chapter fourteen
RILEY
Riles drags my ass down the aisle, nearly detaching my arm from its socket, her grip firm, preventing my escape.
Screw you, Carlos! Screw you and your stupid iPad!
I hadn’t planned on playing the damn game, instead comfortably spectating while others made dicks of themselves. And now here I am, the dick in question, and there’s nothing I can do about it.
Jogging up the steps to the stage, Riles tugs me along with her, and I nearly trip into Carlos before he checks our lanyards and then directs us where to stand.
“I want to win,” Riles murmurs behind her hand. “Take no prisoners.”
Normally, I’d find such a threat lighthearted, but after our trivia experience, I have no doubt she’s dead-serious.
“The next cabin number is… 7097,” Paul announces.
Riles squints and shades the stage lights from her face with her hand as she seeks out our opponents. I can’t see shit, so I just bow my head, praying this will all be over soon.
“They look old,” she whispers. “We’ve got this.”
Her competitiveness is hilarious, and I can’t help but chuckle… so long as she doesn’t give one of them a black eye. If she does, I’m going to have to haul her over my shoulder and get her the hell out of here before blood is spilled.
The thought of Riles, hauled over my shoulder, her ass in my face, isn’t all that bad, and I’m suddenly not so opposed to intervening when she proverbially takes her gloves off. And I can bet my left nut that she will.
I glance over at her bouncing on the spot as if she’s ready to take on Tyson Fury.
Yep. We’re fucked.
Sucking in a deep breath, I close my eyes and compose myself. I hate being the center of attention—Roni was always the overachiever, not me.
“What are you doing?” Riles murmurs.
“Taking a moment.”
“For what?”
“For what we’re about to do.”
“Good.” She clasps my hand. “Channel the win.”
Channel the win? I’m channeling the ability not to shit my pants; that’s what I’m channeling.
She squeezes my fingers, then lets go. “You and I are going to the spa, gold trophy in hand.”
A fuzzy kind of warmth spreads over me, and I snap my eyes open and stare at her, amused. Mousey and shy when she wants to be, she’s also a firecracker ready to spark, take flight, and explode. It’s a curious combination—exciting but also terrifying.
I’m also still stunned she thought to book me on the Behind-the-Scenes tour.
She must’ve done it on embarkation day, after I was horrible to her in the bar.
And even though being in the spotlight in front of a roomful of strangers about to play a stupid, childish game isn’t high on my bucket list, I decide I’ll give it my all…
for her. She deserves that, at the very least.
“Okay. Lucky last,” Paul teases. “Carlos, will you do the honors?”
Carlos taps his screen, drums his feet, and shouts, “Cabin number 12022.”
This time, I squint and shade my eyes with Riles as two young, fit-looking guys jump up from their seats. They fist-bump, chest-bump, then jog toward the stage.
“What are they going to do with a spa voucher?” Riles grumbles. “I bet they don’t have any chest hair, so they can’t even get a wax.”
I choke on my laughter, link my hands behind my back, and straighten my shoulders. “If you think I’m going to get a wax if we win, think again.”
“I don’t,” she deadpans, eyes steadfast on the guys. “What I think is you should leave your chest hair exactly where it is.”
My head slowly rotates in her direction, the corners of my mouth lifting. “You do?”
“Yes. Now focus, Riley,” she hisses. “We can’t let them beat us.”
“They won’t.”
“I know. Over my dead body, they will.”
Hopefully, it won’t come to a life-or-death situation. Then again, I seem to be partnered with Muhammad Riley.
God, help me!
“Welcome, Truth-or-Dare cruiselings.” Paul holds his arm out, presenting us to the audience. “Please give our participants a round of applause.”
The crowd claps and whistles, Ben’s drawn-out war cry the loudest of all. “Riiileyyys!”
I chuckle at the idiot.
“Now, for the rules: You can choose truth or dare in the first two rounds. If you choose dare, only one of you must carry it out, until the final round, which is a dare only, and you will both have to complete it. If you all succeed, the audience will vote on who carried out the final dare the best. Easy?”
We all agree, so Paul approaches the two guys who were last to the stage. “What are your names?”
The taller one leans into the microphone. “Darius,” followed by the other, “Levi.”
“Are you friends? Partners? Family?”
“Brothers,” they say simultaneously.
“Where are you from?”
They bump fists again and holler, “Brooklyn!”
“Well, brothers from Brooklyn, good luck to you.” Paul shakes their hands and then moves on to the older pair.
“And who do we have here?” He points the microphone at the woman, and I’m not even sure she answers.
“Sorry. I didn’t quite get that,” he says, placing his hand to his ear. “Please speak up so we can all hear.”
“Iris,” she repeats, her face as red as my truck.
