Page 67 of Pocketful of Shame

Sketch winked. "It's not my turn."

"I think we should wrap it up," I added quietly. "I'm getting tired."

"Fine. Fuck you both. Damn game sucks balls anyway. I'm going to bed," Pres grumbled before unceremoniously falling off the bed. Landing on the floor in a heap, he croaked out, "Gimme a damn pillow."

Snickering, Sketch tossed him a pillow before flopping back down and folding his arms behind his head. Sprawled sideways on the mattress with his long legs hanging off the side, he yawned loudly and closed his eyes.

Unable to stop myself, I let my eyes drink him in because, let's face it, the boy was glorious to look at. From my cross-legged perch in the middle of the bed, my bare knee was touching his hairy thigh and every time he breathed, it caused the most wonderful friction against my skin.

A few minutes passed by and the sound of a wounded animal dying – aka; Presley snoring – filled the silence.

"I'll move, I swear. I just need a minute," Sketch said out of nowhere, startling me.

"I thought you were asleep," I replied, feeling my heartrate pick up at a rapid rate. "And it's okay. You don’t have to move."

A smile pulled at his full lips, but he kept his eyes closed. "I had fun tonight."

"Yeah?"

He nodded slowly. "Ain't smiled in forever."

"I know the feeling," I whispered, plucking at a thread on the t-shirt – his t-shirt - I was wearing. "It felt good to just kick back, huh?"

"Nah." He shook his head, still smiling. "Felt good to be near you."

His words caused my heart to spazz out of control. "Sketch..."

"Truth or dare, Ro?"

"What?"

"Truth or dare?"

"Truth," I replied, barely breathing now.

His smile deepened, letting me know that I'd picked the one he wanted me to. "Why'd you get mad earlier?"

"When?"

"You know when."

My breath hitched in my throat but I forced the words out, "Because I was jealous."

His brows furrowed. "Why?"

"That's another question," I replied quietly. "You only get one."

"That's true," he agreed, eyes still closed.

"Tell me a truth," I whispered then, clasping my hands together to stop them from trembling."

Sighing heavily, he placed his hands on his chest and remained quiet for a long beat before saying, "Presley said that you think I fucked Blaire Hale."

Well, I wasn’t expecting him to saythat. Heat crept up my neck. "Presley has a big mouth," I mumbled, casting a dirty look to his comatose side-kick, snoring on the floor.

"He does," Sketch agreed, leaning against the opposite wall. "And I didn’t."

"Didn’t what?"

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