Page 34 of Wicked Games (Fallen Royals 2)

Caleb

Amelie smirks at me from her table at lunch. She came in late, her gaze finding me and lingering. Riley is at our table, down at the end with Eli and Liam.

They know I’m in no mood to be nice.

My bad mood isn’t infectious, but it sure does stink. That’s what Theo told me approximately ten minutes ago while I waited for Margo to return to sanity.

Riley’s phone chimes, and my head automatically turns.

She glances from Eli to me, then frowns.

“What is it?” I snap.

Riley flinches.

I lean over Theo and snatch her phone away.

Margo: Robert took me home.

I growl under my breath and slide her phone back.

“Dude,” Eli says. “Not cool.”

“What’s not fucking cool is Margo playing this cat-and-mouse game.” I stand, my attention tripping over Amelie again. She’s got a shit-eating grin—which means she’s probably up to something. “Fucking hell.”

She stands and meets me halfway, running her finger down my chest.

I grab her wrist, squeezing hard enough to send a message. Don’t fucking touch me.

“You like using girls?” she asks, a slight shake to her voice. “I told her where the text came from.”

I drop her arm like burning coal. “You trying to make your life miserable?”

She frowns. “I had to. She’s finally standing up to you—”

“You know nothing,” I growl. Margo standing up to me—my blood runs hot. Hotter, anyway.

I couldn’t have possibly predicted that I would like her fire. But damn it, I think I do.

I brush past Amelie, more than done with this conversation.

“Where are you going?” she calls after me.

Her and I both know the photo of Ian and Margo didn’t originate with Savannah. Whatever games she’s playing, I can do better.

And so can Margo.

I’m halfway down the hall when Coach steps out. He takes one look at me and scowls.

“Asher, with me.”

I gnash my teeth, but I follow him to his office.

“Sit.”

I do. It takes a lot of effort to not jig my foot or tap my fingers against my thigh. Calm, cool, collected. Coach takes lacrosse seriously. His whole career rides on it. If one of us screws up, we’re out.

It’s how it’s always been.

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