Page 151 of Wicked Games

“Right. A bit of mascara or an eyelash or a branch…”

He coughs a laugh. He hits the light in the bathroom with his elbow, then gently sets me on the counter. This, too, is familiar. Although I’ll confess—we haven’t done this with clothes on before.

“Are you wearing fake eyelashes?” he asks me.

I choke on my laugh. “Yeah, Caleb, I am.”

Thanks for noticing. I can’t eventhinkthat sentence in a straight voice.

Boys are so ridiculous. The only thing they tend to notice are boob jobs, new cars, and lingerie.

Sadly, I have none of those things.

He cocks his head. “How do you get them off?”

I pinch the outside edge between my finger and thumb and slowly peel it away. It’s a relief to get lashes off—not that I’m an expert or anything. Riley had to put them on for me in Ian’s bathroom.

He reaches out to my other eye, which flutters closed before he can touch me. Gently, he does the other one.

“Like an unmasking,” he says under his breath. “Stay here.”

He disappears, returning a few minutes later with my overnight bag. At this rate, I don’t even know how it got inside. Or even out of Riley’s car. He finds my packet of makeup remover wipes.

“Can I?” he asks.

I squint at him. “Can you take off my makeup?”

He doesn’t answer but swipes at my forehead.

I lean away, catching his wrist. “Youcan, but not like that. My face doesn’t need to be scrubbed raw.”

He smiles, but it’s unsure. “Right.”

I cover his hand with my own and guide him. His strokes become soft, and I close my eyes. Let him remove the layers of foundation and concealer, the eyeliner and eyeshadow. I take it away from him to get the mascara off, then hand it back to him.

“This shit was on your face,” he says, holding it up.

“Yep.”

“You’re pretty without it.”

I shrug. “Yeah, but it makes me feel good when I do wear it.”

He hums. His hands go to my jacket, unzipping it and pushing it down my arms. My shoes are next. Then my shirt.

I raise my arms diligently.

Camisole. Bra.

I stand, and he yanks my leggings off, his expression hungry.

“Kiss me,” I whisper.

He obliges. I’m not sure how he always ends up fully clothed while I’m naked, but I’m suddenly desperate to change it. Not breaking away, I unbuckle his belt, unzip his pants. Shove them down until he can kick them away. We pause to remove his hoodie, then shirt.

I run my nails down his chest, eliciting a shiver that rolls up his body.

“Bed,” I say.

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