Chapter 12 Nisha #2
“The Brain Eraser,” Piper announces, handing us each a glass. “Because sometimes you just need to erase the past and start over. Down the hatch, ladies!”
The converted barn is more stunning than I could have imagined. There are string lights draped over exposed beams, high-top tables adorned with flickering candles lining the dance floor, and a stunning bar that’s clearly stocked for a serious celebration.
Everywhere I look, faces both familiar and unfamiliar are laughing and chatting, celebrating the most important couple of the night—Sarina and Troy.
What I didn’t expect was the discreet security positioned around the perimeter of the barn and scattered around the ranch. They’re a little reminder that tonight’s guests include a Hollywood A-lister, a well-known billionaire, and many high-profile ballplayers.
“Wow,” I yell over the R&B music playing on the speakers to Kavi. “You and Hudson don’t half-ass anything.”
She giggles, lifting her glass to clink with mine, swaying before she winks at her husband seated at the bar next to Dev, Troy, and—
Ugh. The man I can’t seem to avoid, outrun, or exorcise, no matter how much sage I’ve burned.
With dark denims hugging his long, muscular thighs, a white V-neck shirt showing off a thick neck I’ve french kissed like soft-serve ice cream in the summer sun, and a light-gray Versace blazer I remember gifting him on our second wedding anniversary, he’s laughing at something Troy has said.
And though I can’t hear the timbre of that laugh, I feel it all the way down to my toes. Just like I feel his gaze when his head turns and our eyes collide.
It’s not the first time I’ve caught him looking at me, but each time it happens, a thrill zips down my body, hollowing out my stomach, like the first drop on a roller coaster.
So, instead of giving him the satisfaction of dropping my gaze first, I flash him a toothy smile, sharp enough to draw blood, before turning around with my glass up in the air and bouncing to Tupac’s California Love with my best friends and some of Sarina’s baseball WAG friends.
My girlfriends and I arrived an hour ago, tipsy from day-drinking and dressed to kill.
Sarina’s in a mid-length white bodycon dress that hugs her curves, strappy white heels, and a sash that says “Gonna be Mrs. Troy Winters”.
Since her only request was for her best friends to wear either red or black, I chose black.
It is my go-to color after all—the color of my jaded heart.
My strapless leather dress contours around my medium-sized boobs, slender hips, and abs defined from years of martial arts training, hitting right above my knees. At five-feet-seven inches, I’m not short, but paired with my five-inch heels, I look Amazonian.
I’ve kept my makeup the way I always do—with winged eyeliner, making my black irises look like pools of obsidian, and a touch of lip gloss, the color and flavor of pomegranates.
The only jewelry I bothered with are the row of tiny star studs climbing up one ear and a single one in the other. And of course, the permanent bracelet that matches Patton’s on my wrist.
Around each of our necks is a plastic gold necklace with a spinner pendant. It’s tonight’s entertainment, courtesy of Piper and her twisted brain.
Each spinner has four dares we have to complete throughout the night. Mine includes licking whipped cream off someone’s finger, ordering a round of Mai Tais using charades, and—Sarina’s personal favorite—faking an orgasm in front of a man.
But I’m a little annoyed. Because, while the rest of them have dares they can finish with their respective partners, I have to find a rando because . . . well, I don’t have a man.
Did I mention there’s also one that says, “Kiss a boy you used to love”?
Upon seeing it, I’d glared at my best friend so hard, I almost sent her to another planet. Yeah, that was a little on the nose, Piper. There’s no question my spinner was rigged.
By her.
Probably by all of them.
I take a healthy sip of my pineapple margarita before dragging my tongue over my top lip to catch the salt crystals there.
The Brain Erasers certainly helped me reset my emotional state, but it’s the two drinks after that have really helped seal the deal.
I’m feeling good—my arms and legs, nice and nimble, my body swaying on its own accord.
The energy is infectious as we move to the beat with our drinks in hand, laughing as they wait for me to spin my spinner for the next dare. I’ve already done two: order Mai Tais using charades and lick whipped cream off someone's finger.
