Wicked Games

by Wood, Vivian

“You didn’t take her in?”

  “Take here in where?” Max sounded plaintive. Drunk. That was it. Sober Max would know that they should have gone to the hospital, and then…

  And then what? Explain what situation? That he’d tackled her? I saw it all play out in his eyes in the light from the single lamp I’d left on in the living room. What would he have said? What would she have said?

  “You don’t have to do that,” I told him.

  “Do what?”

  “Keep your mouth shut to protect me.”

  “I wasn’t,” he insisted. “She was okay. Too much to drink. A little cut on her head. I stayed to make sure.”

  Another sting of jealousy. “You’re absolutely sure?”

  “Yes, Wolf, I’m sure. I’m sure. I...” He stood up, unsteady on his feet. “It was an accident.”

  I didn’t know if he was talking about Asher or Emily. “Of course it was.”

  He left without another word.

  I sat there until the sun came up, every minute a new torture. When the living room was finally bathed in sunlight I got up and showered. I went to the bakery. I went to the coffee shop. And then I gave in to the powerful desire to see her for myself.

  I stop under the oak tree. It’s the same oak tree I stood under that night, but right now, having just left Emily’s room, I stay firmly in the present.

  God, it felt so fucking good—just to inhale the scent of her skin, to brush my lips against her neck and feel the pulse beating underneath, hot and strong. She was wet for me, and if fucking Mathilde hadn’t burst in, I would have taken her right there on the bed. I’d have fucked her while I tasted the frosting from the doughnuts on her tongue.

  I’m not going to be able to stay away anymore. Not after this.

  I will my erection away, which takes a surprising amount of concentration, and look across the yard at Rose House.

  There’s no sign of the party that took place there last night. Through the curtains on the living room window I can see Sarah’s shadow, moving through, setting things back in order. The front door of the house opens and Max comes out, his ever-present notebook tucked under his arm and dark circles under his eyes. He scans the sidewalk and the yard as he comes down the steps and catches sight of me.

  I get out from under the tree and head toward the house, meeting him halfway between.

  “Aren’t you up early?” I gesture to the notebook.

  “Aren’t you?” He looks behind me, like looking behind me is going to reveal some secret I’m keeping. “Were you at Thistle?”

  “Paying a friend a visit,” I tell him. “I heard she had a close call with a car last night.”

  His jaw tightens. “I was going to text her this morning.”

  “She’s fine.” Max’s shoulders drop an inch, and his jaw relaxes. Am I an asshole for relishing it? Maybe. “Probably needs some more time to sleep it off, but I didn’t think she needed anything more than a strong coffee and a pastry.” And me. She fucking needed me. There’s a special place in hell for people like Mathilde.

  “Good,” Max says. I don’t believe for an instant that he actually thinks this is good. “I’ll catch up with you later.” He walks off toward campus, his posture slightly less rigid than it was before, and I head into Rose House.

  The moment I cross the threshold, exhaustion settles over my shoulders like a yoke. I was so fucking worried about her. I was so fucking relieved to see that she was fine—it wasn’t a product of Max’s imagination. And I wanted her so fucking badly.

  The need comes on strong as I take the stairs one by one, the weight of my own shoes dragging me down. All that mental energy for nothing. I can’t go back to Thistle House with Mathilde on high alert, so I make a detour into the bathroom and slam the door shut behind me. I’m fisting my own cock in a matter of heartbeats, stroking long and hard. She’d be so fucking sweet. She’d be so innocent, because I know—I know—Max hasn’t fucked her yet.

  I don’t think anyone has.

  Fuck. Oh, fuck. It’s not that I’ve talked to Emily about this. The things I whisper into her ear in class don’t involve a sexual case history. But the thought of being her first...

  It undoes me, my muscles bunching tight and releasing in a rhythm that’s beyond my control.

  When it’s over I’m completely spent. The few steps to my room seem like a thousand. I kick my shoes off and fall into the bed on top of the covers and reach to pull them up...

  My hand is heavy when I wake up and feel for the weight of the comforter. It’s heavy because it’s not on the comforter...no. It’s under my pillow, under my head. For a long moment I don’t move at all. Time has passed. That’s all I know. I could go to sleep again right now, only something woke me up.

  I’m on the verge of another dream when I hear it again—my phone buzzing.

  I blink myself into awareness. The phone is pinned between my body and the bed and I have to turn over onto my back to dig it out of my pocket. Two in the afternoon. I’ve slept for most of the day.

  I have not slept off how much I still want to be with Emily.

  It’s her name that lights up the screen on my phone. Two text messages.

  Emily: Maybe this crosses some kind of line

  Emily: But I hope Mathilde didn’t scare you off...

  I let my thumbs hover above the keyboard on the screen.

  Who, me?

  Nobody scares me off.

  Three dots appear below our messages.

  That’s good. I wouldn’t want things to be awkward in class.

  Or at Rose House.

  How are you doing after the party?

  It’s a bit quiet for my tastes

  I love the quiet

  You’re like that, aren’t you?

  A long pause.

  Don’t be a stranger, ok?

