I choose to ignore the sort-of compliment and the butterflies it lets loose in my belly. “Whydare?” I ask, jutting my chin to the tattooed letters on his knuckles.
“No, I’m not telling you. You’ll mock me.”
I roll my eyes, smiling. “So? Let it be my birthday gift. Thenot-stolen kind.”
His eyes dip down to my mouth, and he immediately sighs, resolved. “Fine. I got it…” He looks up to the sky, leaning farther back onto the forearm supporting his weight as he trills his lips. “I don’t know, maybe eight years ago? I was in California for the first time and there were these girls and—”
“Oh”—I sit up urgently—“this is going to begood.”
He laughs at my obvious excitement. “Well, there were abouteight of us total, and it was late and we were allverydrunk and someone suggested we play truth ordare.” He stops, checking to see if I know where he’s going with this with a side-glance and a deadly smirk.
“Seriously?”
“Yeah…” He chuckles dryly. “This one girl asked me to get her name across my knuckles, Lane, I think it was, and I said no, but I did say yes to a different four-letter word. My drunk, dumb ass couldn’t think of anything other thandarewhen the tattoo artist asked me what I wanted and I wasdesperatelytrying to appear cool and sober.”
“That is even better than I expected, honestly,” I tell him, shaking my head. “Thank god you didn’t get some random girl’s name on you!”
“Why?” he asks quickly, leaning to look at me from under low brows. “Would that make you jealous?”
“Shut up.” I laugh nervously, before covering the sound with a cool can pressed against my lips. Then, an idea. “We should play.”
“Hmm?” Milo’s brows rise.
“We should play truth or dare.”
“Thatstory made you want to play?” His eyes narrow on me curiously. “You want me to get your name tattooed on my ass or something?”
I laugh. “Would you?”
“Well, itisyour birthday.”
I lift up and move closer to him, feeling the liquid courage flood my bloodstream and thin the usually thick filter of my mind. “I’ve never played, so go easy on me.”
He breathes deeply, focusing on my face, studying me. Then, he sits up, his knee pressing into mine as he smiles widely and places both hands in the hollow of his lap. “All right, Killer, you win. Let’s play.”
Thirteen
Milo
Fuck, fuck, fuck,fuck…
Fuck, that hungry look in her eyes.
Fuck, that perfect pink hue yet to fully leave her cheeks.
Fuck, that sweater hanging off her left shoulder and the lacy white bra strap made visible.
And,fuck,fuck, fuck, fuckme for not being able to stay away longer than a few days.
What Prue didn’t ask, thankfully, was how that game of truth or dare ended. Because it rhymes withfreesomeand I don’t know why, but confessing that to her would feel damn near mortifying—as fun as it was at the time.
“Okay, you first,” she says keenly, rubbing her hands together. “Truth or dare.”
I’ve always been adaresort of guy. I figured, up until now, that was the safer option. But this game feels different. Prue asked me to go easy on her, so I will. “Truth.”
“How many people have you had sex with?”
I recoil, as if she’d slapped me. “Jesus, Killer! Buy a guy dinner first.”
