Page 70 of Wicked Games

I narrow my eyes. “True.”

“Unknown sent me the same picture.” She bites her lip. “Does this Unknown person think we wouldn’t talk about it? Or brush it off as coincidence?”

“I can’t help you.”

Amelie had said Sav texted it to her to get a rise out of her about Ian. Which clearly didn’t work… because at the lack of response, Sav texted it to me.

But where she got it, I don’t know.

Margo leans into me, rising on her toes to meet my gaze. “Why not?”

I lift my hand, wrapping it around a lock of her hair. “You’re beautiful when you’re mad.”

She frowns. “I’m not.”

“You are.”

Her hair slips through my fingers. I touch her neck, and a slight shiver runs down her body. I doubt she even notices. But she’s letting me brush my fingers down her shoulder and back up.

I cup the nape of her neck, and she exhales.

My chest aches.

I lean down, stopping just before my lips brush hers.

“You wrote the note,” I whisper.

She tries to jerk away, but I hold her fast. I might be up against the wall, but we’ve traded control. It didn’t occur to me until right this second. The hidden smugness—shewantedme to get reamed out, to get in trouble.

The pieces fall into place.

“You wrote it hoping to get back at me, didn’t you? You wanted to pin it on the person texting you because it’s the most believable lie.” I lick my lips, and my tongue touches hers, too.

Her whole body hitches.

“I did,” she says. “I wanted you to feel?—”

“The pain you felt?” My grip on her neck tightens. “Newsflash, little wolf. I’ve been carrying this feeling around since I was ten. And you just?—”

“I know. Iforgot. You blame me for that, but I can’t help it.” She’s fierce, even now, as tears roll down her cheeks. From furious to heartbroken in an instant. “I don’t want to be blind anymore. I want answers.”

“I know.” I reach up with my other hand, catching tears on my thumb. I doubt she knew they were falling.

When she tries to pull away, I let her go. She takes a few quick steps back. Her eyes are wide, like she can’t believe we actually had a conversation. I gave her answers. She gave them back.

Maybe not in the way either of us was expecting, but…

The bell rings, shattering my thoughts. The late bell for our final class of the day.

Poor Margo flinches again, then reaches for my hand. “We’re going to be late.”

She tows me down the hall and up the endless stairs to Robert’s class. We duck inside, and Robert stops talking mid-sentence.

“Margo. Caleb,” he says in a low voice. “You’re late.”

“Sorry,” she says, releasing my hand. “Won’t happen again.”

He shakes his head but motions for us to take our seats. There are only two spots left, and they’re not close to each other. If we’d gotten here on time, I might’ve been able to switch. As it is, her foster dad is glaring at me like I just ate his pet.

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