Chapter 14
Chapter Fourteen
Daphne
M y cheeks flush. My chest too.
I'm in high school again. I'm in a limo with purple-red lights, pretending bad wine is champagne, playing truth or dare.
And just like in high school, I desperately want to pounce on the opportunity, and I want to run away in shame too.
No. This isn't like high school. I know how to work through shame now.
I acknowledge the emotion. I feel it in my body, in the tenseness of my chest and the flush of my skin, and that awkwardness in my bones.
I experience it, and I let it go.
There's nothing wrong with wanting Jackson.
There's no reason to feel ashamed of a desire. Any desire. Even a truly perverse one.
And this is positively vanilla by anyone's standard.
I want a hot guy.
I want the chance to kiss him without consequences.
Who wouldn't?
As it did in high school, the space freezes.
No one knows what to make of Zack's dare. They're not sure if he's some sort of bold innovator or if he's some sort of reckless asshole.
The truth is, he's both.
He'll probably parlay his hockey money into a career as an investor. I only hope he develops a post-athletic career paunch. Otherwise, he'll be way too conventionally appealing. The annoying personality only adds to the whole maverick millionaire vibe.
I try to focus on Zack. He's only a year younger than I am, but I still see him as a little brother. Maybe because of his personality. Maybe because he came into my life when he was so young.
Why is it I don't see Jackson as an older brother?
Why do we want who we want, anyway?
"Zack." Jackson interrupts my intellectualizing. "Don't."
"Don't what? Play the game?" Zack shakes his head ridiculous . "Do you not want to kiss Daphne?"
The question is a trap. There isn't a right answer for him, and he knows it. The frustration appears on his brow. Then his green eyes.
He can't say of course, I want to kiss her or everyone here will know he wants me.
He can't say of course I don't want to kiss her or everyone here will see him reject me without tact.
He wants me. He does. I can feel it.
But all of a sudden, I'm not sure how much he wants me. Maybe I overestimated his desire or underestimated his loyalty to his sister.
Maybe I'm seeing what I want.
This is a way to do it. To see how much he wants to melt into me. How willing he is to cross this line.
I take on an even tone, and I say, "It's okay if you're shy, Jackson. I don't usually kiss in front of my friends and family either."
Zack shoots Laurel a can you believe this look.
She shrugs with disinterest.
Rome lets out an above-it-all chuckle. "You two play this game often?"
"Do you offer this sort of attitude often?" Laurel asks.
"Only when I see someone I knew when I was in high school and they're pulling the same shit," Rome says.
Laurel's frown turns into a scowl. I've never seen the bubbly brunette this pissed. Usually, she's only mad if she's stained a new dress or lost a client (or seen a new ridiculous demand from her boss).
She shakes it off quickly and shoots me an apologetic shrug. "We don't have to play."
"No. I want to play. It's fun, right?" I try to copy her shrug, as if I also don't care about this silly game, as if I'm as aloof as anyone ever has been. "But if you want privacy, why don't we ask everyone to close their eyes."
"Kinky," Zack says. "I like it. I trust you to do the job, Daphne."
"Daphne is a woman with honor." Laurel nods in agreement. "And she gets the next pick. God knows what she'll dare you to do."
"She has to pick someone else. No dare-backs," Zack says.
"Pick me, D," Laurel says. "I'll dare him to do something truly horrifying."
"Stay quiet for two minutes?" Rome offers.
Her laugh is big and bright. Then, she catches herself and returns to a neutral expression. "Maybe three." Okay, not so neutral. She can't help but smile from Rome's attention.
Again, she catches herself, stops, and shakes her head how could I laugh at his joke?
Tragically, she turns all that frustration to me. "Okay, get on his lap, then we'll close our eyes," she says.
Okay, sure. Why not? I'm an adult woman, a doctor, and I'm about to climb into a guy's lap on a dare.
No. That's not true. The dare is an excuse. I want to be there. I want to fuck him right in this limo.
Not so much with the crowd. Not this crowd, anyway. A room of strangers…
Maybe there's merit to my best friend's exhibitionist kink. The thought of Jackson watching as I strip in front of everyone, desperate to touch me, waiting and waiting until I allow it—
Ahem.
I force a casual smile, something between this is no big deal and I might come from the friction of your thighs and I move across the limo, right onto Jackson's lap.
He looks up at me as I settle onto his thighs. He brings his lips to my ear to whisper, "Are you sure?"
"It's just a kiss," I say loud enough for everyone to hear. "It's not a big deal."
"Okay, freaks, eyes closed," Zack says. He looks to me and winks you go, girl and he makes a show of closing his eyes.
Jackson looks up at me.
I look down at him.
I let my lids flutter closed, and I bring my lips to his. A soft brush. A peck.
The hint of mint on his lips.
He prepared for this possibility.
He wanted to be ready to kiss me.
I mean to pull back, really, but I don't.
My body takes over. My hand curls around the back of his neck. My lips part for his tongue.
His hands go to my hips.
He kisses me slowly, with patience, like he has eternity to explore my mouth, like he wants to spend eternity with his lips pressed against mine.
Then a sound interrupts.
Clapping.
And a woot. And Zack, saying, "Way to go big, bro."
"What happened to your eyes being closed?" Laurel joins. And as she says, "Oooh," with all the awareness in the world, I finally snap out of my trance.
I pull back.
I fight a blush.
I tell myself to move off Jackson's lap, but his body feels so good under mine. Where it belongs. Where we both belong.
