Page 7 of Wicked

“Okay, thanks, Harper,” she says, unfazed by the sharpness in Harper’s tone. “See you in a little bit.”

April slides out of the booth. I twist my body and watch her meet up with a kid with dark blond hair who looks to be her age. He looms over her tiny form, and I’m thinking Harper must look small like that, too, next to my hulking body.

“So . . . back to our earlier conversation. What does karma catching up to cocky jerks mean?” I have to know. It’s fair warning to one such as myself.

“They get played in return or they fall hard for a girl who doesn’t feel the same.”

“A taste of their own medicine, eh?”

“Something like that.”

“Does this karma thing apply to women?”

“Of course.” Her blue eyes flash with irritation. “It’s not just guys who are jerks. Women can be witches too.”

I chuckle. Witches and not bitches. Damn, this girl is a prude. A sweet, beautiful, kind-hearted prude.

“Do you lead a guy on? Play head games with them, Harper? Get them to fall hard for you, then ditch them? Are you a witch?”

The irritation slips from her face. She wears down the corner of her bottom lip with her teeth. Did I hit on a truth? Which one is it? Choice A, B, C, or all of the above? I doubt she’ll tell, but I’m thinking she wants to continue with this fair warning of hers. Yeah,hers. This conversation isn’t about generalized karma did this or that. What did karma do to the guys who crossed paths with Harper Garrix?

“Harper?”

I shouldn’t have persisted. Shouldn’t have let my stoked curiosity get the better of me. Her hesitation is gone, replaced with hardened eyes and a mouth set in a grim line.

“The guys who screwed with me got what they deserved—death or prison.”

Isn’t that one and the same? And the way she said “screwed” with disgust and shame . . . What did those guys do? I reach for her hand. Our fingers brush. Big to small. Rough skin to soft. She pulls away and clasps her arm to her chest.

“You’re not here to care. You’re here to ease my burden.”

Her voice is soft, low. Almost timid. But I’m thinking she’s far from being weak. And her words? I’m not liking what she said.

She uses those damn words to keep me at bay, but she can continue uttering them for all I care. I’m persistent and will get to the bottom of what those jerks did. It’s in my best interest that I fully understand who I’m keeping company with.

Before I can delve further into her confession, the announcer does a last call—one more song before the lights go out and the doors close for the night.

The lights dim. The rink is transformed into a crazy mix of bright lights and shadows from the strobe ball in the middle of the room.

April and her friend Parker skate by us holding hands. She slants her head back, and over her shoulder, she smiles her encouragement.

“Harper, will you do me the honor?”Do me the honor?What the fuck? I don’t spout romantic words.

Harper slides out of the booth. “No funny business, Ryker.”

Seated, I look her up and down.

Blue eyes framed by dark brows and fringed with long lashes. Pert nose. Full mouth. Stubborn jut of her small chin.

Harper Garrix is sexy and beautiful in this simple way that has blood rushing through my veins and engorging my heart and my cock. And don’t get me started on the constellation of freckles across her nose and cheeks.

I stand and crowd her space. Glance down as she looks up. I’m right. She’s small.

For shits and giggles, I curve my arm around her waist and splay my palm on the small of her back. My hand takes up sizable space, and my inner caveman roars to claim her, the heat from her body seeping into my skin through her shirt, further fanning the overwhelming need to crush my mouth over hers.

And the way she’s looking back at me, unwavering and intense . . . The tiny spitfire is daring mewith her eyesto take my touching further.

My heartbeat rachets in my chest. My mouth goes dry. Licking my lips, I reach out and smooth my finger along each dark brow. Tuck her hair behind her ear. Linger on the sexy dip behind her earlobe. Someday, I’ll lick and taste her there.

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