Wicked (Dangerous Liaisons Book 1)

by Ashlyn Mathews

  “Twelve. But what if Harper’s my mommy? My dad will kick your butt.”

  I straighten so fast I swear I get whiplash. April breaks out into laughter. Harper looks off to the side, but too late. I caught the smile on her face at my expense.

  “Don’t mind her,” Harper says. “Her father and I are good friends.”

  April smiles. A genuine full-mouth affair.

  “My dad works a lot. Harper offered to spend time with me. She doesn’t ask for anything in return other than for my dad to fix things at her place. Her landlord can be a real jerk.”

  April rolls her eyes.

  Man, this girl is dramatic too.

  “I’m right here, April. No need to tell Ryker everything.”

  April ignores her.

  “Well, which is it, mister? Are you her boyfriend or not?” She taps her tennis shoes.

  Impatient. Curious.

  But I don’t miss the hope in her eyes. Behind her, Harper is shaking her head. Smirking, I give the little girl what she’s wishing for. Do this, and I’m crossing my fingers she lays off and doesn’t make my life a living hell for the next three Wednesdays.

  “Yeah, I’m Harper’s boyfriend.”

  Her little shoulders relax, and she uncrosses her arms. “Harper never spoke of you until yesterday. She said you’d be meeting us here.”

  “Harper’s a private person.” An assumption.

  I don’t know jack shit other than her choice in clothes is limited to the color black, she isn’t at Prescott U on scholarships, she’s in an intense program (which one, I’m curious), and she spends too much time roller skating and trampoline jumping and not enough on taking in calories.

  Harper is thin, but not unhealthy thin. She’s toned. Has an athlete’s body. And I’m guessing her healthy slim isn’t from skating and jumping on trampolines.

  Is she a runner? If she is, she better be wearing reflective gear over her black running clothes. Otherwise, we’ll be having us a talk on safety. Does she run with another coed? If not, I’ll tack on safety in numbers to our discussion. Harper is small. An easy target. Jerks like me equate small with weak.

  “Want me to help you with your skates?” Harper pulls the little girl to her, her arms circling the girl’s waist from behind.

  Harper’s kindness hits me smack dab in the chest, resetting and reawakening something inside me I’ve long ago boxed away and put a lock on—giving a flying fuck.

  I rub at the spot over my heart. I shouldn’t give a care how nice Harper is. I’m not into a girl for her kindness. I’m looking to get her under or on top of me.

  “I’m fine. Thanks, Harper.”

  Harper’s mini-me untangles out of Harper’s hold, yanks on her skates, and disappears into the crowd.

  Harper nods at my shoes. “Well?”

  “Well, what?”

  “Aren’t you going to skate?”

  She undoes the laces on her combat boots, slides them off, and tugs on a pair of in-line skates that are NOT black. Her skates are purple, for fuck’s sake.

  “Yeah, sure, but you might have to hold my hand. I haven’t skated in eons.”

  “Or you can rent a walker.” She tilts her head at the line of little kids in front of the walker rental window.

  “I’d rather hold your hand. That is, if you’ll have me.”

  If you’ll have me? I groan. What the hell kind of shit is coming from my douchebag mouth? She nods, a slow up and down of her head. Yeah, this isn’t my norm.

  It doesn’t take me long to get the skates. Or to put them on. I also opted for the in-lines. Together, we make our way onto the rink.

  April breezes by us, skating backward with her hands on her hips, looking cool as shit. I shoot her the thumbs-up sign and am rewarded with her laughing in her hands.

  “Don’t.”

  I cast Harper a sidelong glance. She’s smiling, but steel underlines that one word.

  “Don’t make this arrangement into anything more than what we agreed on. You offered to ease my burden for a month. My ask is your Wednesdays and Thursdays for being a jerk, which is nothing new from guys like you.”

  “Guys like me?”

  We skate side by side. Round a curve. I lace our fingers. She doesn’t object, tightening her hold.

  “Harper?”

  “Cocky. Think they’re God’s gift to women. Sex on the mind. Ruthless when there’s money or status at stake.”

  Man, she nailed my best qualities.

  “Eventually, though, karma catches up to them.”

  “It does?”