  Don’t study too hard

  Study harder

  Ouch

  It’s closer to the kind of back-and-forth she has with Max.

  It only makes me want her more.

  I stretch out my legs, wiggling my toes. I shouldn’t have fallen asleep in jeans. Every part of me feels stiff, so after a minute I swing my legs over the side of the bed and stand up. I could eat. I should eat.

  There’s a thumping knock at my door. “Are you up, sleeping beauty?”

  “Fuck off, Ellis,” I shout in the direction of the door.

  “We’re going to the club to eat.”

  I shove my feet back into my shoes and go to the door. Ellis stands on the other side, his hand raised, ready to knock again.

  “Were you about to pound your fist on my door again, you ass?”

  “Wanted to make sure you were awake.”

  “We were talking.” I pat my pockets, then go back to the bed to pick up my phone.

  There’s another message from Emily.

  I’ll be in the library all day tomorrow

  Well.

  I probably won’t. But you never know.

  That’s a lie.

  I’ll be there.

  31

  Wolf

  Max is in the den the next day, frowning at his notebook with his pen clutched in his hand, when I leave for the library.

  Emily hasn’t texted again, and I haven’t messaged her. She told me where she’d be, and I’m taking that for the invitation it is. Things were so quaint before, when I took her on a date to the club. A date.

  We’re more complicated than dates.

  I stop on the steps of Rose House and look up and down the street before I let my feet touch the sidewalk. I didn’t press Max for details about the car that almost hit Emily. They were both drunk, and so was everybody else at Rose House. Kevin the bouncer, the only sober one, would have been in the main room watching the crowd.

  It’s pointless. Nobody parks on the street by Rose House, and even if they did, we’re on campus. Too many cars come and go to keep track of them all. We’re not old ladies in a retirement community. The street looks complete
ly normal. Students walk on the desire paths between Rose and campus. Next door at Thistle, two of the girls stand on the steps, talking. One of them is Cassandra, who waves at me. The other turns around and scowls. Mathilde.

  I smirk back at her and head away from Rose House toward the library. There’s a bite in the air this morning and I reach for the buttons on my jacket, working each one closed. It feels like yesterday that we were at orientation in the lingering heat from the summer.

  It feels like two days ago that I stood under the oak tree, watching Carter and Ellis drag Asher’s body into Rose House.

  All that time, and I’m no closer to knowing what actually happened. It nags at me as I move under the shade of another stately oak tree. Asher...that wasn’t an accident. But what about the car that almost hit Emily? They hit the accelerator. Max’s voice shook when he said that. He wasn’t making it up. He’d have no reason to.

  I push away an absurd surge of regret. I should have been the one walking her home. Better yet, I should have had her upstairs in my bedroom, rules be damned.

  Better yet.

  I shake it off. Every day I make it through is another day that puts Asher’s death further into the past. If I can make it through the year, then maybe that’s proof that it was a freak occurrence after all.

  The heat is on in the library and it’s a welcome warmth. I let the heavy doors swing closed behind me.

  I’m not much for studying, but I can appreciate nice architecture as well as the next person. The library at Campbell burned down thirty years ago, and the senior class that year raised money to have it rebuilt. There’s something in there about rising from the ashes, but I’m more interested in finding Emily than spending time admiring the stacks. There are a lot of stacks. The books are housed in a huge room with soaring ceilings, tables dotted throughout. It’s pretty quiet here today.

  I wouldn’t mind fucking her on one of these desks.

  But Emily isn’t on this level. I recognize a couple of other Thistles, heads bent over a textbook, but not the one I’m looking for.

  The second floor of the library is mostly in the form of a balcony overlooking the rows of stacks. I take the back stairs and go up. The hall wraps around, one side a half-wall. It’s the perfect height to stand next to and look down on everybody else. The other side is a series of special collections rooms and study rooms.

  I find Emily in the last possible one.

  She sits facing away from the door in front of a wide window. Almost the entire outer wall of the study room is window. This particular room is on the front corner of the library. From this vantage point, you can see Rose House and all the paths leading home.

  Emily sighs, reaching up to tuck a piece of her hair behind her ear.

  “That bad, huh?”

  She startles, turning quickly in her seat. “God, Wolf, say something next time you’re planning to sneak up on me.”

  I lean against the doorframe. “That would ruin the fun, wouldn’t it?”

  “I’m not here to have fun.” A smile quirks the corners of her lips. “I have a lot of work to do.”

  “Oh?” I step into the study room. “I thought that’s what you invited me here for.”

  “I didn’t invite you.”

  I look up toward the ceiling, pretending to think. “That’s not what I remember. You told me you wanted me, so I came.”

  Emily’s face goes pink. “I felt bad,” she offers. “After Mathilde made a scene about you being in my bedroom.”

  “Yeah. It would have been better if she’d had more to make a scene about.”

  She wets her bottom lip with the tip of her tongue. “I have to study,” she scolds.

  “Then study.”

  Her eyes linger on mine for long enough that I seriously consider putting her up on the desk and having my way with her, but then she turns away, back toward her books. She traces a path over a page of a textbook with her pen.

