Page 27 of Truth or Dare

“You made it,” she said, eyes gleaming. “Thought you’d come early.”

I didn’t hug her back as she pressed against me, my eyes still fixed on Presley. “Had things to do,” I muttered, peeling myself away from Reagan’s embrace.

“Wanna talk?” she asked, her voice dipping suggestively.

I took a long sip of my beer. “Where?”

“My room,” she said, a grin spreading across her face.

I glanced around, my gaze darting from one side of the room to the other. “Shouldn’t you be downstairs for your guests?”

Reagan rolled her eyes. “My brother’s around somewhere. He’s home from college for the weekend. I won’t be missed.”

She grabbed my hand, pulling me toward her, but I was barely paying attention. Presley was still tangled up with Evan on the couch, and my body was already betraying me. Part of me wanted to shove Evan out of the way, claim what should’ve been mine. But instead, I let Reagan lead me toward the stairs, her steps wobbly, her grip too tight.

As we climbed the stairs, Reagan stumbled, and I caught her, steadying her with one hand. I placed my beer down on a side table as we reached the landing.

“You okay?” I asked, noticing how unsteady she’d become.

“I’m fine,” she mumbled, though her words were slurred.

We passed by couples making out in the dimly lit hallway, some sipping from glass bottles, others lost in each other’s arms. Familiar faces glanced at us, smirking as Reagan pulled me into her bedroom. The room was huge, overly pink, like a bubblegum fantasy with a king-sized canopy bed and all the trimmings. She sat on the edge of the bed, kicking off her shoes with a groan.

Suddenly, she slapped a hand over her mouth, eyes wide. “Shit,” she gasped, bolting for the bathroom.

I followed, just in time to see her drop to her knees and hurl into the toilet. I winced as the punch-colored liquid splashed into the bowl. I knelt beside her, gathering her hair into my hands to keep it out of the way.

Reagan groaned, slumping against the toilet. “I feel horrible.”

“You drank too much,” I said, my voice soft, as I helped her to her feet and sat her on the bathroom vanity. I pushed her hair back from her flushed face, smoothing it out of the way.

“Stay with me?” she whispered, her eyes half-lidded.

“I’m not going to take advantage,” I promised, trying to ease the tension in my own voice.

She chuckled weakly. “I’m not asking you to. Just… stay.”

I nodded, pulling her into a hug as she leaned her head against my chest. Her breathing was ragged, but she seemed to calm down a bit with my arm wrapped around her.

“Let’s get you changed,” I said after a moment.

She giggled again. “You said you wouldn’t take advantage.”

“And I won’t. I’ll be a perfect gentleman,” I assured her, helping her steady herself as she grabbed a bottle of mouthwash, swishing it around before spitting into the sink. I leaned back, sighing, knowing that tonight wasn’t going to go anywhere close to where Reagan had hoped.

I wokewith Reagan draped over me, her head resting on my chest, the soft rhythm of her breathing the only sound in the quiet room. The blanket had tangled around us during the night, and the dim glow of the bedside lamp cast a soft halo over her face. She looked almost angelic, her features peaceful, not the seductive vixen she often pretended to be.

I glanced at the clock: 2:15 a.m. Way past curfew. Mom was going to freak. Gently, I slid out from beneath Reagan, careful not to wake her. I needed to get out of here before things got complicated. After a quick trip to the bathroom, I returned, hoping to sneak out unnoticed. No such luck.

“You’re leaving?” Reagan’s voice was thick with sleep, her eyes barely open as she looked up at me.

“I’m late. I should’ve been home almost an hour ago,” I said, grabbing my jacket from the chair.

She stretched lazily, her arm draping across the empty space where I’d been. “Can’t you just stay? I liked sleeping in your arms.”

I hesitated, sitting back on the edge of the bed. Her hair was a mess, strands sticking to her face, so I tucked it behind her ear, trying to soften the blow of what I had to say. “Reagan... I’m not ready for a girlfriend.”

She sighed, turning her face into my palm as if she could avoid the conversation by closing her eyes. “I just... I’m tired of the casual stuff. I want something more permanent.”

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