Page 59 of Game Night: Truth or Dare

“Yeah,” he said. His voice was muffled through the door, but I heard it clear enough. Short and blunt. An invitation.

I went in.

He was already on the bed, seated at the edge. He’d stripped down to his underwear—actual tightie-whities, if you can believe it. It was cute. He was grinning at me, and even though this was the first chance I’d really had to take in his body—his broad shoulders; his solid pecs; his pale thighs, thick and sculpted; the words and images he’d had inked into his chest and shoulders and arms—it was hard to tear my gaze off his face.

How had I ever thought that face was boring? Jesus. I could drown in those coffee-colored eyes.

“Get comfy,” he said, almost like a dare. I felt a grin broaden across my face, and before I knew it, I was fumbling at the buttons of my coat. He watched as I stripped, appraising me as I shed garments and tossed them onto a futon. My coat. My sweater. My undershirt. I undid my belt and unfastened my jeans, pushing them down to mid-thigh.

He didn’t move. Didn’t rise to help me. He just kept sitting, watching me bare myself. His eyes were hungry, and I liked that. I hadn’t felt sexy in a long time, but the way he watched me made me feel like a porn star.

I stumbled backward to the futon and dropped onto it, sitting to wrangle out of my boots. As I did, Ben let his gaze follow me.

When he did that, turning his head just so, I saw the hickey.

That stopped me. It made me catch my breath.

I’d forgotten it was there. I’d forgotten that I’d done that to him. He was being so fun, and things between us were so light. It was hard to remember a time when I’d wanted to hurt him, to humiliate him.

I looked down, took my time untying my boot and tugging it off. “Why’d you let me…” I glanced up, studying the bruise. “Why didn’t you put up more of a fight when Taylor gave me that dare? I was thinking you’d try to…you know. Wriggle out.”

“Why didn’t you wriggle out?”

“That’s different. It was my dare.”

“So?”

“So…the rules say I have to take the dare. But it involved you, right? I needed your consent.” I started on my other boot. “No one would have thought less of you if you’d said, ‘Um, no thanks. I don’t want this asshole sucking on my neck.’”

“Maybe I did want that asshole sucking on my neck.”

“Har har.”

“Heh. Fair enough.” He fell silent for a few moments…long enough for me to finish with my boots. It was a little funny, I guess? We were having a conversation—a serious conversation, maybe—but there was no doubt we were here to fuck, no reason for me to stop undressing. I started peeling off my socks. “Would you have thought less of me if I’d said that?”

I stood, pushing my jeans off but leaving my underwear on, then crossed to the bed to sit beside him. “I don’t know. Maybe. Yeah. More like, it would have felt like I’d won something.”

“And you would have respected me less.”

“Yeah. Probably.”

“Yeah,” he said. “That’s how I figured it.” We were sitting so close to each other, but not touching, not looking at each other. It felt strange, being next to a nearly naked man, the prickle of anticipation in the air between us, and not immediately trying to maul him. “We don’t need to get into my…my backstory, Ol. Not tonight, at least. But when I was deployed, I put up with shit a lot more traumatizing than a college party. I wouldn’t have cared if everyone in that room started thinking less of me. Not over something as dumb as Truth or Dare. But…I didn’t want you to win. I didn’t think I could beat you, but I had to fight you to a draw.” He shifted, and our thighs touched. His skin was smooth, softer than I’d have guessed. I spread my legs a little, making our connection more solid. “Even then, I didn’t really care if you liked me, but I needed you to respect me.”

I nodded. I could understand that. That’s how I was raised, sort of. My parents aren’t gushy with their emotions. It’s more cut-and-dried with them. They take care of me, and I do my best not to embarrass them. Respect. “That makes sense.”

“I’m glad,” he said, pushing his leg against mine, “that we’ve gotten past that.”

“Past it?”

“Yeah. I mean…I want your respect, but I’ve started liking you.”

I grinned, still looking down at my lap rather than into his face. “That tracks. I’m really likeable.”

He laughed and leaned in, resting his shoulder against mine. “You might want to double-check the data.”

“Are you saying I’m not likeable?”

“I’m saying…you’re an acquired taste.”

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