Page 49 of Game Night: Truth or Dare

I gave him nothing. I looked at him the way my dad looked at me when I didn’t live up to his expectations. I knew from experience how shitty that could make a person feel. Just blank ice, cold stone, a refusal to acknowledge.

We held like that for a while. It felt like an hour, but it was probably less than two seconds.

Finally, he figured out he’d get nothing from me, and his smile straightened out. He nodded once, slowly, almost to himself, then looked away.

Goddamn right he broke first.

Bianca leaned in a bit, putting her shoulder against mine, just a quiet reminder that she was here, that I had a friend. I belonged in this circle—certainly more than some old-as-hell army vet who went around snatching boyfriends. I pushed back against her, a silent thank you, then made myself smile. I turned to Ayla and asked, “Whose turn?”

She smiled back—or rather, her already super-bright grin grew even brighter. “I just asked Taylor what’s the craziest thing he’s ever done while drunk.”

Fucking boring, I thought. Taylor Harris was pretty much always drunk. Or stoned. Or both. And a douche, no matter what condition he was in. But Ayla had been crushing on him since freshman year, mooning like he was some fucking swashbuckler and not just a Lambda Chi with acne scars and a 2-point GPA.

Taylor started telling some story about him and a bunch of his friends going egging in his dad’s G80. I tuned out pretty quick—folks were giggling, but Taylor was an idiot, and the whole thing sounded super immature. While he talked, though, my eyes brushed against Ben. He, like me, was facing Taylor but not paying attention. He was looking down a bit—eyes cast toward the carpet, unfocused. Taylor really must be a numbskull if even Ben was bored out of his mind.

That felt a little too much like sympathy. I didn’t want to know what he was feeling, and I sure as shit didn’t want to identify with his feelings. I cleared my head with a sharp shake, then pretended to listen to Taylor.

After his story ended, Taylor dared Gracie Sanchez to lie on her back and go into bridge pose. (Ayla did not like that, but most of the boys seemed to appreciate it.) Gracie asked Kelly Potts why she and John Maxwell broke up. (Everybody already knew that drama, but it was a funny story, and Kelly did a killer impersonation of John’s snuffly baritone voice), and then Kelly asked Sienna Hardy if she had a crush on the new volleyball coach. Sienna launched right in, spending about a minute-and-a-half detailing all the raunchy things she’d do to him if he gave her a shot. (I didn’t know her all that well, but I was impressed by her creativity!) When she wound down, we all laughed and broke into applause. Sienna stood up and bowed and then sat back down with a flounce of her skirt.

Then she turned and trained her eyes on me.

“Oliver.”

Uh-oh. I made myself smile and met her gaze. “Hello, Sienna.”

“Truth or Dare?”

I reached down for my cup and took a long sip, wetting my mouth while I thought. Roundtree College was a small school, so pretty much everyone knew I had drama with Ben. Sienna seemed cool, though. Like, she was crazy, as demonstrated by her spicy little monologue involving Coach Fallon, but I’d never heard that she was mean or a shit-stirrer. I swallowed my vodka and set my cup down on the carpet. What the hell? “Dare.”

Her smile turned playfully wicked. “I hear you give killer massages.”

Oh, well. That was true. As a theatre major, I’d taken a movement class my freshman year, and a few times that semester we’d all been put into a big circle—sort of like the one I was in now—and simultaneously rubbed the neck and shoulders of the person sitting in front of us while getting rubbed by the person behind us. I had strong hands and long fingers, and word had spread that I was a top-notch massage buddy. I let my smile grow cocky and tossed her a quick What’s up? gym bro nod.

“You heard right.”

“I dare you to work on me for five minutes.” She turned to Emma Baylor, who was sitting next to her, and said, in one of those super-loud stage whispers, “My shoulders are killing me.”

“No problem.” I got up on my knees and made my way to her. She and Emma parted, letting me slide behind. I rubbed my hands together, warming them, and then pulled out my phone and set the timer for five minutes. “Tell me if I go too hard.”

“No such thing,” she said, and everyone laughed.

“I heard that about you,” said Kelly, and then everyone laughed louder.

“Someone should tell Coach Fallon,” said Emma, and everyone lost it for real.

The fabric of her top was thin—jersey cotton or something—and it gave me a good grip. She was lean and strong, her muscles easy to get at. I started digging in.

“Oh, Jesus,” she said, her head dropping down like she’d been knocked unconscious. “This is amazing.”

“Thanks.”

“Like, seriously, you should do this for money.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” I grinned over at Bianca. She’d gotten about a trillion hand massages from me and was flashing us a knowing smile.

“Anyway,” Sienna continued, in a voice that was almost a groan, “your turn.”

Right. My turn.

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