He brings his hands to his sides, trying to find some sense, but still looking at me with that perfect hazy expression.
Where are we, what are we doing, and why isn't it kissing more?
I catch my breath enough to slide out of his lap and into my seat.
His eyes stay glued to me. They stay full of some beautiful mix of curiosity and concern and need.
I have to look away so I don't blush, so I don't tell everyone in the car I want to mount him.
"Okay, Laurel, your turn, truth or dare," I say.
"Truth." She smiles do your worst .
Zack boos. "Cowardly."
"No. Truth is much braver than dare," Laurel says. "You might have to share your darkest secret. That's much scarier than kissing someone." Her eyes go to Rome anyway.
It's like her body is screaming dare me to kiss him .
But she picked truth.
And I wouldn't push her that way. I won't ask if she likes him. If they've kissed. If they've fucked.
No, I need to keep this fun.
I ask the first sex-related question that comes to mind. "Who do you think about when you masturbate?"
Jackson chuckles of course .
He is right. I'm reusing my question. And it's an obvious question for me to ask. But it's a smart choice. It reveals something personal, but nothing too personal. She could easily say Chris Hemsworth, and no one would bat an eye.
Laurel's eyes go to Rome. She presses her lips into an effortless smile. One that says I don't give a fuck what you think. "It depends on my mood, really. If I'm feeling a memory, I think about my ex… you know him, Rome. The guy who worked with Uncle Pete when you were in college."
Rome frowns.
Mission accomplished, I guess.
"We didn't date for very long," she says. "Honestly, he was kind of a jerk. Way too bossy. I hated it everywhere except the bedroom. There it was—" She fans herself. "I always thought it was the opposite, you know, a bossy person wants to submit. But not with him. Maybe that's just a stereotype. What do you think, J?"
Surprise fills Jackson's eyes. "What do I have to do with this?"
"You talk about sex a lot," Rome says.
"I'm answering the question," Laurel says. "Sorry if that's too slutty for you." She shoots him a death glare.
He sits back, defeated.
A charge passes between them. It's electric. There's a passion there. Hurt, yes, but something else too.
They're trying to poke at each other because they care.
And they're both succeeding. They're both revved up, with stiff shoulders and wide eyes.
They're both pretending they don't care.
Laurel continues her nonchalant confession, "If I want a Dom mood, I go with him. If I'm lonely, I think about a different ex, one who was more sweet and romantic. And if I'm in a more party mood, well, I think about the time I had sex with a stranger on a balcony. I was in Europe and we'd met at a hostel and it was like a slutty Before Sunrise . We connected all evening and then we fucked all night."
"They have sex in Before Sunrise ," Zack says.
"You know it's okay for you to not talk for two minutes," Laurel says. "Like when someone else has the floor."
"I'm just saying," Zack continues. "It's like a normal Before Sunrise , not a slutty version." He looks at Rome with distrust—a rare expression for him. "It's not slutty just 'cause you did it."
She actually smiles. She settles into her seat, shoulders softening, jaw easing.
She's healed by her brother's words.
Healed by some old pain.
What the hell happened there?
Whatever it is, Rome knows. His brow furrows. His lip corners turn down.
He starts to say something and stops himself.
"And of course, there's always Idris Elba," Laurel says. "And Tom Hardy. Sometimes, at the same time."
"Have you had a threesome with two guys?" I ask without thinking.
She just laughs. "Not your turn anymore. My turn." She looks to Rome. "Truth or dare."
"Dare," he says, with little enthusiasm.
"Okay." She smiles. "I dare you to stand up in the moonroof and flash the city."
He raises a brow really .
"Just your chest." She smiles wider, clearly playing at something in their past. "What do you think? That I think you're adventurous? No. I know you're as square as Jackson."
He starts to protest, but again, he stops himself. He shakes his head, shaking off some distant memory, and shifts back into the ridiculous game. "Sure. I'll give the city a show." He slides off his seat.
She opens the moon roof.
He stands awkwardly. And sure enough, he lifts his t-shirt for the city.
Zack whispers something to Laurel.
She nods.
He stage-whispers, "Damn. Abs. That must be why women give you a chance. Since it's not your personality."
That's mean for Zack. He's difficult, yes, but never mean.
Whatever happened between Rome and Laurel, Zack is firmly on Laurel's side. He's always on her side. There's something sweet about his loyalty.
He's obnoxious as fuck. But he loves his family.
I admire that.
Rome turns to Zack. He tries his own Zack-like shrug. As if he doesn't care about anything either.
He doesn't sell it though.
He keeps glancing in Laurel's direction, like he wants to say something to her. But I can't tell if it's something cutting or something sweet.
In a surprising move, Zack picks truth. She asks how many women he's been with. He makes a show of counting on both hands and ends up with a rough estimate in the thirties.
Is that too high or too low?
It's so hard to tell with him. He's always so full of shit.
Then, of course, he comes back to Jackson. "Truth or dare."
And in a way more shocking move, Jackson says, "Dare."
Right on cue, the limo stops.
We're here.
"I dare you to get a lap dance," Zack says.
"Aren't we at the hotel?" Jackson asks.
"We have the limo for another three hours," Zack says. "And we're in Las Vegas. Go crazy."
The driver opens the door.
Rome slides out.
Then Laurel.
And Zack. "I'm counting on you, Daphne. Make sure he does it." He winks at me. Again. "And feel free to get creative."
And there it is, implied in his voice.
Give him the lap dance yourself, maybe, huh?