She flops onto her back on the bed. “Yes. I was obsessed with that show.”
“Because you don’t have anything in common with Wednesday Addams,” I drawl.
Rory ignores my sarcasm and rolls over to prop her chin on her hands. “Truth or dare?”
“Dare,” I say immediately.
“Sing a song you know all the lyrics to.”
I immediately burst out into a quiet rendition of Ed Sheeran’s “Shape of You.” I overexaggerate crooning, putting a hand on my heart and closing my eyes.
Rory snorts. Swear to god, snorts.
By the time I finish the song, she’s got her face in her pillow to muffle her laughter. I flop down next to her. “Truth or dare?”
“Truth,” she says.
This one’s harder to come up with, and I think for a minute. “Who was your first celebrity crush?”
“Oh no,” she groans, and hides her face again in the pillow. The bed shakes, and I gasp.
“Are you laughing?”
“No.”
She totally is. There’s that laugh I’ve always wanted out of her. Too bad I can’t see her face, but I bask in the sound until it dies out and she’s just stalling. I poke her sides until I hear a muffled “Nick Jonas.”
I gasp and clutch my chest. “But . . . but . . . I look nothing like him.”
Rory extends a middle finger in my direction.
We play like this for a while, Rory muffling her laughter in the pillow, in the half-light of the bedside lamp and the dark recesses of the room. By unspoken rule, we alternate truths and dares.
Rory flashes the dead quiet street outside the window, and that little bit of side-boob I see gets my heart racing. I show her my last three Google searches and have to explain why I searched Spin Doctors lyrics (I had an ear worm and couldn’t remember the chorus) and “toes smell like corn” (not mine—Princess’s).
At some point, we hear Mrs. Patterson get up and use the bathroom. It’s my turn, and Rory looks down at me. “Truth or dare?” she asks, even though she knows it’s time for a dare.
“Dare.”
A wicked smirk curls her lips. “Make sex noises.”
I sputter.
“What?” Rory points at the wall shared with the bathroom right behind my headboard. “She’s the one who invited herself to stay with a freshly engaged couple. She’s making us share the room tonight. Don’t you think that’s deserved justice?”
“Oh my god.” I flop facedown onto my pillow. “You are going to hell.” It’s muffled, but I’m sure she gets the point.
“Grandma and I will tag team hassling the devil himself. Come on.” She bounces the bed next to me. “Do it, do it, do it.”
“Fine, fine.” I take a deep breath and push myself up onto my elbows. Rory can’t stop giggling, and for that alone, I’ll do it.
I thrust my hips, and there’s a definite squeak and a thump. It’s not bad—I’ve obviously had sex on this bed a lot, and if I was in danger of damaging the wall or the furniture I would have made adjustments—so I think this will actually work.
I thrust my hips again.
Eek-thump. Eek-thump. Eek-thump.
Rory goes quiet next to me. I close my eyes and build up a rhythm.
