Page 5 of Truth or Dare

I caught her eye this time, holding her gaze for a beat longer than necessary. Slowly, deliberately, I licked my bottom lip. Her eyes flickered to my mouth, and she sucked in a breath, her chest rising slightly.

“Is he?” I asked, my voice low, teasing.

Her gaze snapped back to her brother as if I hadn’t just unsettled her. Neil took a giant bite of his dinner roll, chewing noisily. Presley’s lips twitched, annoyed.

“Tell him,” she urged, her tone edged with frustration.

Neil swallowed thickly, barely looking up. “Yeah, I guess I’m good.”

I smirked, leaning back in my chair. “And what about you, Presley? What do you do?”

Her hand brushed across her neck, a nervous gesture that made me grin inwardly. “I cheer. We have a game tomorrow night.”

Neil snorted, a sound so dismissive it nearly made me laugh. “Cheering isn’t a sport. It’s just gymnastics in a short skirt and a tight sweater.”

Presley’s face hardened, a flush of irritation coloring her cheeks. “Shut up! Itisa sport.”

Their father cleared his throat, his voice cutting through the tension. “No arguing at the table, kids.”

Presley dropped her fork with a clatter, her frustration barely masked as she pushed her plate away. “I’m full. May I be excused?” she asked, her voice clipped.

Her mother nodded, not questioning it. “Of course, dear.”

Presley stood, and I watched her, unable to help myself. The way her tight jeans hugged her as she moved—it was impossible to ignore. I’d had flings before, casual things, but Presley? She was different. She wasn’t going to be easy, and something about that intrigued me.

“You wanna head out?” Neil whispered, breaking my focus.

“Yeah,” I muttered, nodding.

We got permission to leave the table, and I followed Neil into the kitchen. Presley was there, her back to us as she loaded her plate into the dishwasher. Neil handed her his without a second glance.

“Just put yours on the counter,” she said to me, her voice distant, still not turning around.

Neil left, and the room grew quiet. I leaned against the refrigerator, crossing my arms, watching her every move. The tension between us hung in the air, thick and heavy.

“Why are you so hostile?” I asked, pushing off the fridge and taking a step toward her. “Is it because I caught you in a lie?”

Presley froze mid-motion, her hands gripping the edge of the sink. Slowly, she turned to face me, her green eyes burning with barely contained anger. The dish towel twisted in her hands like she wanted to strangle something—probably me.

“Excuse me?” she hissed, her voice low, dangerous.

I tilted my head, taking a step closer, the smirk never leaving my face. “You’re still mad. I get it.”

She slammed the dishwasher shut, the sound echoing through the kitchen. Her eyes locked on mine, and I could see the rage simmering beneath the surface, ready to explode. I almost welcomed it.

“You don’t know anything,” she snapped, her voice shaking slightly.

I raised an eyebrow, leaning in just enough to make her uncomfortable. “I know you sent those letters. And I never wrote back. That’s what this is about, isn’t it?”

Her breath hitched, and for a split second, I saw the hurt flash across her face. But before she could unleash whatever she was holding back, her mother walked in, completely unaware of the tension crackling between us. She glanced between us, a bottle of wine in her hand, her brow furrowing slightly.

“Everything all right in here?” her mother asked, her gaze flicking to my hand resting casually on the counter, far too close to Presley.

Presley stiffened, stepping back. “Fine,” she muttered, her voice tight.

Her mother gave us a quick look before turning to leave, but the moment she was gone, Presley’s eyes found mine again, darker, angrier before she stormed out of the kitchen.

“I wonthis trophy in seventh grade,” Neil said, holding up a dustyMost Improved Playeraward like it was something priceless. The pride in his voice was hard to miss.

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