Page 95 of Wicked Games

“Girl time.”

My breath hitches. I haven’t heard that dangerous edge to Caleb’s voice in a while.

And yet, I continue on. “Yep. Riley and I were enjoying the peace and quiet. Catching up after a long day at school?—”

“Where were you at lunch?”

I flashback to the first time he asked me. Then, it was to embarrass me.

Let’s play a game.

“Busy.” I grind my teeth together. “Why?”

I can practically hear his shrug. “Let’s say I care.”

“That’d be a new one.”

“You’re on dangerous ground here, Margo.”

I roll my eyes, turning away from Riley. If I push Caleb to his breaking point, I’ll know where we stand. “Maybe I like dangerous ground.”

It strikes me that I did something similar when we were kids. Showing up at his house in a white dress, asking him to marry me… The motive was the same. I push until he gives me a definite answer.

He’s silent. Then, “Enjoy your girl time.”

The line goes dead, and I blink down at it. He just hung up on me without an argument.

My pushing didn’t work.

“Did your ploy backfire?” Riley laughs at my expression.

“He said to enjoy girl time.” I hand her phone back, shaking my head. “I never know what to do with him.”

“It sounds kind of menacing. Oh! I just had an idea.”

“What?”

She grabs my hand and tows me downstairs, into Robert’s study.

He looks up at us and smiles. “You seem a bit on the mischievous side, Riley. What’s up?”

“My dad is taking me to the open house at NYU next weekend,” she tells him.

My heart drops into my feet.

“So I was thinking that Margo should come with us. You know, get to tour a college.” She glances back at me, ignoringthe panic I’m sure is on my face. “She hasn’t really spoken much about it, and deadlines are coming up for seniors.”

“Riley.” I slip my hand from hers and put some distance between us. “I’m not going to college.”

Both of them pause.

This has been a reality since I was ten years old. Before then? I had a plan. A loose one, of course, but a plan nonetheless. Kid-Margo was a planner, but that side of me got destroyed by the foster system. Now, the best plan is no plan.

“What are you going to do after you graduate?” Robert leans forward on his desk and watches me closely.

I shrug, shifting. “Well, you’re only obligated to keep me until I’m eighteen, which is coming up kind of fast. January twenty-eighth.” I laugh nervously. “Maybe I’ll be a waitress? They make good tips. There’s housing for aged-out foster kids, like a transitional sort of thing. Ms. McCaw can help me with it.”

Robert slowly closes his laptop. “No.”

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