Page 5

I roll my eyes and sit up just enough to take another sip of courage. “I liked your jacket, so I took it. The end.”

He laughs under his breath and rolls toward me. “You took my jacket because you liked it? It had my name on it. My patches. What did you like about that?”

That it smelled like you. That when I pulled it on, it felt like a big warm hug. That when I was masturbating, I could almost feel your arms around me.

“I don’t know, it was warm. It was a good jacket.”

He tilts his head to the side and narrows his brows. “This is a truth bet. You’re not telling the whole truth. Why did you take my jacket?”

I draw in a deep breath and let it out slowly, wondering what it would mean to tell him the truth. What the words would sound like slipping from my lips. What reality would be if he knew I wanted to be with him.

I’m pretty sure it would be awful. My brother would lose a best friend, and I’d give Duke a reason to hate me, and that’s not the way this dynamic words. I hate him… and I imagine that he feels bad for being a fuck up. It’s our thing, and it can’t be reversed.

“Come on.” Hank grins, lifting his hand with a menacing smile as though he’s going to do something awful. “If you don’t play by the rules, you have to take the punishment.”

“Punishment? No, now you’re making up new rules.”

“No, those are the standing rules. Everyone knows that.” His hand stretches closer toward my ribs.

“What’s the punishment?”

“Tickles,” he groans, leaning up from the bed. “Everyone knows the punishment is tickles.”

“Tickles?” I question as seriously as possible. “Are we twelve? Why isn’t the punishment a twenty-dollar bill or a bunch of weird demands? Maybe you should make me clean this room.”

He narrows his gaze. “Oh, please. This room is clean.”

“Clean-ish.” I smile.

He draws his hand back with a grin. “The punishment should be that you have to tell me one truth on top of the jacket story. Your loss and my win all combined into one. I’ll take a twenty too, if you have it.”

I huff out a laugh that I’m tamping down and roll my eyes, taking another swig of beer. The bottle is almost gone now, and I’m buzzed. I’ve never finished a beer in my life. I see why people like it—not so much the taste, but how loose you feel after drinking it.

I’m not drunk. I’m just… relaxed. “I’m not sure which is worse. Tickles or the truth.”

“I’m pretty sure tickles are off the table now. You made a good point about the money and the truth. I’d much rather know your deepest darkest secrets. It’s your birthday so I’m cutting you a deal.”

I laugh and roll onto my stomach, safeguarding my ribs from a surprise attack.

“ A deal? No, I need to know your deepest darkest secrets before you can know mine.” Cards stick to my stomach as I roll into place.

I’m close enough that his arm brushes against mine unintentionally, sending a shock to my clit.

“Okay,” he relents. “Tell me why you took the jacket, and we’ll see.”

“We’ll see?”

“We’ll see. I want to see how honest you can be.”

I close my eyes and open them slowly. “I took your jacket because I couldn’t stop thinking about you.” The words come out soft and clear, my gaze locked with his.

“What?” He’s saying what, but I get the feeling he already knows the answer.

“Yeah, I couldn’t stop thinking about you. You were this big, strong, older man, and you had the answers to everything. It was a phase… and it passed. So, yeah, I took your jacket.”

“It passed?”

“Yeah. It passed,” I lie. “You know how crushes work. A harmless little infatuation that passed really quickly, but your jacket was an unexpected casualty. I’m sorry.” My heart hammers in my chest as I talk.

“What did you do with it?”

“Huh?” Why won’t he stop talking?

“Well, that’s part of the question, right? I need the whole thing. Why did you take it?”

“Because it reminded me of you… and I wanted to be reminded of you. It was stupid, and I was young. I already said this.”

“Yeah, but you didn’t tell me what you did with the jacket. Surely you didn’t take it to hang it in your closet. I never saw you wearing it.”

“I did. I wore it… at home.”

He narrows his gaze. “Okay. Just to be clear, you took my jacket to wear at home because you had a little crush, but that’s over now?”

“Yeah.” I shrug and roll back onto my back. Cards stick to my thighs, but I ignore them. “So, there ya go. Should we play another hand? This time, I’m betting money. Not—”

“No way. You still owe me a random truth, or you take the tickles. There’s no way around it.”

“The truth about what? I held up my side of the bet. I told you what I did with the jacket.”

“Yeah, and now you’re taking advantage.”

“I’m not saying jack shit until you tell me something about you first, like what happened to that girl you were seeing in Texas. I thought you guys were getting close?”

He shakes his head and lays next to me, resting his head in his inked-up hand. “You know how it goes. Women are all the same.”

“Are we now?”

He rolls his eyes to the side and smiles. “I guess you’re not all the same, but that one was demanding. She was ready to move herself in two weeks after we met.”

“She was gorgeous. Maybe you should’ve let her.”

“She wasn’t really my type.”

“If she isn’t your type, who is?”

He scrubs his hand against the back of his neck and looks away. “There’s this one girl that I can’t get out of my head.”

My heart falls to the ground with a thud so heavy I’m pretty sure Ghost can hear it in the next room. “Who is she?”

