Page 33 of Hate Me Like You Mean It

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.” Ishifted, 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?Andyou had the head start? How emb?—”

“Chicken.”

And then he kissed me.

12

It was the lightest touch.

Barely a peck. Barely a brush of his lips on the corner of my mouth. Barely anything at all.

And it still broke me.

Dominic eased back with smooth indifference, swiping a thumb over his bottom lip like his natural inclination was to erase the touch. “My turn. Truth to the power of nice-try: same question. What’s one thing you don’t want me to ask?”

Goose bumps bloomed over the back of my neck. Blood rushed to my skin, making it prickle.

You weren’t supposed to call chicken.

That was the one unspoken rule of the game. Neither of us had ever done it. Not once. Because forfeiting had always been, and would always be, the lesser of the two evils.

That was the deal.

My nails cut into my palms, my blood simmering. He wanted to do this with knives out? So be it.

I flicked my hair over my shoulder. “Your best bet is to stay on course, really lean into your lack of originality, and keep parroting my questions back to me. The boredom will eventuallydo me in. Truth to the power of I-don’t-care: what’s the most embarrassing thing you’ve ever jerked off to?”

The skin under his right eye feathered. “Explain to me how that’s even remotely on topic.”

“Topic is questions you wouldn’t want to be asked. Judging by your reaction, I hit the nail on the head.”

He struggled for a beat, debating. Then, “Chicken.”

This time, I was slightly better prepared. My heart still kicked when he leaned forward, and sparks danced over my skin when his lips grazed mine, but I retained control over my expression, keeping it blank. Didn’t even bother closing my eyes.

It was as though nothing had happened.

He did not like this. His eyes darted over my face when he pulled back, then narrowed.

“Your turn,” I reminded him, checking my cuticles.

He took his time, the gears in his head clearly churning as he tried to figure out whether I was putting on an act or if I truly wasthisunderwhelmed by him. “Before we get any deeper into this, you’re the one who decided to divert the topic to sex. Just remember that.”

I lifted a shoulder. “Nonissue. Hurry up.”

A featherlight flutter swirled through my stomach as Dominic’s features hardened with a competitive edge.

It was game on. We’d officially leveled ourselves out of easy mode.