For the first one, I’d pointed to myself and then to a man wearing a tie. I was happy to have gotten my point across to the bartender, but what I hadn’t expected was tie-man’s hand to find my ass.
And while I’ve always been more than capable of handling handsy men, I didn’t miss the way Patton had white-knuckled his whiskey glass from across the bar, as if he were imagining it being tie-man’s wrist.
He didn’t have to fume long, though, because as quick as tie-man’s hand had found my ass, I had it in mine. With a saccharine smile that would make any onlooker think we were just having a casual conversation, I bent his hand back until he tapped out at the bar.
For the whipped cream dare, I’d naturally chosen Piper. Of all my friends, she was the one who was both the most outrageous and the most sexual. I knew she’d play right along with what I had in mind.
So, I’d made sure to do it nice and slow, right in front of my ex-husband, licking and sucking her finger in a way that would remind him of something else he’d seen me suck . . .
I’d caught the flash in Patton’s eyes—part desire and part warning. And for a moment, I wondered if it was the alcohol, the dare, or something more that was making me so bold.
Me, the woman who color-stacked her books and had alarms to water her plants, had sucked on my friend’s finger like I was a fluffer on a porn set.
In front of my ex-husband. At my sister’s bachelorette party.
God, my therapist was going to have a field day when she dove further into the depths of my crazy.
All my girlfriends also completed their dares with varying degrees of alcohol-fueled courage. However, the best so far was Sarina’s.
She had to give Troy a lap dance in the middle of the dance floor. She’d kept it PG13, but it had made our friends whoop and laugh.
And Troy? The adoration, love, and protectiveness radiating from him said he was a goner. The way he looked at her made my heart burst for the two of them.
My sweet sister, who’d been such a strong and fierce single mom to my adorable nephew for so long, had finally found her happily-ever-after. And with an incredible single dad of the most adorable little girl. What more could I ask for?
The beat of the music thrums through me as I look down at my spinner.
Time for dare number three.
I give the spinner a flick and watch it land on . . . “kiss a boy you used to love.”
Shit.
The chorus of laughs and gasps from my friends leaning in with obvious thrill weaves itself with the music and bodies dancing around us.
I shake my head, looking from Sarina to Piper, readying myself to tell them I’m not going to do it. But before I can, a chant of, “Do it. Do it. Do it,” pulses through the group, urging me on.
My heart hammers in my ears as alcohol rushes through my veins.
A little voice in my head cautions me to think twice, but I ignore it. Because, as I have established before, my sensibilities subside whenever it comes to Patton Pierce.
So, it’s no surprise that in the next moment I’m striding across the room toward the man leaning against the bar.
The air feels heavy, both in and out of my lungs, as my feet come to a halt in front of him.
Patton’s brow lifts, and that’s all the warning he gets before I grab the lapels of his blazer and yank him down to my lips.
The kiss is instant heat and hunger.
An instant rush, but surprisingly, not instant regret.
His hands capture my hips as if on instinct, dragging me closer, until there’s no space between us. Until I feel his heart thud against my chest.
If he’s stunned, it doesn’t show by the way he takes control, parting my lips with his tongue and reclaiming what’s always been his. The scent of bergamot and mint, along with the taste of whiskey, floods my senses, and all I want is to drown.
One moment we’re surrounded by howls and gasps from our friends, and the next, all sound fades. There’s no music or noise. No hammering inside my ears.
In that moment, there’s just all-consuming tranquility, like nothing else exists.
Patton pulls back first, taking my breath with him. He drags his thumb over my still-tingling bottom lip, and I almost thank him for holding me upright.
His hand slides lower, discreetly brushing over the erect nipple behind my leather dress, before he lifts my spinner-pendant to read the last dare—fake an orgasm in front of a man.
The corner of his mouth quirks up, a daring glint in his eyes. Eyes I’ve looked into for hours on end. His warm breath coasts over the shell of my ear and my core constricts as his words register.
“Dare you to make it real.”