“It doesn’t matter. Could never make it work, anyway.” He sits up and straightens his T-shirt. “Enough about me. You lost, and somehow you’ve lost with penalty, so… you have another truth coming at you.”

My brows narrow at the ridiculous thought process. “I’m not sure that’s how this works. I need to hear more about this girl that’s stuck in your head. Is she hot? What does she do? Why can’t you have her?”

I’m gutted by the fact that he looks at other women or has thoughts about anyone other than me. Gutted! That said, there’s a sick, depraved part of me that needs to know who this woman is. Probably so I can compare myself to her for the rest of eternity. I mean, that’s the next logical step, right?

“I told you nothing can come of it, so it doesn't matter.”

“So, what harm does it do to tell me? I want to know. Does she still live in Texas? Is she a criminal too? You two have a lot in common? Is she Catwoman to your Batman? I think that could work.” I’m joking about the feelings they have, but in reality, I don’t think I can handle this.

I should stop asking. I don’t want to know that he’s into some tight waisted woman with agile jumping skills.

That might be more torture than my heart can handle.

“Nope. I told you something about myself. Now it’s your turn.”

“You told me a half a truth. That doesn’t count.”

“It counts.” He exhales slowly and rolls onto his back, staring up at the ceiling. Our arms touch and brush against one another. He’s there for a solid minute before he rolls back again, his gaze on mine, studying me as though he’s about to make a human lie detector out of himself.

“What are you doing?” I laugh, still buzzed from the beer. “You know I’m not one of your kills, right? You can’t look straight through me for answers like you do those guys.”

His expression remains unreadable. No smile or flicker of emotion. He just stares, searching me for an answer. “Are you really over me?”

“What?”

“The crush. Have you really gotten over me? You can’t lie. I can tell if you’re lying.”

“How can you tell that I’m lying?”

“Easy. When people lie, they either stop moving their eyes completely, or they move them more to overcompensate for trying to look natural. That, and there’s a slight change in their tone of voice, which you’re already exhibiting.”

“I’m drunk.”

“And you’re also uncomfortable.” His giant hand lands on the top of my head. “Do I make you uncomfortable?”

“No. You’re a douche. You’ve always been a douche.”

He grins. “Not true. Your voice says your uncomfortable.”

“And yours says you’re a douche,” I say again, enjoying the weight of his body against my frame.

“It’s no big deal. You don’t have to tell me. I’ll gladly tickle you. I’m guessing you’re most ticklish on the back of the neck and the ribs. Am I right?”

I do hate to be tickled, though I wouldn’t mind his big body all over me as I squirm beneath his touch.

“I’m getting desperately close to choosing tickles.”

“Is that your final decision?”

I drag in a deep breath and let it out slowly, staring up into his dark brown eyes.

He’s hovered over me, and though we’re not feeling the same things, I can’t help but feel a sexual charge between us.

Unfortunately, there isn’t one, not in reality.

Clearly, he’s into some other woman. A Catwoman.

A sexy, little bitch with a lean, agile body and red lipstick.

I’m none of those things. Not even one. In fact, I’m sure I’ve just embarrassed the hell out of my sober self by telling the jacket story.

“Tickle me,” I finally say, realizing in the moment that a desire not to answer his question about us is in fact an omission of guilt, but I realize it too late.

His hands are already on my frame. He’s already rolling me back and forth, I’m already giggling like a crazy person, and we’re already touching… everywhere.

His big, rough, inked-up hands tickle my ribs, my stomach, the back of my neck, and my thighs as I roll back and forth, hysterically laughing like a hyena.

It’s not a good look, I’m sure. My stomach is all squished up, I’m sure I’ve got ten chins, and the laugh is anything but cute and adorable, but I don’t care.

For a second, his heavy weight is on my body, and the more he presses, the more I love it.

I lift up and run my hands over his hard body, tickling him beneath his arms.

Jesus, he’s firm. These biceps are crazy. I mean, I’ve looked at him, but I’ve never touched him like this before. It’s just as great as I thought it would be.

He laughs, though it’s not as gregarious as mine. A second later, I feel a poke. A distinct, hard poke that drives into the side of my stomach.

Oh, God. Is he hard?

He’s hard.

My eyes widen and I wonder for a second if maybe I’m dreaming. The slight haze, the touching, the laughing, the fact that Hank is at the center of it all. The vibe is screaming ‘dream.’ Then again, maybe it’s the alcohol. Maybe one beer gets me more drunk than I thought.

My brother’s big, hot, best friend is sitting over me, touching me, and he’s erect.

This is definitely a dream, right?

When he realizes what’s happening, he stops tickling me and pulls away. “Fuck! Sorry! Jesus Christ!” I can’t gauge what his reaction means. There’s too much going on. All the blood has drained to my thighs and they’re aching for relief.

The room is quiet, and I can’t think of anything good to say, but I’m pretty sure my eyes are saying something. They must be because he stares back at me. He stares back at me so hard that my entire body erupts with pure, hot, glorious fire.

Then all at once, without another word, he grabs me, pulls me close, and presses his lips against mine.