  “I can feel you watching.”

  “Where else am I supposed to look?”

  Emily keeps her face turned toward the window. “You didn’t bring anything to study?”

  “What I want to study is sitting right in front of me.”

  She tilts her head slightly to the side, and it’s true—I do want to study her. I told her on our date that I wanted to know more about her. I wanted to know everything. But the things she told me then are only facts. They’re background noise. There are more important things to learn about a person. Like how she would react if I took one of her earlobes between my teeth.

  Emily Danes is something else, because while I ponder this she does look down at her text book, the pen gripped tighter in her hand. She flips the page on a notebook and writes something down, her movements deliberate. She uses the pen to scan down the next page of the textbook. Another note. Another section, another note.

  Each study room comes with two chairs, and when I can’t stand it anymore I move forward, keeping my footsteps quiet, and tug the chair back behind hers and to the side.

  Emily sits up straight. “What are you doing?”

  “Studying. You can keep going.”

  “Wolf…”

  “Quiet. I’m studying.”

  I start with her hair. It’s grown a bit since I first saw her at orientation. I bet she’s the kind of person who goes in phases. I wouldn’t mind seeing her with long hair...or very short hair. I brush it to the side, letting it glide over my knuckles. Emily shivers at my touch.

  “Hmmm. You’re responsive,” I tell her.

  “You’re touching my neck,” she says, her breath coming faster.

  I finish moving her hair out of the way and lean in closer. Her skin is so warm that it heats my lips without even making contact. But I do make contact, brushing them lightly against the skin that’s normally hidden by her hair.

  “How are you today?” I murmur. “Completely recovered?”

  “From...what?”

  I run the pad of my thumb down the back of her neck. “The party. Everything.”

  “I feel pretty recovered, yeah.”

  “But how recovered exactly? Enough to keep it together?”

  “I’m keeping it together.” It’s a half-truth. Her breath is shallow and fast, and from this angle I can see the color spreading across her cheeks, deeper with every moment that passes.

  “Hmm.” I let my breath play over the shell of her ear, and Emily leans an inch closer. I can’t resist. I take her earlobe between my teeth, the slightest pressure. She presses her lips closed, but I hear it—a half-whispered moan. “You liked that.”

  “This—this isn’t studying.”

  “Isn’t it? It might be important for me to know later. No. I think it will be important for me to know these things later.”

  “About me?”

  “About you, Emily Danes.” She turns her head toward me. “Oh, no,” I scold. “Eyes on your own paper.” Her eyelashes meet her cheeks as she looks back down. “Pick up that pen of yours.”

  “I’ve been holding it this whole time.”

  “But you’re not using it,” I insist. “We’re both here studying. You need to hold up your end of the deal.” She hovers the tip of the pen over her notebook and I take the opportunity to drag my lips down the side of her neck.

  “Oh,” she says, a soft, small noise that lights up every urge I’ve ever had and wraps them into a tight tension at the center of my gut. It wouldn’t take long to take her back to Rose House. It would take even less time to bend her over this desk, right now. It’s easy math. Here, now—it’s better than walking anywhere else. But I’m not going to rush with her. Not when this is so delicious. “I shouldn’t—I shouldn’t be doing this…”

  “Why?” I start back at the place where her pulse beats hardest, featherlight kisses this time. “Are you with someone else?”

  “No,” she groans. “I’m not with—I’m not with anybody else.”

  “Then you can do what you want. You’re a free woman.”
/>
  “I don’t want to make a bad decision...”

  I slip a hand around in front of her and cup one of her breasts in the palm of my hand. It’s the easiest thing in the world, circling her nipple with the pad of my thumb. I can feel it through her shirt and her bra. She’s ready. “Does this feel like a bad decision?”

  “God, no.” Emily lets her head tip back, eyelids fluttering closed. “It feels...so....”

  Someone clears their throat behind me.

  Slowly, I lift my head away from Emily’s next. Slowly, I turn my head.

  The person standing outside the study room is a library assistant in a uniform navy polo shirt, her face a bright red, frizzy hair escaping from a messy bun. I give her a slow, knowing smile, and she looks down at her feet.

  “Can we help you?”

  She shakes her head once, then again, and then hurries away, quick footsteps receding from the room.

  Beside me, Emily sits bolt upright in her chair. “Oh my god.”

  “Shh. It was a student librarian. And even if it wasn’t, you’re here with me.”

  Her dark eyes meet mine. “That’s—that’s terrible,” she says. “You shouldn’t be above the rules.”

  “We were studying,” I say firmly. “Nobody can argue with that.”

  “I should get back to it,” Emily says quickly. “I really should.”

  “Yeah? Pressing deadlines?” I lean over and look at her notebook.

  Asher Radcliffe

  Athletic vs. clumsy

  Local news reporting?

  My heart stutters and stops, and Emily reaches forward and slaps the notebook closed.

  “What class is that for?” I keep my tone light and easy.

  “It’s nothing,” she says. “I mean, it’s not for a class. Something I was working on for...” Emily frowns, looking down at her lap. “It was an idea I had for another project. Just thoughts.”