She giggles, covering her mouth and nose with her palm as thenoise indelicately falls out of her. She’s a little tipsy, for sure. “What? You said truth!”
“And that’s the first question that comes to mind, huh? Dirty girl.”
Her bottom lip flicks out as she releases it from between her teeth. “Stop dodging the question, Milo.”
I could lie. I could tell her a lowball number, the number I had when I stopped keeping track. I could but I don’t want to. I wanthertruths, and it’s not fair to give her lies in return. “I don’t know, honestly. You can ask another question if you’d like.”
“You don’t know, or you don’t want to tell me?”
I wince, keeping hesitant eyes on her when I confess a partial truth. “I don’t know, as in, I’ve lost count.”
The tendon in the side of Prue’s throat jumps, her eyes blinking rapidly before her stare falls to her lap. Interestingly, though, her curious smile doesn’t falter—she’s not disappointed, I guess. “Okay.”
“If I had to guess,” I offer, “somewhere around two hundred, maybe.”
“Oh my god!” That small smile blooms into a wide grin, accompanied by a bubbly laugh. “Wow!”
I cannot help but smile at her shock and awe, scratching at my brow as I consider every possible reasoning behind thatwow.“I know it’s high but—”
“Truth.” She cuts me off, biting that bottom lip again as her eyes lock in on my hand flexing over my knee, and she slowly brings her can to her mouth for a languid sip.
“Okay, Killer, let’s have it. What’syournumber?”
“Hmm?” She nearly chokes on her sip of beer. “You can’t repeat questions, right? That’s a rule. I think that’s a rule.”
“You said you’d never played.”
“Well, it’s a rule.” She begins swaying softly side to side, looking everywhere except for my direction.
“Prudence…C’mon. There’s no embarrassment here.”
She sucks in a big gulp of air, then swallows. Ialmostlet her off the hook, but what sort of game will it be if we can’t even make it through one round? What sort of friends are we if we cannot be honest with each other? “Tell me, Killer. What’s the body count?”
She stills, tilting her face to the sky as her cheeks turn a deeper shade of pink.
“Prue…”
“Zero,” she whispers, her eyes shut as she presses her chin in between two bent knees.
I roll my eyes, fighting back a laugh unsuccessfully. “God, you’re annoying. Just—”
“Milo,” Prue interrupts. Her eyes skate across the dock, then to the lantern, then, finally, back to me. Hesitantly, she speaks again. “It’s zero.”
There is no way,I almost say. But then I see her bravado finally give way, her projected confidence slips for half a second as her eyes communicate the truth she seems awfully afraid to admit. She’s embarrassed. “Oh…Okay.”
“On that note, I think it’s past my bedtime.” Prue brushes her hands against the denim covering her thighs, moving as if she’s going to stand.
“No, no.” I reach out and grab her arm, stilling her. Our eyes both drop to where my hand is clasped around her wrist before I retreat and she lowers to the dock. “Don’t go,” I tell her, fighting back a thousand, if not a million questions. “Sorry, I just—You are…You don’t look like—”
“I don’tlooklike a virgin?” She scoffs, tugging her hand away. “Tell me, Milo, what does a virgin look like exactly?”
Not someone who licks their lips like you did the other day when I knelt beside you. Not someone who practically purred when I brushed my nose against their temple. Not someone who looks at me like I’m their next meal and then coyly, casually tosses me aside. Not…you.
I have to shake myself to stop those images replaying in my mind. Every flick of her tongue, every quickened breath, every blush of her cheeks I’ve collected in this past week have all come into my thoughts when fucking my fist the last few nights.
I never intended for Prue to join me, alone in my bed. But I didn’t valiantly fight the thoughts of her away either. Now, I know, it’s going to be even worse. I’m a bastard, adamnedbastard for it, but,god,the thought of her being so inexperienced is having an effect on me. My handsitchto be the one to touch her everywhere she’s yet to be touched. I can practically feel my tongue swelling in my mouth, begging to be let loose on her. It’s greedy and possessive and archaic and I hate it. Ihatemyself for it.
“Let’s just…keep going.” I finish my second beer off, hoping that helps fill thisneedinside my chest that feels cracked open and emptied out. So far, it hasn’t.
