Page 55 of Vicious Games

“Helloooo? Did you miss the part where I said you’re fucking annoying?”

I bite my cheek to keep from laughing since his scowl is dangerously close to a pout.

“And yet,” I say, glancing around the sleek penthouse, “you went through all this trouble just to help me out.”

“How about less lip and more focus?” He plops the textbook back onto my lap. “I’ve got shit to do.”

“What kind of shit?”

“Shit,” he repeats vaguely.

“Can you be more specific?”

“No.” He grumbles, flipping to another page. “Now, where were we—”

“Nope. Nuh huh.” I shut the book. “I need a break before my head explodes.”

He cranes his head back to stare at the ceiling but eventually relents. “Fine. You hungry?”

“I could eat,” I admit as my stomach growls in agreement.

“Let’s see what Jude’s got in his fridge.”

Lucky gets up from the floor, and unwilling to be left alone with these soul-sucking textbooks, I quickly trail after him into the kitchen.

He swings the fridge open, sticks his head inside, and lets out a disgruntled groan.

“Just as I figured. He’s got nothing.”

“Didn’t you say your brother lives in London?” I lean against the counter. “Why would you assume his apartment had food anyway?”

He ignores me, yanking open the freezer.

“Ha! Bingo! You like Eggos?”

“Sure.”

Looking way too proud of himself for discovering frozen waffles, he tosses a few into the toaster, then leans against the counter opposite me with his arms crossed over his chest.

“I’ll make sure to stock up on actual food for next time.”

I don’t say anything to that, or to the fact that he plans on there being anext time.It seems we’re not going back to the school library, and this quiet penthouse is going to become our new thing.

And truthfully? I prefer it here. No prying eyes. No whispered comments in the background about how Lucky got stuck tutoring the big girl or the poor abandoned orphan.

Here, it’s just us. Us and silence.

It’s kind of nice. Not that I’ll ever tell him that.

Once the toaster dings, Lucky plates the waffles, drizzling a generous amount of syrup before sliding one across the counter toward me.

“Dig in.”

I don’t need to be told twice. I take a bite, sighing as the syrup melts into the warm, fluffy waffle.

“What?” I ask when I notice he’s not eating, just staring.

“Nothing.”

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