This time it lands on Ryder.
“All right,” he says, smiling evilly. “Time to join the naked club, Beckett. But I’m only going to make you take off your shirt.”
Ryder rolls his eyes, but he doesn’t argue. He reaches back, grabs the hem of his t-shirt, and pulls it over his head in one smooth motion. Muscle and scar and ink come into view.
Holy hell. The room is unquestionably getting warm.
He tosses the shirt aside, rolls his shoulders like he’s settling into discomfort, and crosses his arms defiantly.
Damian says. “Your spin, boss.”
Ryder leans forward, the boulder-round muscles of his shoulders contracting as he reaches for the bottle and gives it a quick spin that lands on me.
My heart patters nervously. Ryder’s eyes lift to mine, dark and unsmiling. This time there’s no trace of the easygoing, joking leader who’s been humoring dares all night. When he looks at me it’s with the same raw, rough energy I’ve been feeling from him since the cabin—the part of him that wants me, the part that hates that anyone else does.
We’ve almost drunk our way through the first bottle of whiskey. Ryder is steady as ever, no hint that he might be drunk, but I know he’s put back quite a few. Maybe that’s what I sense that makes my nerves tingle. That a line of defenses is down. And that whatever Ryder is about to say is about to shift us out of “ease-in dares” to the real game.
When he speaks, his voice is low and husky, like the words scrape on the way out.
“Okay, Max,” he says. “Since you said you’d choose to kiss Wyatt…I dare you to do it.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
THERE ISN’T ONE of these men I haven’t been attracted to since the first moment I met them. Wyatt is no exception. Even though he’s twenty-five years older than me.
He’s strong, handsome, sexy in that way that comes with being confident and self-assured. He’s kind, wise, and compassionate. Those weren’t slow discoveries, they were flashing-neon from the start. But when I first arrived on Ryder’s doorstep, he was the one who took me under his wing, who looked out for me, and it just never seemed like anything more than friendship was in the cards for us.
Until that strange, confusing night I found him in the O.D. clubhouse in his screaming skull cut. At first he was relief, then he was confusion—what the hell was he doing there? Was he really O.D.?—and then finally together, on our own, love blossomed.
Or rather, it ignited. The sparks were already there.
I don’t love him more than the others. But I don’t love him less. And right now, with Ryder’s dare hanging between us, his dark eyes on me expectantly, it’s more than just permission. It’s an order.
No backing down is the rule.
I have to.
My gaze skips from Ryder to Jake and Damian before landing on Wyatt. I’m searching for a release valve, some signthat the rule doesn’t apply when Ryder blows the game up like this. Some out.
But that’s not what I get. No one protests. No one says,no, Max, you don’t have to do that.They just look back at me, level, waiting to see what I’ll do.
There’s a hundred expressions flickering across Wyatt’s face, too quickly to name. Worry. Care. And…a flash of wanting.
“That’s your dare?” I ask Ryder. One last failsafe. Double-checking.
He nods once, with utter resolve.
“Okay.”
I turn on my side toward Wyatt, hesitating, checking him again, and then slowly lift a hand to his hair.
The feel of him is so familiar, so beloved, an ache travels from my fingertips straight to my heart. I scrape my nails gently over his scalp and lean toward him, toward the familiar heat of him, and he leans in too. Our mouths meet—Wyatt’s kiss, the one I’ve missed so much.
It’s tender at first, a slow reacquainting, but it’s not quick. It’s not a peck. We both know that’s not what this dare is. His arm comes around my back, pulling me closer, and when he parts my lips with his, my whole body lights up with longing.God, Wyatt.I want to throw myself into his lap, climb into him, but he’s still healing, still fragile, and the dare has to have some kind of edge, some limit.
When he finally pulls back, I’m left looking at him like an idiot. There’s a gentle smile tugging at his mouth. His arm is still around me, broad hand spread warm against my back.
“Fuuuck,” Jake murmurs.
