Page 21 of Wicked Games

I lock myself in the bathroom, scowling at my reflection. I turn on the shower and wait for the steam to fog up the mirror. It only takes a minute, then I shed my clothes.

I hate looking at myself. My reflection. All I see is the scared little boy who Margo turned me into. Old rage works up my throat. I pound my fist on the counter. There are hickeys on my chest from last night. The memory of her lips on my skin is almost enough to erase seven years of trauma… but not quite.

I used to smash mirrors. My hands are covered in faint white scars, barely visible, from my time as an angry child. My mother once walked in on me punching the shit out of a mirror in the bathroom. There was blood everywhere. She dragged me to the emergency room, where a doctor picked glass out of my knuckles for thirty minutes.

That was a hard lesson to learn.

Once I’m under the hot water, I relax. It’s almost hard to breathe with the amount of steam in the shower, and it reminds me of the way Margo’s pretty lips parted when I squeezed her throat. My dick gets hard at the thought of her.

I should’ve fucked her against the wall in Ian’s living room, even if the prick was eavesdropping around the corner.Especiallybecause he was eavesdropping. I stroke myself, remembering the way she reacted to me tonight.

Afraid.

Turned on.

Fiery.

The way her pussy clenched around my fingers when she came.

Fuck.

I pump faster, desperate to relieve my growing tension. It’s the memory of her anger that does it. The way she fought. I groan and come, spilling on the tiles. Sparks zap through me.

This wasn’t supposed to be this way. I wasn’t supposed to let Margo get to me—again. But she has. I’ve let myself hate her for years, and it’s easy. What isn’t easy is admitting that every tear down her pretty face tightens my chest.

Why does her crying affect me so much?

I finish washing and get out, ignoring the mirror. Theo was a good distraction, but all I want to do is crawl into Margo’s bed. I’m torn between making her pay and protecting her from the shitstorm that’s brewing.

I could throw her out into the cold. It’s already in motion.

Dad used to relate Newton’s laws to human behavior. An object in motion will remain in motion unless acted upon by an outside force. His favorite was: Every force in nature has an equal and opposite force.

He meant to balance us out. Every decision carried weight. It was harder to make a change once a course of action had been decided on. He would know best of all. Selling his company, the shit he pulled with Margo’s family…

My trajectory has been set toward Margo since we were children.

It’s too late to stop.

But… she might just be my opposite—and equal—force. If she can find her spine.

I shake my head, water droplets flying. It’s going to be a sleepless night. The rattle of restlessness will keep me awake for hours. It leaves me with two options: fight to keep my eyes closed or burn off energy so I eventually crash.

Option two usually works best.

I lace on running shoes and yank on a sweatshirt. Eli’s parents are on the couch in the living room, the television screen flickering blueish light over their faces. They don’t seem to notice me slip past them, out the front door.

As soon as I hit the sidewalk, I run.

There are a million ways to exhaust the body.

A million ways to burn energy.

Running isn’t my favorite—I think my first choice is a tie between sex and skating—but it works just fine. Well, I think it does, until I find myself standing outside the Bryans’ house.

All the windows are dark. I walk across the lawn and tip my head back, watching Margo’s window. She’s at Ian’s house, hiding like a coward.

I scale the trellis with practiced movements. I never told her that Liam’s family used to live in this house, and he used to sneak out often.

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