  This conversation is getting interesting. We do a lap around the rink. April catches up to us, grabs ahold of my free hand, and we do a lap as a trio. Anyone looking on probably assumes we’re a family. Mommy and Daddy skating with their sweet little girl, the spitting image of her parents.

  I glance sidelong at the girls. With Harper’s and my dark hair and April and Harper’s slight build, we could be a family. Holy shit! I yank my hands from theirs. We are not a family. April looks up at me and frowns.

  “You okay?”

  “Yeah, kid.”

  “I’m not a kid. I’ll be thirteen in six months, a woman.”

  “Teenager,” I clarify. “And may the big man above save us all when that day comes.”

  She rolls her eyes. “I’m hungry. Can we take a break? Eat?”

  “Of course, sweetie.”

  Harper takes the lead. We skate off the rink and onto carpet before ending up standing in line for food. I order the healthiest thing on the menu—a super-sized water and pretzels without the small container of cheese. But I can’t help eyeing the ball of spunk scarfing down her meal.

  “Ugh, this is sooo good.” April shovels the pepperoni pizza into her mouth. Grease smears her chin. She downs her water and reaches for another slice.

  Harper eats in silence, taking small bites. She doesn’t speak until we’ve cleaned off our plates.

  “Manners, little miss.”

  April wipes the grease off her face with a napkin and clasps her hands on the table. “Thank you for paying for our food. It was nice of you.”

  I sit taller, and shit, is my chest puffed out? I clear my throat. I’m not a nice guy. I’m in this for me. In this to get in Harper’s pants so I can finally get in Missy’s.

  Fuck, that stream of thought is messed up. But hey, I’m a douchebag. I don’t know any better.

  “Yeah, sure, kid.”

  April opens her mouth, ready to tell me off, but something or someone over my shoulder catches her attention. Her eyes widen, and she plays with her hair. Harper looks where April is looking.

  “Remind Parker I’ll kick his butt if he’s not nice to you.”

  “So I can go skate with him?”

  “Only if you tell him.”

  “How will you know if I do or don’t?”

  “Oh, I’ll know.”

  “Okay, thanks, Harper,” she says, unfazed by the sharpness in Harper’s tone. “See you in a little bit.”

  April slides out of the booth. I twist my body and watch her meet up with a kid with dark blond hair who looks to be her age. He looms over her tiny form, and I’m thinking Harper must look small like that, too, next to my hulking body.

  “So . . . back to our earlier conversation. What does karma catching up to cocky jerks mean?” I have to know. It’s fair warning to one such as myself.

  “They get played in return or they fall hard for a girl who doesn’t feel the same.”

  “A taste of their own medicine, eh?”

  “Something like that.”

  “Does this karma thing apply to women?”

  “Of course.” Her blue eyes flash with irritation. “It’s not just guys who are jerks. Women can be witches too.”

  I chuckle. Witches and not bitches. Damn, this girl is a prude. A sweet, beautiful, kind-hearted prude.

  “Do you lead a guy on? Play head games with them, Harper? Get them to fall hard for you, then ditch them?
Are you a witch?”

  The irritation slips from her face. She wears down the corner of her bottom lip with her teeth. Did I hit on a truth? Which one is it? Choice A, B, C, or all of the above? I doubt she’ll tell, but I’m thinking she wants to continue with this fair warning of hers. Yeah, hers. This conversation isn’t about generalized karma did this or that. What did karma do to the guys who crossed paths with Harper Garrix?

  “Harper?”

  I shouldn’t have persisted. Shouldn’t have let my stoked curiosity get the better of me. Her hesitation is gone, replaced with hardened eyes and a mouth set in a grim line.

  “The guys who screwed with me got what they deserved—death or prison.”

  Isn’t that one and the same? And the way she said “screwed” with disgust and shame . . . What did those guys do? I reach for her hand. Our fingers brush. Big to small. Rough skin to soft. She pulls away and clasps her arm to her chest.

  “You’re not here to care. You’re here to ease my burden.”

  Her voice is soft, low. Almost timid. But I’m thinking she’s far from being weak. And her words? I’m not liking what she said.

