13. TruthDare #2
I want to feel his hands clamp down on my sides; I want to hear a whimper wrench free from his throat; I want to swallow his yearning and grow dizzy on the taste of it.
Our, um, tame eye-fucking session is cut a moment too short when a loud, thickly Southern voice interrupts the conversation, taking over Sutton’s role and giving me—the guest of honor—another chance to exercise my terrible decision-making skills.
“Lake, truth or dare?”
Thanks to inhaling the fumes of Sutton’s sex appeal, my response time is slower than usual when I pinpoint the cocky drawl to the equally arrogant smirk.
It belongs to none other than Knox Mulligan, the father of all fuckboys.
I’ve been warned about him. His mean streak is worse than Foster’s, and something tells me I’m not getting out of this game unscathed.
Since my sensibility hasn’t clocked in yet, I don’t weigh the ramifications of my choice. The words shoot out of me like a startled animal.
“Dare,” I say.
I kid you not, Knox bursts into maniacal laughter, as if he’s been waiting all night for some unsuspecting victim to come along and step into his snare trap. Sutton looks at me like I’ve been condemned to public execution.
“I dare you to streak naked down the street.”
I’m convinced the night is alive and breathing.
The bruised sky swallows its reservations as I’m about to embark on one hell of a self-exploration journey.
The forest rustles in the chill breeze, a beating heart hidden in a bark-like hibernaculum with large, gnarled roots dipping underneath a carpet of moss.
Unseen creatures stalk on a neural network of rhizomes where everything is connected, and a susurrus greets the branches of aspens and the heads of thistles on its nightly routine.
The pale flames of the streetlights are all I have to lead me down the dark mouth of the road.
Nobody’s going to see me, right? No pesky neighbors waiting to call the police?
I can back out whenever I want, but Lake Capitano is not a quitter. A little indecent exposure never hurt anybody, and I’m…I’m confident in my physical assets. Yeah. People would pay good money to see my boobs!
Sutton—poor Sutton—was chosen to be my escort for the night so he can report my completion of the dare back to headquarters. And he’s the only person in that friend group I want seeing me naked.
“You don’t have to do this,” he tells me.
I try and mollify him by pretending like my heart isn’t doing a million fouettés in my chest. “Don’t worry about me. Everything will be fine. We chose a street far away from the party, and all the houses are dark. Everyone’s asleep.”
“Knox is a dickhead. You shouldn’t do anything you’re not comfortable with.”
I begin to strip off my boots, tossing them onto the asphalt.
Adrenaline is the only thing keeping me married to this ridiculous dare.
My pulse is starting to hit tachycardic numbers; I think I’m hearing colors.
I may be a reckless person when it comes to my own safety, but I’ve never aired out my hoo-ha in public before.
“It’s fine, Sutton. Really.”
I don’t know how convincing that sounded. Judging by the frown still knitted on his kissable lips, not convincing in the slightest. My dress is the next to go, which quickly rips away an integral layer of warmth, revealing a (thankfully) cute underwear set with a bunch of tiny flowers on them.
Sutton averts his gaze, tapping his foot nervously against the ground. I’m standing before him in nothing but discount lingerie. Penny pincher-sexy, if that’s a subcategory.
He’s so respectful. And sweet. And unlike any man I’ve ever met before who wouldn’t have wasted a single second getting an eyeful of these life-changing milk cannons. I even did a full-body shave before this party just in case underwear removal was imminent. Which, in some fucked-up way, it was.
“I’m not that repulsive, am I?” I jest, hoping that a little humor placates both of our nerves.
Sutton finally turns to look at me, and despite him being half-shadowed by darkness, I can see the entire universe in his umber eyes—a universe that I’m apparently at the very center of. His gaze runs the length of my body.
“You’re…” He sighs. “Gorgeous.”
My composure is starting to splinter into microscopic fragments. Can he see how red my cheeks are? Can he smell how nervous I am? Is that even possible? No, of course not, Lake. He’s not a dog.
I fold my arms over my chest to limit boobage, suddenly wishing that my partner in crime was anyone but him.
Oh, I bet Knox did this on purpose. I bet he thought he was all sly playing matchmaker.
Well, newsflash, buddy, I’m going to write something really embarrassing about you in my article!
Yeah! Like how you probably blend chicken and Crystal Light into a pre-workout smoothie!
“I’m getting a strange sense of déjà vu,” Sutton comments, nodding to my half-naked state.
“You’re not complaining.”
A grin crosses his mouth, and his tongue prods at the tip of his incisor. “Not at all. I was hoping I’d get to see this view again.”
Hubba-hubba. Jesus, if you’re listening up there, why did you have to create the most perfect man in all of existence? Is he secretly an apology for the rest of the rotten, degenerate male population? If so, I may be able to forgive the transgressions of the IQ-challenged.
I bounce on the balls of my feet for a hot minute before deciding to go all in, shucking off my panties and unclipping my bra so I can fling it in Sutton’s general direction, then I take off like a long-distance sprinter down the road with my bare ass cheeks on display.
Everything happens so fast. It’s cold, I should’ve kept my shoes on because the gravel is tearing up the soles of my feet, and downing all those unadvised drinks earlier are starting to catch up with me.
Pride flourishes inside me. So does nausea, but that’s beside the point.
I’m free, baby. And as soon as I touch the forest line and catapult myself back down the street, I’m going to finish what Knox started.
I’m going to fuck Sutton Whittaker’s brains out.