Page 61 of Revenge Puck

He watches my face intently, searching for a crack in my well-placed armor. Some part of me that shows human emotion. Some part of me that he can find guilty.

He won’t find it because this isn’t about her.

This is about him.

It’s like the universe is handing me a knife, blade first…

“You think this is a game?” he asks.

I shrug. “Everything is a game to someone.”

Red faced, he steps closer. “You don’t get to use her to settle whatever messed-up scoreboard you keep in your head.”

If only he knew how accurate that was.

“But you’re right,” I say calmly, reaching for a clean shirt and pulling it over my head. “She’s not part of a game.”

She’s the chess board.

His hands curl into fists. “Stay away from her.”

“So you’ve said.”

He shakes his head. “You’re poison, dude.”

“Am I? Or are you the problem?”

My phone buzzes on the bench next to my thigh, and I glance down at it to read the message preview:

I can do 7? If that’s not too late?

Juliette, Juliette, you’re making this way too easy.

I slide my shoes on and tie them, mindful of the daggers being glared into my skull. Stand. Grab my jacket from the hook, slow and unhurried. Let him see how little this rattles me. How steady my hands are.

How controlled.

“She’s not collateral damage,” he snaps at me to regain my attention. “She’s my sister.”

I sling my bag over my shoulder and begin a slow stroll past him, close enough that I clip him.

“And?” I laugh. “What’s your point?”

“Bishop, I swear to fucking god. Can’t you be a decent human about this? My sister isn’t anything like the women we date. She’s not like?—”

“Bailey?” I turn to look at him, dropping her name into the sentence to gauge his response. Sure enough, the color drains from his face.

His throat works like he’s trying to swallow a shard of glass.

“You’re the one who keeps bringing this shit up,” I go on calmly. “Not me.”

I snap my fingers. “Oh, hey. Speaking of which—Bailey keeps texting me to talk. I don’t know if you’re still fucking her or whatever, but just so you know, she texted me at least thirty times today.”

His mouth opens.

Closes.

“Well? Are you? Still fucking her?”