  She uses those damn words to keep me at bay, but she can continue uttering them for all I care. I’m persistent and will get to the bottom of what those jerks did. It’s in my best interest that I fully understand who I’m keeping company with.

  Before I can delve further into her confession, the announcer does a last call—one more song before the lights go out and the doors close for the night.

  The lights dim. The rink is transformed into a crazy mix of bright lights and shadows from the strobe ball in the middle of the room.

  April and her friend Parker skate by us holding hands. She slants her head back, and over her shoulder, she smiles her encouragement.

  “Harper, will you do me the honor?” Do me the honor? What the fuck? I don’t spout romantic words.

  Harper slides out of the booth. “No funny business, Ryker.”

  Seated, I look her up and down.

  Blue eyes framed by dark brows and fringed with long lashes. Pert nose. Full mouth. Stubborn jut of her small chin.

  Harper Garrix is sexy and beautiful in this simple way that has blood rushing through my veins and engorging my heart and my cock. And don’t get me started on the constellation of freckles across her nose and cheeks.

  I stand and crowd her space. Glance down as she looks up. I’m right. She’s small.

  For shits and giggles, I curve my arm around her waist and splay my palm on the small of her back. My hand takes up sizable space, and my inner caveman roars to claim her, the heat from her body seeping into my skin through her shirt, further fanning the overwhelming need to crush my mouth over hers.

  And the way she’s looking back at me, unwavering and intense . . . The tiny spitfire is daring me with her eyes to take my touching further.

  My heartbeat rachets in my chest. My mouth goes dry. Licking my lips, I reach out and smooth my finger along each dark brow. Tuck her hair behind her ear. Linger on the sexy dip behind her earlobe. Someday, I’ll lick and taste her there.

  The thought is unexpected, but I don’t give my brain a chance to catch up with what I’m doing with my hands.

  With my other hand firmly on the dip of her lower back, I caress down her shoulder, bare arm, graceful fingers, and cup and squeeze her hip. Her blue eyes darken. Full lips part. Ready to take her challenge all the way, I reach around her hip. My mammoth arms span her lower back and cocoon her in place.

  Small to big. Soft to the solid planes of my muscular body. Kindhearted to my bastardly heart. We’re a perfect fit, and the realization hits me hard in the gut.

  Oh, fuck, we cannot fit this perfectly. The arrangement is for a month, and then we go our separate ways. I lean in, and with my mouth near her ear, I remind her of how we met and how I had treated her.

  “I’m a douchebag. Funny business is what you’ll be getting. Don’t ever forget that.”

  My words have the opposite effect. Of course they do. I’m fast catching on that Harper is different from the girls I’ve hooked up with.

  “For your honesty, I’ll let you skate with me any time, Ryker Conway.”

  She looks up at me through thick, long lashes, and my heart stutters in my chest and my body stills. I can’t breathe. Can’t look away from the gleam in her eyes. She has one of those silly grins on her face, but damn, this girl is happy, and I have the compulsion to bring out more of the shine in her eyes.

  Grabbing my hand, Harper leads me onto the rink. On the way, we stumble and nearly fall on our asses. We hold on to one another for leverage, our feet fumbling for balance. Two college kids adulting. Or are we two adults acting like crazy kids?

  She laughs, and I stare at her eyes, her mouth. She’s the flame. I’m the moth. I can’t stop laughing. Or smiling.

  Here with her, it’s one of the best nights I’ve had in a long time. We skate to “Remind Me to Forget” by Kygo and Miguel. At the curve, I let go of her hand, skate backward, and serenade her.

  I hit the notes wrong. Can’t remember the words for the life of me. But I give it a try just to see her blue eyes sparkle.

  She covers her smile with her hand. Seeing her like this . . . I chuckle. If she’s this happy, how can I make her happier tomorrow when we’re trampoline jumping and dodging balls?

  4

  Ryker

  “Okay, everyone, this is Ryker. It’s his first time, so be gentle. Ryker, you’re on their team.”

  She tips her head at the group of kids on the opposite side of us.

  “Am I expected to dress accordingly next week?” I ask out of the side of my mouth.

  “Yes. Sorry, I didn’t mention the themes thing to you.”

  I glance sidelong at her. She’s sexy as fuck dressed as Wonder Woman.

