Page 23 of Wicked Games

Margo

It’s nice to wake up alone. No one staring at me, or glaring. No pressure to go to school—one, because it’s Sunday, and two, because I’m definitely not going back with the video floating around.

I can’t stay at Ian’s house forever, but it sure is nice to stretch out and bask in the sunlight coming in through the window. I arch my back and do just that—stretch out. Until my hand hits something—someone.

I yelp, scooting to the edge of the bed and rolling over.

I expect Ian. Honestly, I do. Even with the dresser in front of the door, he seems like the type to figure out a way around it. But it takes me a few seconds of blinking like a madwoman for my brain to engage with what I’m seeing.

Because it’s definitely not Ian Fletcher.

Amelie leans against the headboard. “God, you sleep like the dead.”

“What are you doing?”

That’s it. I shove the blankets back and stumble to my feet. A surefire show of confidence in front of the school’s queen bee. I grab a sweatshirt and tug it on, my face heating.

I hate embarrassment. And her catching mesleepingseems like the worst offense possible.

“I came to see if you were okay.” She picks at her nails. “After your little show last night.”

Oh, jeez.

Wait. She’s still in a sparkly dress, leaving bits of glitter all over the comforter. And while her makeup and hair seem perfectly done, it doesn’t mean…

“Did you sleep here?”

Besides being in last night’s dress, she’s picture-perfect. It’s barely eight o’clock in the morning. I run my hand through my hair. My fingers get caught on invisible knots, and she watches me work to free the strands.

“You’ve got a bit of drool.” She touches a painted nail to the corner of her lip.

I swipe at it. I’m going to burst into flames at any second, I just know it.

And I guess I did sleep like the dead.

“Ian and I aren’t really a thing,” she adds. “So don’t get your panties in a twist over it. I wasn’t… Didn’t feel like going home. His bed is a nice place to land.”

That’s a mental picture I don’t need.

“Anyway, you should’ve put something heavier in front of the door.”

Her gaze goes to the dresser, which has been forcibly moved to the center of the room. How the hell did I miss that sound?

“The fact that the Fletchers put all their furniture on sliders to protect their precious floors doesn’t help.”

Ah.

Well, I did have an easy time shoving it in front of the door. I shouldn’t be shocked that someone else had an easy time removing it.

It’s a little nerve-racking to have Amelie in my space. I know it isn’tmine, but… Still.

“Are you going to tell the Bryans I’m here?”

“No, I’m pretty sure Caleb will take care of that.”

She stands, picking up her purse from next to the bed.

“Then why are you here?”

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