Page 53 of Hate Me Like You Mean It

Yes, sure, but there was also a reason we’d never actually played it. We’d had no business coming up with anything remotely that intense in the first place. Not as eighteen-year-old kids.

Then again, that’s kind of what we used to do. Invent games, test them out, give them names so that when we graduated and started our gaming company, we could… well, it didn’t matter now. The point was, the thought of playing Devil’s Dare with him made my chest expand and squirm, like I was about to bungee jump off a cliff.

Which meant he was right, we’d be done in fifteen minutes or less.

I crossed my arms, eyeing him. “Any boundaries you want to set first?”

We’d never gotten far enough into the planning process to establish any hard limits, and I wasn’t going into this one without at least discussing it.

He slipped his hands into his front pockets. “Nothing involving other people. No crimes. No blood. And nothing public. What about you?”

“I need to change into something dry first. Otherwise, I won’t be able to focus,” I said. “Other than that… Nothing that requires either of us to leave the property. Nothing involving weapons, animals, or anything that would put either player in any sort of physical danger.”

Our gazes locked for a beat, the air around us shifting. “That’s it?” he asked. “You sure?”

Heat crept up my neck, spilling across my cheeks. “Yup. You?”

It’s not like the stakes were that high. If I lost, I’d have to wrap my hands. If he lost, he’d have to give me a night off. There was no real reason for either of us to push further than we were comfortable.

Other than, you know, our hypercompetitive tendencies, a pesky little thing called pride, and the fact that we’d both rather have our teeth pulled than forfeit a game.

He nodded once. “Yup.”

“Great,” I said, my heart sprinting up my chest.

“Great,” he said, hands slipping out of his pockets. Then back in.

For once, we were in agreement.

This was agreatdecision we’d just come to.

Everything was going to turn out justgreat.

17

Dear me/ journal/ god.

Today I ninja argued my way into getting Loch Ness to eat her broccoli so she wouldn’t die of scurvy and I wouldn’t be assigned cleanup duty.

She’s so stubborn.

I can’t believe I’m going to have to do her math homework every week for the rest of my life just so she won’t lose her teeth. She’s really vain. If she lost even one tooth I would never hear the end of it and I swear she would find a way to blame it on me.

I ranthe comb through my damp hair again before whipping my head forward and back to give it volume. Not the most efficientway to do it, but I couldn’t ruffle the roots without aggravating the cuts on my palms.

Yes, he may have had a point about the gauze.

No, I wasn’t going to admit it to him now.

My heart was squirming, skipping, fluttering restlessly as I continued to fuss with myself. First my hair, then my makeup, then the massive sleeves of Dominic’s borrowed sweater—rolling them up, tugging them down. One up, one down. Rolling inward. Rolling outward. Fussing and fussing and continuing to fuss until I’d been in his en suite long enough to draw suspicion.

It was surprising that he hadn’t checked on me. Maybe he’d realized how fucked-up things could potentially get and was hoping I’d climbed out of the window.

I closed my purse, eyeing said window again, tempted. The wind had picked up enough to sway tree trunks and bend their branches, spitting rain against the glass like plastic pellets. And just as my mind started to delude itself into believing that it would be worth it and that tying a bunch of towels together wouldn’t immediately lead to a broken neck, the entire sky flashed a blinding white.

BOOM.

I jumped, gripping the counter behind me as the bathroom lights flickered.