  “You plan on doing something with that lasso later? Tie me up? Do dirty things to me?” I say next to her ear, low enough that the kids on either side of us can’t hear.

  Her hair tickles my nose. Not willing to let this opportunity slip between my fingers, I inhale her scent. She smells sweet, like flowers. I shouldn’t be turned on, but I am. More so when Harper gets sassy. I’m digging sass.

  “You seriously want to mess with the lasso of truth?”

  “You can’t handle the truth.” I waggle my brows. Smirk when the corners of her mouth lift.

  She rolls her eyes, but her smile doesn’t leave her face. “Cheesy.”

  “It’s a damn great movie.” A Few Good Men.

  “Only because Tom Cruise is in it. He was hot when he was younger. Was even hotter in Top Gun.”

  A dreamy look on her face, and I’m not liking it. Shit, am I jealous of Tom Cruise? Still . . . I shoot my gaze heavenward, showing her who the boss of this conversation is.

  “Hey, can we start?” one of the kids whine.

  I stick my arm out to get the kid to shut up. Yeah, I’m a D-bag. “Us adults are having a conversation.”

  Did I hear a growl from across the room? I slant my head and cup my ear. “Come again?”

  Did the kid chomp at the bits? I face him, giving him the full force of my stare-down. The kid stands his ground.

  “Harper, can he be on your team? I want my chance at him.”

  The kid has the balls to rub his hands together. Harper’s not having it.

  “Not nice. Apologize.”

  I shoot the kid a toothy grin.

  The kid glares but apologizes. He’s been making googly eyes at Harper since we walked into this joint.

  My sight never leaving the kid’s face, I begrudgingly end Harper’s and my bantering and assume a spot next to the disgruntled kid with my arms crossed.

  Why couldn’t Harper have said yes? I would’ve loved my shot at showing the kid who the king of dodgeball is.

  “What do the winners get?” April asks with her hands on her hips.

  In it to win it, that’s what I’m seeing on spunk’s face.


  “What would you kids like to do? Movie, bounce house, zoo—”

  The disgruntled kid interrupts Harper. “Water park.”

  “Water park, water park, water park!” the other kids chime in.

  Harper laughs. “Water park it is. The adult on the losing team pays.” Pointed stare in my direction.

  I return the challenge in her eyes. Bring it.

  “Let’s plan for two weeks from now. Sunday. Does that work for everyone?”

  Screams of excitement.

  More laughter from Harper. “It’s a plan.”

  With extra bounce in their steps, the kids line up the balls in the middle of the room, then skitter back until they’re against the wall.

  “Tell Ryker the rules, Collin,” Harper says.

  Collin. So that’s the name of the skinny dirty-blond punk with a shit ton of attitude. He puffs out his chest at being picked to tell me what I can and can’t do.

  “No face shots allowed. It’s an automatic out. But the back of the head is fair game. Three rounds. No time limit. We play each round until only one person is left standing. Questions?”

  The disgruntled turd has the nerve to glance up at me with a satisfied grin. I cock a brow and give him a terse, “Not from up here, short stuff.”

  I say it loud so everyone can hear. The kid’s face turns a deep shade of red. He looks away. I don’t feel bad at all, not one bit, for knocking him down a few pegs in front of his crush.

  My attention slides to Harper. Disapproving expression followed by a ruthless gleam in her eyes as she glances from the balls to my—oh, fuck—my crotch.

  April’s eyes do a sweep from right to left, and I’m not liking the maniacal giggle slipping from between her upturned mouth. Damn, that kid can be one scary-ass little girl.

  “Okay, is everyone ready?” Harper raises her arm. “On the count of three. One, two, three.”

  Her arm slashes downward. I scram to the center of the room. What a fucking bad idea. I’m hit first. Of course I’m smashed first. My team has the good sense to stay put.

  Those little shits.

  I sit out and watch Harper’s team pummel mine. One by one, the kids, from the one dressed as the Green Hulk to the girl dressed as Harley Quinn from Suicide Squad, get picked off by Spider Man, Thor, Gamora (April), Little Red Riding Hood (wait, isn’t the theme superheroes?), and hers truly, Wonder Woman.