Page 59 of Vicious Games

“You know what? I think I’ve learned enough for today.”

“I didn’t peg you for a runner,” he says, still towering over me with that smug, knowing look on his annoying, gorgeous face.

“I’m not running.”

“You are. I proved you wrong, and you can’t handle it.”

“That kiss proved nothing.”

“Oh, no? Then why are you packing your things?”

“Because I’m tired of looking at your face.” I sling my bag over my shoulder and stand up. “Now, take me home.”

“An orphanage isn’t a home,” he repeats with a sneer, which I now believe to be his favorite fucking mantra.

“Well, it’s the only one I have, asshole!”

“Nuns don’t call people assholes,Frances.”

“This one does.” I glare at him, my cheeks burning. “Especially when you’re acting like one.”

Lucky’s eyes slit into two fine lines, but thankfully, he heeds my command.

“Fine. You want to go home? I’ll take you home.”

And with that, he turns around and heads for the door, not even bothering to wait for me.

The ride back to the orphanage is tense, to say the least.

I’m pissed. I’m confused. And I hate that my lips still feel swollen from his kiss.

When we pull up to the orphanage, I reach for the door handle, ready to get as far away from Luciano Romano as possible. But to my chagrin, I don’t get very far when Lucky’s fingers wrap around my wrist, stopping me from moving an inch.

“I’m sorry.”

“For what?” I ask with too much bite.

“For what I said about the orphanage not being a home. I was… pissed.”

“You’re always pissed.”

“I guess you bring that out in me.” He chuckles softly.

“Yay me,” I mumble, yanking my wrist free and storming up the steps of the orphanage, not even bothering to shut the car’s door behind me.

But the hits just keep on coming because the second I step inside, I practically crash into none other than Sister Agnes.

“Frankie?” she says, brows knitting as her gaze sweeps over me. “Is everything okay? You look… flushed.”

I freeze like a criminal caught red-handed.

Did she say flushed?

God. It’s written all over my face, isn’t it?

This is all her fault.

If she hadn’t pushed me into this tutoring thing, I wouldn’t be kissing bullies in penthouses. I wouldn’t be feeling like the floor just dropped out from under me.

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