room. His attention is focused on his bed.

“You okay?” I ask.

He turns toward me. His eyes are dark. He lowers the frozen bag from his head and beckons me closer. “You came for me.”

I shift, taking a small step in his direction.

“Margo.”

“Don’t make it a big deal.”

He meets me halfway, his hand sliding around my neck and into my hair.

I melt. Can’t help it. I hold on to his waist and tip my head back. He leans down, and my heart pounds, tremors spreading through me. His lips are millimeters away, and he pauses.

“Itisa big deal. Can you admit that?”

I press my lips together.

He smiles, twisting to the side. He kisses the corner of my mouth.

I’m already winded.

“You care so damn much,” he goads.

“Stop.”

“Is it a bad thing?”

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