He moves the microphone to who I assume is her husband. “And you, sir?”
“Jim.”
“Married? Friends? Family?”
“Married,” they both say.
“And where are you from?”
“Atlanta.”
“Very good!” Paul shakes their hands as well and then turns to face the audience, pulling an “eek” face. “Good luck. I hope you remain married after this.”
The crowd laughs as he moves toward us.
“And who do we have here?”
“Riley and Riley,” Riles blurts.
Paul stops walking, cocks his head, and gives the audience a that’s-strange-as-fuck expression.
They laugh, and I grit my teeth.
Kill me now.
“Married? Brother and sister…?”
“We’re just friends,” Riles says.
He presses his lips together, his head nodding comically, and I have the sudden urge to punch him. “Okay, Riley and Riley ‘we’re just friends,’ you’re up first. What’ll it be, truth or dare?”
“Truth,” Riles answers.
Shit!
“Truth it is.” Paul grins greedily and scans a piece of paper in his hands. “If you were both the opposite sex for one day, what would be the first thing you do?”
My balls bounce into my throat. For fuck’s sake. I know exactly what I’d do… stare at myself, naked.
Riles taps her lip, then says, “Pee, standing up. Probably outside by a tree.”
A few women cheer and clap for her response, and I have to give her credit where credit is due.
Paul nods. “Fair answer. And what about you, man-Riley?”
I smirk. “Pee, sitting down.”
Riles glares at me. “Very funny.”
I shrug. “What? I would.”
“Yeah, right after you stare at yourself naked for an hour,” she chides.
Laughter bubbles in my throat.
How does she know that?
I pull the microphone back to my mouth. “Actually, yes, I would do that first. Then I would pee.”
Her eyeballs sarcastically circulate her sockets.
“What do we think?” Paul says to the audience. “Did they tell the truth?”
“Yes!” echoes throughout the theatre, and I sigh my relief.
“Stop mucking around,” Riles whisper-hisses as Paul moves on to the married couple. “If you lose this for us, I’ll lock you out of the cabin.”
“You can try.”
“Oh, I will!”
“Ease up, Riles. We’re winning.”
She lets out a muffled growl, and I chuckle. I like when she growls like a cub. It suits her.
Paul asks the married couple what the most embarrassing moment of their life was, and the woman freezes like a deer in headlights, unable to answer.
Her husband says, “This… now!” and she agrees, mumbling the same thing.
“What do we think?” Paul asks. “Are they telling the truth?”
Almost everyone calls out, “No!”
“The people have spoken, and I’m sorry to say, Iris and Jim, but you are out of the game.”
Riles whispers, “Yes!” and claps.
“You’re such a bad sport,” I whisper back.
“I am not. Their answer was stupid.”
“I don’t know. I think they were telling the truth.”
“Oh well. They’re out. One down, one to go.”
Carlos politely sends the married couple back to their seats with novelty drink bottles, and I’d rather have one of those than my back, crack, and sac potentially waxed at the spa.
“Okay, brothers from Brooklyn, you’re up next. What part of your body do you like the most?”
Darius doesn’t hesitate, flexing his biceps before kissing each of them, Levi turning his back to the audience, lifting his T-shirt, and clenching his butt cheeks.
The raw whale fermenting in my stomach threatens to rise to my throat.
“Damn!” Riles drawls, nudging my arm. “They’re good.”
“Come again?”
“The audience likes them.” She presses her knuckle to her lip. “Shit! We’re going to have to choose dare next to win the audience back.”
Hoping we’d avoid that part of the game until the end, I rub the back of my neck, my muscles rigid. “Great!”
“Stop being a pussy,” she hisses.
“I’m not,” I hiss back.
Paul steps up to us again, crosses his arms over his chest, and says, “Are you sure you’re ‘just friends’?”
We both grit out, “Yes.”
“Good friends?” He waggles his eyebrows. “Or friend-friends?”
“We’re just friends,” Riles assures him, her searing eyes all but boring holes into the poor guy’s head.
He raises his hands, and I can relate to the gesture.
“Okay, just friends, what’ll it be? Truth or dare?”
“Dare!” Riles shouts, tilting her head from one shoulder to the other to loosen her neck.
The audience sounds out an “Oooh!” as Paul leans against Riles’s shoulder and winks at her. “All or nothing, huh?”
“Yep.”
“I like you.”
“I like that spa voucher,” she says before glaring and pointing at the brothers. “And you two aren’t getting it.”
Cackling like an evil witch, Paul rubs his hands together. “Fighting words. I love it! Watch out, boys. This one means business.” He cackles again, scans his list of truths and dares, then stares Riles down. “Are you ready?”
She nods. “Yes. Lay it on us.”
“Do the robot dance.”
