Dylan smiles that perfect smile. “I’ll be there.”
Oh, they have no idea what they just agreed to. My green juice recipe includes kale, spinach, celery, cucumber, lemon, and ginger. It tastes like punishment in liquid form.
I turn to Rocky with a grin. I grab the vodka bottle and purposely point it at him.
“Rocky, truth or dare.”
“Truth,” he says, and I actually deflate a little.
“Really?” I huff, because I had some excellent dares planned.
He nods, looking way too pleased with himself.
“Fine. Truth. What’s your go-to move when you’re hooking up with someone?”
Rocky stares at me for a long moment, and I can practically see the wheels turning in his head. “Wanna find out?”
Dylan’s shoulder connects with Rocky’s so hard I’m surprised Rocky doesn’t fall over. I’m not the only one who notices—Amber’s eyes meet mine with a look that screams ‘did you just see how he defended you.’
“First thing I do is give her the fingler,” Rocky finally answers.
Scott barks out a laugh. “What the fuck is that?”
Rocky demonstrates by making a come-here motion with his pointer finger, curling it over and over. I watch, completely confused, while Scott nearly chokes on his own spit.
“Works every time,” Rocky says with the confidence of someone who’s clearly never been told no.
Daisy and I exchange looks that say ‘men are weird,’ while Amber giggles like she’s in on some secret joke.
“My turn,” Rocky announces. “Amber, truth or dare.”
“Dare,” she says without hesitation.
Rocky’s grin turns predatory. “Make out with Double D’s.”
Daisy points at herself like she’s surprised anyone would notice her very obvious assets. She’s tiny everywhere except her chest, so the proportions are pretty hard to miss.
“D.D. is her initials,” Dylan says to me.
I nod. That makes much more sense now.
Amber leans across the circle and plants one on Daisy, and I’m suddenly very aware of how warm the room has gotten.
“Longer,” Rocky demands, because he’s classy like that. “Come on.”
So they go at it again, and I find myself staring at Dylan, who’s already looking at me with an expression I can’t quite read.
When the kiss ends, I look down at my arms and notice they feel weird. Tingly. Warm. The last time I got drunk—first year of college—I blacked out completely and spent the next two days hugging a toilet bowl.
I’m so lost in thought that I miss whatever dare gets thrown out next, but suddenly Dylan is standing up and removing his shirt.
Then his pants.
I blink, trying to process what I’m seeing. Everything feels a little fuzzy around the edges, like I’m watching this happen to someone else. Dylan is standing in the middle of our friend circle in nothing but his boxer briefsagain, and everyone is losing their minds.
“Holy shit,” I mutter, because my filter has apparently left the building.
Daisy winks at me. “You’re welcome.”
