Page 24 of Fallen Crown

“As opposed to just being a prick?” She leans against the climbing wall, keeping her distance.

“Want to play Truth and Tequila with me?” I ask.

“Probably not. What does it entail?”

“We ask each other questions. Impossibly hard questions.”

“Like why did a prince want to join an adventure race team?” She stares at me for a beat. “Is this the part where you drink?”

I open the bottle and sit up to take a swig. With the bottle cradled in my hands, I say, “Your turn. Why do you hate me?”

“Hate is a very strong word. One I don’t use lightly. I don’t hate you.”

“You gotta drink. That’s a nonanswer.” I hold the bottle out toward her.

“I don’t like cheaters,” she says.

“You ain’t cheatin’, you ain’t tryin’.” I wink at her.

She recrosses her arms and lets out a frustrated huff. “I don’t mean cheating at trivial things. I mean in relationships.”

Pretty rich coming from a family where her father is a notorious philanderer. I wouldn’t be at all surprised if Jonathan Tucker has spread his seed much farther than his five children with Celia. “Daddy issues, huh? I got those too.”

We’re both quiet for a minute, and then her implication actually clicks in. “You think I cheated on someone? I’d have to be exclusive with someone to cheat on them, and maybe you don’t know this, but that doesn’t happen with me.”

“High school,” she says as though that’s enough of a clue.

“High school or not, I’ve never cheated on anyone.” I shrug and take another swig from the bottle.

“Presley Cook,” she says. “I heard all about it.”

“That should be your first clue. Unless you’re the one it happened to, you don’t know what the hell you’re talking about. Yeah, I dated Pres for about five minutes in high school. Longest five minute of my life, which is why I don’t do that anymore.” Presley was my girlfriend for most of high school, but the other part is true enough.

“You cheated on her, and she broke up with you.”

“That’s some grade A bullshit.” I gesture toward her with my bottle. “You should have to drink for even letting that lie come out of your mouth.”

“I was at that party. I saw her. I heard her telling everyone, and I was in a car home with her later.”

For Tucker to build her entire estimation of my character on a lie from ten years ago is something else. The temptation to not even defend myself is pretty strong. What the fuck do I care what she believes?

But it’s not like this conversation is a one-off. We’re going to be spending a lot of time together, and maybe setting her straight might make her reconsider her other opinions on me too. At the very least, this confrontation is a nice distraction from other wounds I’d rather not be prodding.

“If she said that,” I say, “and if I ever heard that rumor, I was too proud to admit the truth.” I stroke the label on the tequila bottle. My old friend. “Pres was my first everything, and it wasn’t me who cheated.”

Concern and confusion mingle in Tucker’s expression. She seems to be searching her memory for something. “But I saw you leave that party with Felicity. Presley was Caitlin’s friend, and she cried all the way home about how you’d slept with Felicity at the party and then broke up with her.”

“Right events. Wrong order. I was a vindictive prick. Your veiled comment earlier might have been on the nose.” I touch a finger to the side of my nose before taking another drink. “Sure you don’t want some?”

“Not a fan of tequila,” she says.

“Should have known.” I swirl the bottle before tipping it back again.

“You broke up with her and then slept with someone else the same night.”

I assess how much tequila I have left, and I don’t answer her nonquestion. Her voice was flat with disapproval, and I already admitted my shitty behavior once. Pres messed with the bull, and she got the horns. Or rather, Felicity got my horn.

“You’re proud of yourself,” she says with a scoff.