Page 22 of Final Temptation
“Game on.”I puffed my chest out.
Chugging the last of my wine, the alcohol warmed my body, giving me every ounce of courage I needed to play this game—this newfound stripping version that, of course, only Myles would come up with.
I was playing with fire here.
“I’ll go first,” he said with a devilish smirk. “I have a bite mark on my ass, avocado is my favorite food, and I don’t have any tattoos.”
“Starting off innocent, I see.” I tapped my chin, thinking about which fact could be a lie. I loved avocado too. Who the fuck hated avocado? That would be a terrible lie. There weren’t any visible tattoos on him, but I could totally see him having some hidden piece of art you’d only see if he were naked. And a bite mark on his ass? That was oddly specific.
I thought each option through before choosing my fate.
“What’s it gonna be, Princess?”
“Hmm, the bite mark?” I glared at him, trying to read his expression.
“Wrong. I have one tattoo. Looks like you owe me an article of clothing.” My jaw dropped as he rested back on the couch with a smug grin.
“Prove it. Prove to me you have a tattoo before I fulfill my part. Because from what I can see, you don’t have a mark anywhere on your body.” I pouted, my arms crossing over my chest.
Myles brought his hands up to his mouth, pulling on his lower lip, exposing a slightly faded tattoo. “What does that even say?” I asked after being proven wrong.
“It saysrebel.” My mind went back to the night when we kissed all those months ago. I jokingly called him rebel for continuing to kiss me when we should have been slowing down.
I swallowed the lump forming in my throat. “What made you get that tattoo?”
“Maybe I’ll let you figure it out in our next round of Two Truths and a Lie. First, strip,” he ordered.
My body responded to his words as if he were Triton—the mythical God—and I was under his spell. I stood in the center of the room, my breathing starting to pick up.
Just when I thought I had plenty of clothes on, I judged the scraps I picked to wear around the house. If I took even one piece of clothing off, I’d feel naked.Vulnerable.
Luckily, I had liquid courage on my side.
My fingers brushed the hem of the tiny crop top as I swiped it over my head in one fell swoop. I could feel Myles’ eyes burning right through me.
I stood in front of him—a draft of air now hitting my stomach—in a pair of cut-off jean shorts, and a black lace bra.
The room suddenly felt smaller, the silence deafening. Goosebumps ran over my arms, making me involuntarily shiver. My mind raced with each and every vulnerable thought.
Does he like the way I look? Should I end this game rightnow, take the loss, and stop myself from the embarrassment of having to take off the rest of my clothes?
The rational part of my brain chimed in, reminding me that Iwantedto play this game. That I’dalwaysbeen attracted to Myles, whether I made it known or not.
“My turn,Rebel.” I took a seat back on the couch, just a few feet away from him. “I used to have a pet parrot, I’ve never broken a bone, and I played the flute growing up,” I rambled.
He thought over the facts I spewed out, doing his absolute best to avoid my chest proudly on display. I prayed he’d get this wrong. Not only was I dying to see more of Myles, but I was nervous about what would happen if I stood here in only my bra and underwear.
“The pet parrot.” The corner of my lips lifted into a smirk.
“His name was Fred. He was my best friend growing up. As a kid, having an animal you could talk to was much better than an imaginary friend.” I wiggled my eyebrows, basking in the fact that he was wrong.
“You’re fucking kidding, right?” He looked appalled.
“No, of course not. Fred was an amazing family pet. Unfortunately, my dad and I went on vacation one summer, and the sitter we had looking after him accidentally left the cage open. We got home, and feathers were everywhere. I’m pretty sure he got in a fight with the fan… Pretty gruesome and tragic as a child.”
Myles shook his head in disbelief. “What’s the lie, Soph?”
“Oh yes, sorry. I didn’t play the flute growing up. In fact, I played the recorder, but that was short-lived. I gave up when all my classmates learnedHot Cross Bunsby memory, and I couldn’t quite figure out how many times toplay theHot Cross Bunspart. It was so embarrassing every time I continued to play while everyone else finished the song. It felt like my own personal encore that no one asked for.”
