Page 68 of Game Night: Truth or Dare

“No, not at all. As long as you promise not to steal my identity and ruin my credit,” I teased, not really worried about a licensed professional having my information. Cielo had come highly recommended and had a website online with his credentials.

“Damn, there goes my plan for a vacation to Fiji,” Cielo clicked his teeth in mock consternation. “But really, you came well-prepared. I only need a few days to take care of this.”

Sipping my coffee, I leaned back in my chair to ask the question I’d been dreading. “What will I owe you?” I asked, hoping he didn’t cost hundreds an hour, which had been my fear.

“I’ll give you the friends and family discount, and base the fee on if you’ll get anything back.” Cielo pulled a manila folder out of their bag and slipped my papers inside before carefully labeling the file. “If you owe money, I won’t ask for payment at all.”

“Wait, really?” I set my coffee down and leaned forward. “No catch?”

“Well,” Cielo drew the word out. Clearly, there was something else. “I’ve been trying to get you over to the game night with the group for ages.”

“Game night?” Cielo and some of our mutual friends had invited me before. Playing D&D and Catan were fun in high school, but I got the feeling our kinky friends had something else in mind. I raised a brow. “Like board games, or a different kind of game?”

“There’s a bunch of people who come, so most board games are out,” Cielo hedged, twirling their damp straw, “and they are generally all members of the X Club.”

“Aha! You want me to come to your sex party.” I pointed at Cielo, who shrugged.

“Are you saying the idea is out of character for you?”

“No, just clarifying,” I laughed as Cielo grinned, having been proven right. “Is it all couples, though?”

“Honestly, it is mostly couples, and triads like mine.” Cielo leaned forward and clasped their hands together, a sparkle of mischief in their dark eyes, “But that doesn’t mean we don’t still play.”

“Ha, I’m sure you do, honey, but you’re not my usual cup of tea.” I sat back in my chair and frowned to myself. “Very few are.”

“Oh?” Cielo clapped their hands in excitement, sensing I was getting personal, “Spill the tea. Who do you usually go for then?”

Biting my lip, I considered the pros and cons of sharing with the person responsible for my taxes. We knew each other as friends first, so I decided to go ahead, “Any of your game night buddies packing serious heat?”

“You can’t mean guns…” Cielo started, then stopped, “Oh! Damn girl, you’re a size queen?”

Rolling my eyes, I might as well admit it, “Do I fetishize big dicks and actively seek them out? Maybe. But do I find many partners who meet up to their boasting? No.”

With a large collection of monster cocks at home, I was not satisfied by average dicks. And I was also embarrassed by my disinterest in real ones. I felt my face heating at the thought, knowing it was unrealistic and silly of me to be so hung up on the superficial. A big schlong couldn’t keep me warm at night. I was twenty-five and starting to wish I had a person to call my own, and not just the box under my bed.

“Well, I can’t promise anything, but I can assure you we always have fun,” Cielo laid a hand over mine and squeezed, drawing my attention to their kind smile. “And you don’t have to get involved or stay when the evening moves on to more carnal activities. Unless you want to.”

Cielo’s words reassured me, and I really could use getting out of my apartment more often. “Alright, I’ll be there. Text me the address.”

Chapter Two

Shane

Working out was one of my favorite activities. My own personal iron sanctuary always left me high on endorphins. Call me a gym rat or fitness junkie, but I’d yet to find a high as good as beating my personal record for weight or reps.

“I want to see that ass to grass on your next squat, Long. It’s all you,” my trainer, Jefferson, pumped me up. I wasn’t actually touching my butt to the ground, but I caught his drift.

Keeping my knees wide and in line with my toes, I pushed up with my legs while keeping my back straight. Using my abs and lower back muscles to stabilize my body, I locked my hips to finish the lift. My upper back and arms balanced the bar over my head, and I breathed in through my nose and held it. Breathing out, I felt the tingling of joy and happy chemicals racing through me.

“Hell, yeah, Long! You crushed your best,” Jefferson cheered, assisting as I set the bar down and re-racked.

My previous personal best was four hundred and ninety pounds, and I had finally hit the five hundred mark. My body would hurt in the morning, and it would be at least five or six days before I pushed myself so hard again, but for a moment I was all smiles. Pulling my loose, black tank-top off from where it was plastered to my abs, I fanned myself with the fabric. “Thanks, man.”

“Flowers,” Q, one of the owners of Q & A Gym, called out to my trainer.

Everyone called him Flowers, a play on his Spanish last name: Flores. Jefferson was a large and broad Mexican American man, so the nickname always felt ironic to me until I met his spouse. When they were together, the nickname made sense. Ash seemed to purr the name, and Jefferson melted for his other half. Still felt weird for me to call him that.

“Hey, boss,” Jefferson replied, helping me clean up and put away the weights. Q and his husband-slash-co-owner, A, were making their way over between the weight benches. “Long beat his PR squat goal!”

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