Page 62 of Wicked Little Game
I should tell her she doesn’t need to attack people for saying stupid shit about me, but it was kind of sweet. In an absolutely psychotic way.
When I get into the car, she looks at me as if she’s innocence in person, her hands clasped together on her lap. As if she wasn’t close to bashing someone’s head in just a few seconds ago.
The most concerning thing about this entire situation is probably that I found it fucking hot. She’s deranged and it’srubbing off on me. Through all those years, I withstood Logan's craziness, but hers must be infectious.
“What a pity that they didn’t have a table,” she says with a smile, cleaning a few glass shards off of her shoe. “Their polpette al sugo are fantastic.”
That’s it. She finally lost it.
“Do they serve them with fava beans and a nice Chianti?”
She hisses at me and I fear I’ve accidentally found my soulmate.
“Speaking of meatballs, did I ever tell you we lived in Italy for a while? My mom—” Her voice suddenly trails off and out of the corner of my eye, I see how her jaw clenches.
“Well, we had a few horses back then. Mine was pitch black, huge, and the nicest horse that ever walked this earth. I was a horrible horseback rider, but he was always so gentle with me. I named him Polpetto, crafted a small sign for his box together with the stable master. Okay, I think it was just some old guy my father paid to look after the horses, but he was really nice. Anyway, my father was furious when he saw the sign. Told me I couldn’t name a prized horse meatball and then he threw away my sign and renamed him to Lord Shithead the Second or something appropriate like that. God forbid letting a six-year-old choose a name for a goddamn horse.”
I don’t dare to interrupt her monologue. Not only because I don’t want to be the next one to end up with a heel right next to his head, but also because it’s calming to listen to her babbling.
Never would I have thought that I’d call her babbling nice someday.
Ruby’s voice carries some kind of hurt when she talks about her childhood and at first, I thought that this was because she’s just overly dramatic, but I think there’s more behind it. Over the time I spent at her house, and haven’t seena single family picture. And I sincerely doubt that the cause for this is lack of wall space.
Her dad seems to want to erase every trace of having a family, which isn’t that surprising for men in his line of work. Family, or anyone dear to your heart, is an added risk. People you love can, and will, be used against you, sooner or later. Or they turn against you.
Been there, done that.
I’m sure that this isn’t the right moment to ask her uncomfortable questions, so I just nod from time to time and listen to her while I drive back home. After we’re halfway there, Ruby suddenly yells at me to stop the car.
“Wait here for a second,” she says before she slams the car door shut. I don’t have the chance to ask her where she’s going, or to keep her from doing exactly that.
My parking spot isn’t a parking spot and more of anI’m standing in the middle of the roadsituation, so I decide to wait here instead of going after her. Explaining to Mr. Barron why his car got towed doesn’t seem like a talk I want to have.
As I wait for Ruby to return, I scan my surroundings. This isn’t like the rich neighborhood where Ruby lives. It also doesn’t seem like a dangerous corner of Bogota, but I’m still not happy about her running around alone.
Just when I want to get out of the car to go looking for her, she comes out of a residential house, carrying two large brown paper bags in her hands and a damn beautiful smile on her face.
Doesn’t even look like an almost-killer right now.
“What’s that?” I ask as she climbs back into the passenger seat, but before she answers me, the smell of burgers and fries reaches my nose. So much for our healthy week. But I’ve never been one to turn down a good burger and those smell delicious.
“Dinner,” she says, rummaging through one of the bags.
“Stop—” I protest, but she silences me by holding a fry in front of my face. That little brat is really controlling me through my dick and my stomach.
An intersection comes up and I don’t even have to look at Ruby to know how she’s looking at me.
“There’s a park only ten minutes from here,” she purrs, feeding me more fries. “It’s usually empty, and it’s really nice. There’s even a lake,” she adds, as if I’m a dog that’s going to freak out at the prospect of a lake.
I grip the steering wheel just a bit tighter and this time I know why the people behind us honk as I cross two lanes so I can turn in the direction Ruby wants me to go.
She didn’t lie. It takes us exactly eight minutes to reach the park. As I park the car, I hear a screeching sound. I act as if I hadn’t heard it, silently hoping for Ruby to do the same.
She doesn’t.
“Sam, I could give you driving lessons. I’m a really patient teacher.”
“Shut it, you psycho.”
