Page 26 of Truth or Dare

My daydream shattered when I felt fingers curl into my hair. I turned, and there was Reagan, her eyes gleaming with that familiar, insistent look.

“Where have you been hiding?” she asked, slipping into the seat next to me like she belonged there.

I took a sip of my Coke, trying to keep it casual. “Nowhere. I’ve been around.”

She didn’t buy it. Reagan wasn’t the type to let things slide. “Not for me. I texted you, and you didn’t answer.”

Of course she had texted. I deleted every single one of them.

“My phone’s been sitting in rice for the last three days,” I lied smoothly. “Dropped it in the sink while my mom was doing dishes.”

She arched an eyebrow, but didn’t question me. I exhaled in relief. Reagan might have been relentless, but at least she wasn’t going to press the issue. I hated lying, but sometimes it was necessary to keep people at arm’s length.

“There’s a party at my house tonight after the game,” she said, her voice dropping to a lower, sultry tone. “You’re invited. Special guest.”

She emphasized the word “special,” and I knew exactly what she meant. Reagan wasn’t subtle. She wanted more than justcompany tonight, and her invitation was loaded. If I wasn’t so caught up on Presley, maybe I’d go for it. Maybe I’d take her up on the offer, just for the hell of it. Rumor had it Reagan had her share of partners, and she didn’t seem to care.

“You blew me off last time,” she continued, leaning in closer, “but not tonight. I expect you to come.”

There was no mistaking what she meant. I shifted in my seat, glancing around the room as if that might somehow help me avoid the intensity of her gaze. Part of me wondered if Presley had said anything to Reagan about our history, or if Reagan had just put two and two together on her own. She was always playing catch-up, trying to be two steps behind Presley, but never quite in the same league.

I still remembered her from when I used to live here. She’d hover around us, desperate to be included, while Presley and I would sneak away, her hand curled tight around mine as we slipped behind the building to steal a moment alone. Reagan never stood a chance, not then, and not now.

“What time’s the party?” I asked, playing along even though I wasn’t sure I’d show.

“9 p.m.,” she said with a sly smile, “but you can come early if you want. The game’s over at 8, and I’ll be showering at home.”

I could see exactly what she was doing. She was setting the stage, laying it out for me in clear terms. She wanted me to show up early, be there when she stepped out of the shower, wet and wrapped in nothing but a towel. The invitation was as obvious as it was tempting, but I wasn’t biting.

“I’ll see what I can do,” I muttered, keeping it vague.

Reagan placed a hand on my knee, her fingers squeezing just a little too tight. “You could help me get things ready,” she suggested, her eyes searching mine for any sign that I might agree.

I gave a noncommittal nod, pretending to consider it. “Maybe.”

Her smile grew wider, but I could already feel myself pulling back, the lie about my phone sitting heavy on my tongue. Lies had a way of catching up with you, and Reagan wasn’t the type to let anything slide forever.

I arrivedat Reagan’s house around 9:30, deliberately late. She’d bombarded me with texts, demanding I come early, but I wasn’t about to fall into that trap. No way was I showing up as her first guest. As I walked down the block, I could already see the scene—kids scattered across the lawn despite the cold, some kicking a hacky sack, others huddled with red Solo cups. Typical party crowd.

A few people nodded at me as I passed, recognizing me from school. I made my way to the open front door, feeling the blast of warmth from inside. The house was enormous, the kind that screams “rich parents” without having to try. The kind that doesn’t care about the heating bill when the door is left wide open.

The kitchen was packed, two guys from the football team stationed by a keg sitting in a garbage can of ice. I grabbed a cup, sliding it under the spout as one of them pumped the keg. The cheap beer poured out, foaming up at the top of the cup. I tipped some of the foam into the sink, wiping the rim with the back of my hand.

As I moved into the great room, I spotted Presley. My stomach tightened. She was on the couch, Evan’s tongue shoved down her throat. I leaned against the wall, sipping my beer, my eyes locked on her. Presley hadn’t even acknowledged me, notsince I’d slipped those notes into her locker. Nothing. No texts, no glances, like I was invisible. And now here she was, all over Evan like he was the only guy in the world. It made my chest tighten, jealousy churning inside me like the cheap beer.

“Sorry,” someone mumbled as my elbow was bumped, spilling beer onto my hand. I turned to see Neil, looking sheepish with his own red cup.

I shook the beer droplets off. “You shouldn’t be drinking.”

Neil gave me a cocky grin. “You are.”

“I’m eighteen. You’re too young for this.”

He snorted. “Drinking age is twenty-one, genius. You’re still illegal.”

Before I could reply,he sauntered off toward the football guys, who were already downing tequila shots. I shook my head, watching Presley and Evan again, my frustration building as Evan’s hand slid up her side, thumb brushing against her breast. My jaw clenched. He had no right to touch her like that, anywhere.

I was about to move when Reagan appeared in front of me, her body close, the scent of alcohol heavy on her breath.

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