Page 111 of Wicked Games

“I try not to think about memories with your dad, baby,” he says. “But Ameliewasa bad friend, even when we were kids. You refused to believe me.”

“I like to think the best of people.” I exhale.

“A weakness I’ll help you overcome.”

I tip my head back, squinting at him. “Really.”

He smirks. “You thought I wasn’t a monster… Hell, you even convinced me to marry you.” His finger traces the bracelet on my wrist.

Half the time, I forget I’m wearing it.

“Stuck with me now, Wolfe.”

I try to hide my frown. My fears. I flip onto my back and stare at the ceiling, my chest tight.

Life is fragile. Hadn’t I learned that from my parents?

But that day is blocked. What I did to make Caleb hate me is still gone, scrubbed free from my mind. There’s a wall I keep mentally running into, even in my dreams.

And I’m afraid I might misremember something.

“Do you trust your memories?” It’s easier to ask when we’re not looking at each other.

“Sometimes I don’t,” he admits. “But most of the time, yes. I’ve got to trust myself, or no one else would.”

I shake my head. “I don’t. The little pieces I do remember—like the pizza night, or eavesdropping on your mom?—”

“You eavesdropped on my mother?”

I glance at him. “You found me in your room hiding behind your door.”

He turns his head and stares me down. “Is this a new memory?”

My cheeks get hot. I wonder if he can tell, even in the dark. “I don’t know.”

“The football team is going to the state championships,” he says suddenly. “They’re playing against Lion’s Head, and they haven’t made it so far in a while.”

“So?”

He chuckles. “So, we’re going. It’s at Lion’s Head. They won last year.”

“You can’t just order me to go to a football game.”

“It’ll be fun,” he says, rolling toward me. “It’s only a few weeks before my birthday. Think of it as an early present.”

His fingers walk down my stomach, dipping into my panties. He swipes across my clit, and my back arches off the bed. It’s a lazy assault, and he watches me squirm under him.

We’re alone in the house. My heart jumps into action at the thought, but he doesn’t change the urgency. This kind of attention—the slow, meticulous kind, where he seeseverything—only makes me wetter.

Maybe it’s because no one else has looked at me like he does. His expression tells me I’m the source of every ounce of pain… and his redemption.

He presses his lips to my cheek, just below my eye. His tongue flicks out and tastes my skin. “Why are you crying?”

“Because I’m broken.” My axis is tilted, spinning me off course.

My mind has been filled with friendship and love and thoughts of a future. AndCaleb, promising forever. But that’snot all. There’s also darkness and deceit and horrible skeletons swinging in my closet.

“You’re not broken.” Every word is another brush against my cheek. “Even if you think you are. Even if I’ve tried to break you. You’re stronger than you think, little wolf.”

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