Chapter Thirty-Six
Savannah
The soft glow of the fire in the living room casts flickering shadows on the walls, making the cozy space feel even more intimate. After dinner and a glass—or two—of wine, Rylan and I settle on the plush rug in front of the fireplace, the warmth seeping into my skin. It’s a moment of peace—and maybe a little too much silence for my liking.
“Alright, Mr. Mysterious,” I say, swirling the last bit of wine in my glass. “Let’s play a game.”
Rylan raises a brow, his smirk as infuriating as ever. “A game? And here I thought you wanted a quiet evening, mo stóirín.”
“Quiet is overrated,” I shoot back and set my glass down. “Truth or dare. Let’s go.”
He chuckles as he leans back on his elbows. “Alright, I’ll bite. Ladies first.”
“Truth,” I declare.
His green eyes glint with mischief. “Why did you really invite that asshole over to your house that night?”
My cheeks flush, and I grab a pillow to smack him with. “Wow, way to dive right in,” I mutter, but his teasing grin doesn’t waver.
“Answer the question, Savannah,” he says, his tone playful but a firmness lines the words.
I sigh, dropping the pillow. “Because I was lonely. And frustrated. And maybe just a little stupid.”
His smirk softens into something closer to understanding. “Fair enough. Your turn.”
“Truth or dare?” I ask, arching a brow.
“Dare,” he replies without hesitation.
I grin as an idea immediately takes form. “Take your shirt off. Let’s see what you’ve got.”
He laughs, a deep, rich sound that sends shivers down my spine. “If that’s what you want, mo stóirín.”
In one smooth motion, he pulls his shirt over his head to reveal his tattooed chest and defined abs. My breath catches for a moment, but I mask it with a casual shrug.
“Not bad.” I feign indifference, but the heat in my cheeks betrays me.
His grin widens. “Your turn again.”
“Dare,” I say, emboldened.
He leans forward, his voice dropping an octave. “Kiss me. Properly this time.”
My heart skips a beat, but I refuse to back down. Closing the small gap between us, I press my lips to his, the kiss starting slow but quickly deepening. When I pull away, his expression is equal parts smug and pleased.
“Well,” he says, his voice husky. “That was worth the dare.”
I roll my eyes, trying to hide my own smile. “Truth or dare, hotshot?”
“Truth,” he answers, his gaze steady.
“What’s the most embarrassing thing you’ve ever done?”
His lips twitch, and for a moment, he looks genuinely sheepish. “When I was fifteen, I tried to impress a girl by riding my bike down a massive hill. I ended up flipping over the handlebars and landing in a pond. She laughed so hard she fell over.”
I burst out laughing, the image too good to ignore. “That’s priceless. Did she at least give you points for effort?”
“She did,” he admits with a grin. “Didn’t stop her from telling the whole school, though.”
“Serves you right for showing off,” I tease, shaking my head.
“Truth or dare?” he asks, his tone light but his eyes watching me intently.
“Dare,” I say again. The bold feeling from the last dare lingering.
“Tell me something you’ve never told anyone before.”
I blink, caught off guard. “That’s not a dare; that’s a truth.”
“Fine,” he says, leaning closer. “I dare you to tell me something you’ve never told anyone before.”
I hesitate, my mind racing. Finally, I take a deep breath. “I . . . have always wanted to write a book. But I’m scared no one would care what I had to say.”
His expression softens, and he reaches out, brushing a strand of hair behind my ear. “You should do it. You have a lot to say, Savannah, and I’d bet every word would be worth reading.”
Warmth spreads through me, and for a moment, I forget about the chaos of our situation. “Your turn,” I say, clearing my throat.
“Dare,” he answers with a grin.
“Do a handstand,” I say, laughing at the mental image.
He raises a brow but doesn’t back down. Standing up, he positions himself by the couch and, with surprising ease, kicks up into a handstand. His balance is impressive, and I can’t help but clap as he holds the position for a few seconds before flipping back onto his feet.
“Show-off,” I tease, grinning.
“Anything to impress you,” he shoots back, his smirk making my stomach flutter.
The game continues, each question and dare peeling back another layer of the man I thought I’d already gotten to know. He dares me to dance to an imaginary song, and I counter with a challenge for him to recite a cheesy pickup line—which he delivers with such over-the-top charm I’m left in stitches. By the time we’re both lying on the rug, breathless from laughter, I realize something. For the first time in weeks, I’m not thinking about the danger we’re in or the chaos that brought us here. I’m just . . . happy.
“You’re not as bad as I thought you were,” I admit, glancing over at him.
He arches a brow. “High praise. Coming from you, that’s practically a declaration of love.”
“Don’t push it,” I warn, but my smile gives me away.
As the fire crackles and the night stretches on, I let myself relax. Just for a little while. Because in this moment, with Rylan beside me and laughter still lingering in the air, it feels like maybe—just maybe—everything will be okay.