Page 135 of Wicked Games (Fallen Royals 2)

“Um, no…”

He takes the cup from my hand, setting it on the bleachers, then yanks me to my feet. “Let’s go for a walk.”

Riley watches me with wide eyes, but she doesn’t say anything.

We’re past the point of Caleb torturing me.

Right?

We get to the grass and keep going. The roar of the crowd quickly fades the farther away we get.

“Caleb, stop.” I yank my arm, but his grip doesn’t loosen. If anything, he holds me tighter. “Oh, come on, I was joking.”

The cold mask I had grown to recognize has settled over his features. Scary Caleb.

I was wondering if he would ever make a reappearance.

We round the back of the concession stand, and he backs me against the wall. He cages me in, leaning down. His lips brush the shell of my ear.

I stay perfectly still.

“Hearing you talk about dating Theo makes me want to go out onto the field and pummel his ass.”

“Fake dating,” I breathe. “Which we only did to get a rise out of you.”

“A rise out of me, huh?” He draws back, smirking, then presses his hips against mine. His erection digs into my belly.

My lips part.

Shit. He’s really turned on.

“I guess it worked.” He tugs on a lock of my hair. “Now what?”

Distant cheering, but I don’t know if it’s for our team or theirs.

As much as Scary Caleb is kind of hot—in an intimidating way—I prefer the other version of him.

“Now…” I push up onto my toes, getting in his face. “We go back to the game.” I slip out from under his arm and walk away, ignoring the tingling down my spine.

If I were to look back, I’d see him staring. Jealousy suits him.

“Every action has a reaction, little wolf,” he calls.

I shiver.

He follows me back into the public area, up the bleachers. Back to our seats. He grabs my hips before I can sit, though, and pulls me onto his lap.

After a failed attempt to get up, I loop my arm around his shoulders. We watch the game, the players moving up and down the field. Their grunts and the creaking of equipment, the way they crash into each other. Eli and Riley are absorbed in the game. Everyone is.

Caleb’s hand starts on my thigh. I think nothing of it until it slides up just a hair, under the edge of my coat. I ignore it. I ignore him and whatever game he’s trying to play right now. In public.

“The thing I love most about your outfit, little wolf?”

“What’s that?” I’m hyper-aware of his thumb’s circular movements.

“You can still feel everything through leggings,” he comments. His hand climbs higher, and his thumb brushes my center.

I gasp, pressing my legs together, but it’s too late. He’s already there.

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