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“Gerald McCoy’s an egotistical bastard.”
“You didn’t answer the question.”
“I don’t believe shit my father says.” Battle drinks, his stare concentrated on my lips. “This game’s about gettin’ to know each other. How ‘bout we skip the questions about my fucked-up family.”
I pick up the dice, feeling thoroughly dismissed. Battle’s father is a subject I’ll definitely be shying away from. When I win again, I decide to move on to the night we met. “Why were you such an ass at the bar the night we met?”
The bottle of Jack leaves his lips as he chokes. He sets it on the ground at his side, and says, “You get right to point. The truth, huh?”
“No time to waste.” I wink.
“The moment I saw you, I wanted to fuck you.”
It’s an honest answer, but slightly shocking. Most guys use charm to get a girl into bed. I laugh. “You should really work on your approach.”
“Why?” he deadpans. “It worked.”
I open my mouth to argue, but what is there to debate? I slept with him.
“Is that always your approach?” I ask, slightly annoyed that I fell into his trap.
His eyes focus on mine. “I don’t recall doin’ the approachin’, sweetheart.”
Oh. I smile on the inside, my cheeks burning as I remember introducing myself to him.
“When you smiled at me in the stands, all I saw was your innocence. I didn’t wanna take it.”
This is more truth than I expected to get, and I ask another question. “Why did ya then?”
He smirks. “That’s a different question, and it’s my roll.”
I win again and ask, “Why did you sleep with me?”
He sighs, lifting the bottle of Jack from the ground. “Because I’m selfish,” he says, and chugs a few swallows from the bottle. He sets it down and continues, “And I regret it.”
“Why?” I ask, feeling terribly confused, and hurt.
“Your roll,” he says, his expression flat.
I’m irritated with his dropping a bomb like that without elaboration. I roll the dice bluntly displaying my annoyance. After he loses, again, he laughs, pointing at our friends. “Are you sure you don’t want to play dice with the group? I think you’d win.”
“Nice try, McCoy,” I say, staring him down. “Why do you regret sleeping with me?”
His chest sinks with a deep sigh. “Faye, if I’d known then that I wanted the middle with you, I would’ve waited. I wouldn’t have taken a driv
e with you. I would’ve saved that night and made it special.”
More truth I didn’t expect. It comes with a softer side of Battle McCoy, which delights me, but I don’t want him to regret anything. “If you’d waited, you might not have figured out you wanted the middle. And, Battle, that night was special. Please don’t regret it. You didn’t take anything I wasn’t willin’ to give you.”
“Oh…I know you were willin’. I could see how much you wanted me in those purdy green eyes.”
I smack him hard in the chest and try not wince at my stinging hand. “You’re incorrigible,” I say, handing him the dice. “Roll.”
He wins. His eyebrows knit together. He takes a moment before he asks, “Are you still in love with that dipshit from the restaurant?”
I blanch. Now he’s getting right to it. His question comes with a hint of jealousy, which takes me by surprise. Battle clearly has questions, too. This is one I’ve already asked myself. The night Wyatt attacked me gave me the clarity I needed to find the answer. I look right at him and answer, “No.”
A devilish and sexy grin forms on his lips. “Good. I don’t like sharin’.”