A shiver runs the length of my spine, so I drag my hand through my hair, gripping it hard as I step back. I don’t dance, let alone on a stage in front of people.
“Where do you think you’re going?” Riles says, snagging my T-shirt.
“You asked for dare, so—” I sweep my hand to her. “—take it away!”
Her skin pales. “What’s the robot dance?”
“You don’t know what the robot dance is?”
“Should I?”
“You’re a millennial, aren’t you?”
“So?”
“So… you should know the robot dance.” I flatten my hands and subtly chop them.
“Oh! The robot dance. I do know that!” Locking her elbows and flattening her own hands, she proceeds to stomp about the stage, turning her head from side to side as she swivels back and forth, one arm swinging like a pendulum when she stops and hunches over.
Laughing, because she’s a lunatic—albeit an adorable one—I slow-clap for her, impressed but also thrilled I didn’t have to take one for the team.
She straightens her back and steeples her hands in prayer, eyes pleading with Paul. “Did I do it right?”
“I don’t know,” he says. “Audience, what do we think?”
They all cheer, and Riles throws her arms in the air.
“Great job, C-3PO.” I hold up my hand for a high-five, but she slaps it away.
“At least I did it after you chickened out. We’re supposed to be a team.”
I gawk at her.
“Man up, builder boy.”
Jesus!
She stings worse than a bee, perhaps she is Muhammad Riley.
“Brooklyn bros, how’s it hangin’ over there?” Paul scurries toward them and offers the microphone for their response.
“It’s hangin’ well,” Levi says, glancing down at his junk.
Riles gags. “Gross!”
“Good to know,” Paul says. “So, what will it be? Truth or dare?”
Darius puffs his chest. “Dare!”
“I had a feeling you’d say that.”
“Bring it on,” Levi goads, gesturing toward us. “We eat guys like them for breakfast.”
What a dumbass thing to say.
“Eat this, you marshmallow.” Riles pokes out her tongue, then murmurs to me, “I bet they eat steroids on toast.”
“Who are you?” I double over, my ribs aching with laughter. “And what have you done with my sweet roommate?”
“She doesn’t exist when prizes are involved.”
“No shit!”
Continuing to laugh, because I’m actually enjoying myself, I forget about the lights, stage, and the people who are watching.
I forget about the shit I’ve been through, the shit I’m climbing out of, and the shit I’ve left behind.
I forget it all and relax, even though I’m going to have to swallow my balls and complete a dare sooner rather than later.
Paul scans his list, then waggles his eyebrows at the audience. “I dare you to do a handstand and walk across the stage.”
“I got this, bro.” Levi smacks his brother on the chest and moves him aside while Darius claps above his head, coaxing the audience to join in.
“Pa-leease,” Riles groans, crossing her arms over her chest, her hip jutting. “This dare is rigged. He probably walks like that to the bathroom.”
She makes a valid point; it does seem rigged, especially when Paul starts singing lyrics to “Be Faithful” by Fatman Scoop and the Crooklyn Clan while Levi slowly hand-walks.
Riles puffs out a harsh breath, her arms falling limp by her sides. “We’re done. The audience love them.”
“Hey! We’re not. There’s still one round left.” I massage her shoulders. “We’ve got this.”
Sighing, she looks up at me, desperation swimming in her pretty, misty eyes. “We can’t lose to them, Riley. They’re turnips.”
Not exactly how I’d describe them, but yeah… fair call. “I know!”
“I want that voucher.”
“I know.”
“We need to nail this last dare, so you better pray Paul doesn’t ask us to climb into a box.”
My blood runs cold. “He could do that?”
“I hope not, or we can kiss that voucher goodbye.”
Damn straight we can. There’s no way in hell I’m climbing into anything.
“Friends, friends, friends,” Paul drawls as he ambles toward us, “the stakes have now risen.” He taps his chin and turns to the audience. “What shall we make them do, I wonder?”
“Take your pants off!” Brittany shouts.
“Yeah, love,” Ben adds, “get ’em off!”
Shrugging, because I’d rather strip than face the prospect of being locked inside a box, I start to loosen my sweatpants.
“Whoa! Not so fast, Magic Mike.” Paul places his hand on my shoulder, then narrows his eyes at the audience. “Who’s in charge here?”
“You!” they chant.
“That’s right. And I have a much better dare for you, friends.”
My jaw locks tight, his sinister tone and the glare from his pearly whites unsettling my nerves.
No damn box. No damn box.
“I dare you to kiss—” He pauses, grin stretching. “—for twenty seconds.”
Snapping my head to Riles, she inches back a step, the color draining from her face, her eyes wide, her mouth open. And for the first time since setting foot on stage, she looks ready to give up, leap off it, and run.
I reach for her hand. “Oh no you don’t, sweetheart!”