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They all bemoaned my simple response.
“You do better than that,” Julie prompted, leaning towards me with expectancy.
“I answered the question, someone else can go, I need to use the restroom.” I began to stand, and she gave me a look I couldn’t quite read.
“Before you come back, I dare you to get a kiss from him.”
Victoria placed her head in her hands and slowly shook it back and forth, her long braids tickling the top of her thighs.
What the hell? “Isn’t that a little, I don’t know, childish? A kiss on the lips?”
Julie shrugged. “It would piss my sister off. She’s been bragging about him for months.”
My brow pinched.
“Julie,” Victoria warned.
“Emily Meadows,” Julie answered, ignoring her.
Well, that was interesting. They didn’t have the same last name so I’d never pieced the connection together, but now I could totally see their resemblance.
“I’m going to the restroom,” I reiterated, snatching my cell phone from the back of the couch on my way out of the room.
“I dare you,” she drunkenly sang after me, her voice taking on an annoyingly high pitch.
Wandering out of the family room, my eyes roamed over the photos in the foyer, and I paused to look at a family portrait.
Darionne had a theory that all the Morettos outside of Constantine and Justin were adopted.
It was obvious there was something like that going on. Vicky was clearly black. Constantine and Justin were something else, and the small child their mother, who was stunning by the way, was holding in the portrait looked white as cream. I wasn’t a medical genius or anything, but science would say that wasn’t how genetics worked.
I walked towards the staircase, slowing outside a glass door that led to some kind of indoor garden.
It wasn’t overly large but by looking at it I could tell someone took great care to make sure the plants and flowers were healthy.
There were more roses than anything, eleven different variations of them each in a beautiful stone planter.
I wasn’t sure how long I stood and stared at them, my mind wandering in circles.
When Laughter spilled from the family room, I finally moved away from the door and walked up the steps a few feet away. Music spilled down the long hall from behind Constantine’s door. I knew exactly which room was his without being guided based on how the house was set up.
With every step I took toward his bedroom, my heart beat a little faster. I wasn’t sure how good of an idea this was, but I had lied about needing to use the bathroom and I wasn’t ready to go back into that room with a half-drunken girl.
I slowly raised my fist to knock and then dropped it back down to my side again. My stomach was doing handstands.
Was I really doing this?
I hadn’t seen him once since being here tonight.
Before I could think about the ramifications my actions could cause—or force myself to care—the large white door swung open, and I took a step back.
Con’s masculine, woodsy scent, and the aroma of a candle he had lit filtered out of the room and straight into my lungs. I had to blink a few times to make sure I was seeing him right. He wasn’t wearing anything but a pair of grey sweats that sat low on his hips.
Holy fuck.
I stared at the sharp V and the toned cuts on his abdomen, taking in every solid bump and line of his abs. I’d only ever seen him shirtless from a distance.
“Jesus,” I muttered, my eyes flying to meet his.
“Not quite,” he teased with a boyish grin.
Unsure of what to do with my hands, I crossed my arms over my chest. His eyes left my face and slowly traveled over my body.
I was all too aware of my silk pajama shorts and a white tank top that showed my lacy bra underneath.
“I got a dare,” I explained for lack of better reasoning why I’d been hovering in front of his door.
“Come here.” He held out his hand. I placed mine within it and let him pull me forward.
His bedroom was much bigger than mine—and impressively clean and organized. There was a king-sized bed made up of black and red. A painting of two bleeding roses entwined in a thorned infinity symbol was framed above the arched headboard. A futon sat against a black accent wall, a long oblong shelf of football trophies above it.
His TV was mounted to my immediate left above a dresser. A black desk was in the rear corner.
His laptop was there, streaming music to the light-up sound bar that flashed through a rainbow of colors as music played.
Letting go of his hand, I walked further into the room and sat down in his desk chair.
Ignoring his laptop and cell phone, I spun the chair and looked towards a window that faced the front of the house. He had a clear view right into my bedroom.
