Page 24 of Vicious Games

Maybe if I apply myself and focus, I’ll no longer need any tutoring in a couple of months. And then I can get Lucky Romano out of my life for good.

Fingers crossed.

I stay seated and flip through my notes, rereading what I’ve written while jotting down questions for tomorrow’s session with the things I still don’t understand. I don’t even notice Lucky lingering until he suddenly plants his palms on the table, staring at me.

“My mom wants you to come to dinner at our house next Friday.”

I don’t think a sentence has ever shocked me more.

“Why?” I blurt out, my voice laced with pure astonishment.

“Who the fuck knows why parents do the shit they do,” he grumbles, not quick to realize that I don’t have parents, so I wouldn’t know. “I mean… fuck… do you want to come to dinner or not?”

“No.”

There. Easy.

But considering the way Lucky’s chestnut eyes expand, I don’t think he’s used to hearing the word.

His spine goes ramrod straight, crossing his arms over his chest to look, what? Intimidating? Please. I was raised by nuns. They wrote the rule book in intimidation.

“So what you’re saying is… no? Youdon’twant to come to my house for dinner?”

“That’s what I said,” I reply, absentmindedly twirling my pencil as I attempt to read my own messy handwriting.

“Whatever. I didn’t want you to come anyway,” he quips coldly.

“Then we’re both happy.”

“Thrilled.”

“Glad to hear it.”

“Good.”

“Great. You can go now.” I wave him off flippantly, my gaze fixed on my work.

“I was just leaving.”

“And yet… you’re still here.”

“God, you’re insufferable.”

“And you’re repetitive.”

“How the hell am I repetitive?” he barks, offended, forcing me to raise my head to face him.

“Because you literally said the same thing to Sister Margaretta yesterday in her office.”

“That’s because it’s the adjective that describes you best,” he proclaims with a cocky smirk.

“How do you know? You don’t know anything about me.”

“And I don’t want to.”

“Good. Because I don’t want to know you either.”

“Great.”

---