Page 52 of Shadows of Nightshade
“What do you normally do?” I asked Damen. I didn’t want to say anything odd.
“It doesn’t matter what we do,” Damen interjected, his grayeyes pointedly looking at the clipboard. Was it me, or was he being a bit defensive? “Just say what you want.”
Right…
Well, now I was less enthused, but trudged forward. Miles, meanwhile, was radiating delight as he read over my shoulder. He was probably so excited—I couldn’t let him down now.
I wanted to keep it a surprise and tried to hide the paper, but Miles was relentless in trying to peek. Still, I got most of my list completed without him spoiling the fun.
Watch a Movie
Truth or Dare (or Seven Minutes in Heaven)
Old Maid
But it was still a surprise when Miles, who’d been munching on a spring roll next to my ear, choked again. I was torn between wanting to help him and protecting my list from the nasty half-chewed food spewing out of his mouth.
Didn’t this man know how to eat?
But eventually, humanity won.
“Miles!” I smacked him on his back, much like earlier, but I was too weak. Eventually, Titus had to assist. Whatever it was that caused Miles’s issues, it must have been terrible.
Finally, after a tense eternity, his breathing evened, and the startling redness receded from his complexion.
Or, it did until he caught me watching him. Instantly, his face turned bright red again, and he stared at the countertop.
“What in the world is wrong with you?” Damen noticed the strange exchange.
I was slightly affronted—I didn’t even do anything! But then I realized that Damen was talking to Miles, not me, and my tense muscles relaxed. Miles didn’t answer Damen’s question. Instead,he snatched the clipboard from me and thrust it into Damen’s hands.
I could only helplessly watch as Julian, and even Titus, stood behind Damen, and read over his shoulder.
This was terrible. I had so much more to add to the list. I hated it when people went over my incomplete projects.
There was a momentary pause before three sets of eyes slowly rose from the paper. Their gazes contained bewilderment, as well as something else that I couldn’t quite place.
My palms began to sweat. What in the world was their problem?
“What’s wrong?” I leaned away from them. Had I done something?
Slowly, Damen turned the clipboard until it was facing me. Then, just as dramatically, he pointed at my neatly printed ‘Seven Minutes in Heaven.’
I pursed my lips and studied the words. Everything seemed perfectly normal to me. I glanced back up at him. “So what? Do you have something against massages?”
Perhaps it was a hereditary aversion. Finn had hated that part of Seven Minutes in Heaven too. It was the only thing that made sense.
Julian pulled back, and Titus appeared even more confused. But it was Damen—with a cautious, raised brow—who finally answered. He seemed slightly alarmed. “Massages?”
“Right. Massages.”
“Bianca?” Daman pressed his lips together, but he continued in a smooth voice. “How do you play Seven Minutes in Heaven?”
Surely, he jested. Damen, in all his worldly experience, had never played? I found it hard to believe. But with his serious eyes searching mine, I realized he might, in fact, not be joking at all.
So they were all sheltered. It was a good thing they had me then. By God, who didn’t know how to play this game?
“Well”—I crossed my ankles and dove into my lecture—“it’s an advanced version of Truth or Dare. The object is to build closeness between friends. You start with your normal Truth or Dare setup, but you can only choose truth throughout the course of the game. If there’s a truth you don’t want to answer, then the questionerwinsa dare.”
