“Truth or dare.”
I scoffed, nervous about where that could go. “What, are we in high school?”
“Are you saying you don’t like it when I dare you to do something? Because I’m pretty sure you’re eating that right up.”
I dropped down into one of the leather couches, letting out a puff of air when I landed. “Fine,” I said. “But you first. Truth or dare, Gunner.”
Gunner’s face lit up. “Dare.”
Of course he would start with dare. As I watched him flick ash from his cigarette into the sink, I racked my brain, trying to think of some dare that would impress him. But what would Gunner be scared of doing? He didn’t seem intimidated by a damn thing, and I doubted I had the ability to come up with something risky enough to make the game fun for him.
“Okay,” I said. “I dare you to take your shirt off.”
Gunner chuckled. “Starting off slow, okay.” He set his cigarette on the edge of the sink, then grabbed the bottom of his shirt. Keeping eye contact with me, he slowly tugged it up. I watched as theVof his hips emerged, then the taut muscles of his abs. When he pulled the shirt over his chest, I saw the swirl of faint, curly hairs around his nipples and a tattoo of a bird skull on his ribs. Finally popping the shirt off entirely, Gunner leaned back against the counter, posing and flexing to give me a good look.
I gulped. His muscles were ropey, even on his slim frame, and the more he kept shooting me that cocky glare, the more I felt like I was gawking.
“Truth or dare,” he said.
“Truth,” I said immediately, nervous about losing my clothes. My cock was already stiffening just by looking at his chest hair.
Gunner stubbed out his cigarette, then walked over to the couch with his beer. “Who are you scared of disappointing?” he asked, plopping down on the couch. “Why are you always so prim and proper?”
I felt my cheeks warming with embarrassment.Prim and proper. I couldn’t disagree with that assessment. Sighing, I reached out, taking the beer from his hand and sipping from the bottle before returning it. “My parents are very strict,” I said. “They always have been.”
“What does that mean? Strict? You live on your own, Malcolm. How could your parents still be in charge of your life?”
It was so difficult to explain, but at least chatting meant that Gunner wasn’t daring me to do something embarrassing. “They just kind of raised me to be this way. I never had any downtime when I was a kid, and no privacy either. Every minute of my day was scheduled, from the second I woke up until my last private piano lesson or French tutoring in the evening. I had to keep my room immaculate, and my mom would come in twice a week and poke around, just to make sure I wasn’t hiding anything.” I sighed. “They have a lot of expectations for me.”
“I still don’t get it. It’s not like they pay your rent or anything now. Why do you still have to worry about them?”
“I wish they paid my rent,” I muttered. “Then I wouldn’t be trapped in this apartment.”
Gunner threw his arm over the back of the couch. “You say the word. I’ll take care of those landlords for you.”
I scoffed. “How are you going to do that?”
“I don’t know. Maybe I’ll rob the realty office or something. Get all your money back for you.”
“Please don’t,” I said quickly, realizing he might actually do something like that. “It won’t help anything.”
“Some asshole real estate types, messing with my Malcolm here? They’ll be lucky if I don’t come through with my guns blazing.”
I felt a tingle in my gut when he said that part.My Malcolm. And gosh darn it if the idea of him robbing the realty office didn’t make me feel something special, too. Not that I could actually tolerate someone doing that for me, but the fantasy sure was nice.
“Truth or dare,” I said, eager to move on before he decided to find a gun and show me his shooting skills. “Your turn.”
“Truth,” he said. “But make it interesting.”
“What about your family?” I asked. “Were they nice? Did your mom snoop in your bedroom like my mom did?”
Gunner sucked in a deep breath. Without a shirt on, I could see the way his chest rose and fell unsteadily. “Fuck that,” he said quickly. “My mom was the best, though. She always stood up for me, and she always believed in me, even when I was acting like a royal fuck-up. My dad used to rummage through my room looking for booze and stuff, but my mom would never do something like that. She just talked to me like a real person, you know? She could be pretty critical if I was doing something stupid, but she always trusted me, too.” He took another drink of his beer. “Even when I got myself in trouble, she still believed in me.”
I noticed that he kept using the past tense to refer to her. No wonder his eyes were glazed over a little when I brought it up. “She’s not around anymore?”
“Nah, but it’s okay,” he said quickly. “She passed years ago.”
“I’m so sorry to hear that,” I said, reaching out and taking his hand. I squeezed gently, and he squeezed back before tugging his hand away.
