He can’t do anything to me here.
The dining hall is dark except for the strobe lights flickering. Bodies close to each other. Boys and girls grinding and dancing on one another. Drinks in hand. Smoke– from a fog machine hidden somewhere in here– lingers around the room, casting shadows in all directions.
Not my crowd. Not my crowd at all. My hands grow clammy, sweat beading at my forehead. This is putting me in a very bad place.
Maxwell pulls me through the crowds. People greet him like he owns the place. Like this very room belongs to him and no one else. He carries himself in a way that I envy, and it makes me even more pissed.
Maybe I don’t hate him for who he is, but for who I can’t be. My brain isn’t wired this way. Not anymore, anyhow. Being in here, watching people drink and smoke and laugh and having a good time makes me want to run in the opposite direction.
I have things to do, a life to plan, and I don’t have time for anything to get in the way of that. Not to mention, parties bring up a bad past for me. One that I’m trying to leave in the dark. A special place locked away in my brain for things I try not to think about.
We come up to a table. A guy with a blonde buzz cut, pale skin, and dark eyes looks up at me. A subtle smirk crossed his face. To his left, alight-skinned guy is there with a blond girl curled up on his lap. When he looks at me, his eyes are so blue they look almost see-through in the dim lighting.
It’s eerie and almost a little haunting.
“This is Maverick,” Maxwell says, pointing to the blonde. “This is Dax,” he adds, pointing to the light-skinned one. “And this is Mae," he finishes and points to the girl on Dax's lap.
“Hi.” I squeak, waving my hand and then pushing up my glasses, because I need to do something to not feel so awkward.
A bottle lies on its side in the middle of the table.
Someone comes over with a tray, carrying several small shot glasses, and places them all down on the table. Maxwell sits at an empty seat and motions for the one next to him for me to sit.
I should run, but instead, I pull the chair out and sit down despite the shaking of my hands.
“We’re gonna play a game,” Maxwell announces. “It’s my favorite game.”
I listen to him talk, but I don’t respond. I have a strong feeling I already know the exact game he’s going to say.
“Truth or dare.”
This is fine. It’s definitely not the game I was thinking with the bottle lying on the table. It’s probably just from one of them finishing a drink and knocking it over.
I thought this was going in a completely different direction.
“We play a little differently. There are some rules,” Maverick says. “You can only play truth three times in a row before you have to do a dare. You can only skip a dare twice before you have to do every dare after.” He smirks, not in general, but straight at me.
His eyes burn holes into my skin, and I have a feeling I’m not going to like wherever this is going.
Maverick's head turns to Dax, and he asks him. “Truth or dare?”
“Truth,” Dax drawls. The blonde in his lap sends googly eyes his way.
“Is it true you want to bang my sister?” Maverick nods his head to the girl. Oh.OH.
She is his sister. Makes sense. I noticed a resemblance, but I thought it was just a coincidence.
“I plead the fifth,” Dax says. His voice is deep. The kind of depth that throws you off because you never expect someone's voice to be so low.
Maverick's face changes from that calm and collected look to anger. Fire roars in his eyes, but he doesn't move. His sister smirks at him and winks.
“Oh, there's gonna be murder tonight,” Maxwell jests, laughing. The sound does something to me. Stirs my belly and makes my ears tingle. Everything I shouldn't feel, but do.
Dax ignores the eyes on him, taking his turn. “Truth or dare, Clayton?”
I froze for a moment. “Truth.” This is a group of boys who do dares for a living. I’m going to use up all my truths before I have to think about touching a dare.
“What is your wildest fantasy?” I contemplate skipping the question to avoid the embarrassment of my answer.
