Chapter 11
The rules of Exponential Truth are simple:
It’s like Truth or Dare but there are no dares and whoever goes first gets to pick the game topic with their first question. This is really important because all of the questions that follow it HAVE to stay on that same topic.
But more important than that, and the one thing you never, ever wanna do when playing this game with Loch Ness, is call “chicken.” You’d rather tell it your deepest darkest secret or just quit the game.
Trust me.
Nothing is worth THAT.
“We’ll start off easy,” Dominic drawled with an overconfidence that was bound to eventually bite him in the ass. “Truth to the power of one.” He nudged his chin forward, eyes dipping down. “That’s not the hoodie I left for you in the coatroom, is it?”
“Can I be incriminated for in-game confessions?”
“No. Standard Exponential Truth rules apply.”
“Then no, it’s not. The replica is buried out in your garden, along with the poison ivy, and I can’t believe this is the topic you chose to waste your head start on.
” I hopped up on the counter and settled in.
There wasn’t anywhere else to sit, and this was going to take a while.
“Truth squared: you get off on seeing me wearing your name, don’t you?
That’s why you assigned this as my uniform. ”
His jaw worked, the tips of his ears burning red as he slipped both hands into the pockets of his slacks. There was nothing more annoying than someone you loathed thinking you were obsessed with them. I wondered how many rounds it’d take to make his mouth froth.
“What I get off on is knowing how much you hate wearing it. Truth cubed: I’m pretty sure I threw the original away before I left, so how is it that you’re wearing it right now?”
Keeping my voice even, I said, “I took it out of the trash. How else?”
Dominic cocked his head, pausing for a beat to study me. “Why?”
“It’s not your turn.” I crossed my dangling ankles, letting my head fall back. “Let’s see… truth to the power of I-don’t-wanna-keep-track: speaking of trash, tell me something about you I can easily exploit. Like a phobia I don’t know about or your biggest fear or something.”
“That’s off topic.”
“It’s not off topic. The topic is trash, and so are you.”
One of the veins in his temple was back, but I could have sworn his mouth twitched before he rubbed an aggravated palm over it.
“And remember, being caught in a lie is grounds for immediate forfeiture,” I said helpfully.
He bit into his bottom lip, nodding. “You are, Alice. You’re my biggest fear.
” He stepped forward and braced his hands on the edge of the kitchen counter, caging me in.
“You’re the monster under my bed. The creepy little critter crawling under my skin.
You’re my sleep paralysis demon. The boogieman.
The Grim Reaper. The Loch Ness monster. And the personification of my deepest, darkest nightmares. It’s all you. Happy?”
I swallowed, watching his golden-brown irises shrink and shrink, until they were barely visible. He smelled like expensive soap with a warm hint of cologne, and I wanted to place a palm on his chest and gently push. But that would entail touching him.
“Flattering,” I noted lightly, stuffing my hands under my thighs.
“Truth to the power of five: what’s yours? Same question.”
I pushed out my lips, thinking. “Hmmm. Being burned alive, I think.”
“It has to be one I don’t already know. And one I can exploit without facing a life sentence.”
I sighed. “Uhmmm…”
“And no copying my answer.”
My eyes hit the back of my head. “Please. You’re about as terrifying to me as a growling puppy. Or a damp cotton ball.”
“I get it.”
I bit back a smile. “All right, here’s one: I have a very real fear that I’ll…
how do I even say this? Hold on.” I glanced down at my thighs, trying to get my thoughts in order.
There was no way of wording it that wouldn’t sound lame, but maybe that was a good thing.
If he was underwhelmed, he wouldn’t dwell on it.
“I am legitimately scared of… and I don’t know how you’d exploit it, but if anyone could figure it out… ” Wow, how was this so hard to phrase?
“This better be good, Lice. Otherwise, we’re going to implement a time limit on answers. I don’t want to be here all week.”
“I’m scared that this is it.”
His mouth moved like he was going to say something, but nothing came out. Instead, he frowned. Then blinked. “What does that mean?”
I didn’t know.
I mean, I did, but I wasn’t sure how to explain it.
“One question per turn,” I argued.
“And no cryptic answers. Your rule, remember?”
I unhooked my ankles. Rehooked them. “I don’t know how to make it any clearer. I’m scared that this is it.”
“Define this.”
“This.” I waved a hand through the air.
“Solid start. Now try adding words.”
I licked my lips, feeling a little more aggravated than the situation warranted. And anxious. Why was I suddenly so anxious?
“Okay, imagine you’re in the middle of the ocean,” I said, tugging at the front of my uniform, needing to let air in.
“And you’re kicking your legs, you’re swinging your arms, you’re trying everything you can think of, and…
nothing. You’re not moving. So you kick harder.
Expand your arms wider. Hold your breath longer.
But none of it seems to make a difference.
” I shifted, having an increasingly hard time meeting his eyes.
“Now imagine doing it for years and not moving an inch.”
He didn’t respond. Just continued to stare.
“Anyway, I’m scared this is it, and I’ll wake up in a decade, still treading water with nothing to show for it.
” Clearing my throat, I sat up straighter.
“My turn. Truth to the power of it-doesn’t-matter: on the topic of fear, what’s the one question you’re scared I’ll ask because you’d rather throw in the towel than give me an honest answer? ”
The contemplative frown he’d been wearing faded, making room for his usual scowl. His tongue slashed across his top teeth. He opened his mouth. Then closed it.
I grinned when a muscle in his cheek started ticking. “What was that? Only five, six turns? And you had the head start? How emb—”
“Chicken.”
And then he kissed me.