“I’ve always wanted to puppy play as a bulldog. I can’t watch films where animals die—they make me cry—and my parents know I’m into puppy play.”
“That’s easy.” Hendrix folds his arms.
We all stare at him for several seconds, but he remains silent.
“Which is the lie?” Stefan asks him.
“I’m not guessing. You should. Or Quinn. Or Preston. You’ve all been so quiet. I know your game.”
“You do?” Quinn asks.
“Yes. You think you’ll get out of your turns if you don’t guess.”
Quinn shakes his head.
Stefan chuckles. “Guilty as charged.”
Quinn blinks at him. “Really?”
Stefan shrugs and then sighs. “The first one is the lie.”
“How do you know it wasn’t number two?” Theo asks.
I almost laugh when everyone else around the table rolls their eyes. I’ve known Theo for a few minutes, but even I could have guessed films like that would make him cry. I am stunned that his parents know his kink, though. I can’t imagine telling my parents something like that. Then again, I don’t have a great track record of being open and honest with my parents. The thought opens a gulf in my heart. Tears prickle the backs of my eyes, and my throat becomes tight. I clear it and then have a drink.
A glance at Rory tells me he’s watching me. His brow is pinched with concern. I fix my stare on the birthday cake and eat more. It’s not as appetising as before my thoughts started to descend into darkness.
“I hate reading, love maths, and have drunk cat poo coffee.” Stefan’s matter-of-fact tone pulls me out of my reverie.
I gape at him. “Cat poo coffee?”
Hendrix gags. “Please tell me that’s a joke?”
Quinn laughs and then slumps against Stefan’s shoulder. It looks like he’s fighting to keep his eyes open.
“Are you okay?” I ask.
“I’m fine.” He slurs his words like he’s drunk, but I know we’re all on soft drinks. “Tired.”
“That’s one way to avoid having a turn,” Hendrix says sulkily.
Stefan glares at him.
Hendrix snaps his mouth shut. “Sorry.”
Stefan kisses Quinn’s temple. “Nap time?”
“Uh-huh. Sorry.”
“There’s no need to be sorry.” He goes to stand, but Rubin beats him to it.
“It’s still your turn. I’ve got Quinn.” He helps his brother stand and supports him as they leave the kitchen.
“Quinn has narcolepsy,” Stefan says, no doubt noticing the look of concern on my face. “It’s a sleep disorder. His brain doesn’t regulate his sleep cycles properly.”
I nod to show I’ve understood. “Have you really drunk cat poo coffee?”
Stefan chuckles. “Yes. It’s an acquired taste.”
