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“Oh, I can handle this. I promise you.” His eyes flit to mine at the last second and his lip ticks up to form a dimple. “Why don’t we play a little game.”
My gaze narrows on him, and for some reason, I study his lips as I consider his proposition. His smirk is a little cunning, but that’s also what seems to cut to my core. I think it’s what I’m attracted to most.
“Like what? Monopoly?” I set my beer down on the table and match his scheming expression.
“Truth or Dare, Laney.”
“Dare,” I answer instantly. Truth is a far more vulnerable choice. Always. Only fools choose dare.
“I dare you to unbutton that night shirt right here, right now.” My mouth buzzes with nervous energy, but I stand from my chair and bring my trembling fingers to the top button, and push it through the hole. My nipples harden against the cotton as I work my way down the center of my chest until the sides of my shirt hang open, held in place by luck and the natural curves of my breasts.
“My turn,” I say, letting my hands rest at my sides so Cutter isn’t just being taunted by my nearly exposed tits but by the white lace front of my panties too.
Cutter shifts in his seat, clearly affected by seeing more of me than before. Standing in front of him like this, exposed and just out of reach, is sending a current through my body and I’m practically buzzing in anticipation.
“Truth,” Cutter says, and I blink a few times, surprised that he’s playing this way. My eyes dim, and I study his face, the slight curl at the edges of his tight-lipped mouth, the sharp line of his jaw, and days’ old stubble. There are so many ways I could go with this question, but also, there’s an opportunity I have never had before. Not that he will play fair and be honest. But I think I’ll be able to read him.
“Okay, Cutter McCreary.” I step toward him to put him on edge and perhaps a little to make him regret not choosing dare.
I bend down, resting one palm on the table and the other on the back of his chair, letting my shirt open up enough that I feel the hard peaks of my breasts peer out from the edge of the fabric. Cutter’s tongue passes over his bottom lip as he adjusts himself.Should have picked dare.
My lips part and I’m about to ask him point-blank if he supported the locker room takeover when my brain suddenly flips a switch and forces me to change gears.
“Why did you hit on me freshman year?”
Cutter’s eyes widen and his body makes the tiniest flinch as he swallows. Yeah, I wasn’t expecting that to be my question either. But now that I’ve said it, I realize that it’s the thing that’s always truly bothered me. Why was he so persistent? Why was he so drunk? Why did he pick me out of the hundreds of girls who came in and out of the frat house that night? And at the root—was it part of another bet, the one I know all of the freshmen male athletes are pushed to accept? It’s a not-so-secret tradition at Tiff that the freshmen are all given a target, and if they close the deal with the girl the upper-classmen choose, they’re given special status at parties and let out of having to buy kegs and rounds for the year. I went to enough parties to know that Cutter was almost always buying, hauling, and cleaning up.
“Why do you think?” He sits up and slides his hands over mine, so I pull my hands away and stand tall.
“That’s not how this game is played. If you’re going to cheat, I get to give you two dares.” The thought of daring him to take my nipple in his mouth right now is awfully inviting, but my insides are conflicted now that he’s being evasive. More than ever, I want to know.
“You know why, Laney.” He blinks slowly, his heated gaze glued to mine.
“And you lost.” I wait for him to react to my assumption, and it takes him a few seconds before he finally leans back in his seat again and breathes out a heavy sigh.
“You could say that. Though, it’s my own fault really.”
I tilt my head slightly.
“How’s that?”
A soft, seductive chuckle parts his lips as his gaze dips toward my navel then trails slowly back up my body to my face.
“I was supposed to hit on Ivy, but she just didn’t do it for me. I wanted a challenge.” His brow lifts a hint, and a rush of heat dives down my body and pools between my legs.
“And you failed,” I respond, suddenly prouder of myself for turning him down three years ago. I was admittedly a lot stronger at resisting him then. Or maybe I’m old enough to get the rules now and to make games of my own.
“I not only failed. I went down in flames, in front of everyone. ‘The worst rejection in Tiff history,’ I believe one of the hockey captains said that year.” He chuckles and I lift my chin, a bit proud of helping him to earn that title.
My memory of that night is incredibly vivid. I’d just been stood up by my dad who was supposed to be at the parent orientation dinner for my first year. My mom didn’t bother coming for fear of running into my dad. Ivy was my roommate by chance, and we clicked right away. She dragged me to the party, and the minute she saw Cutter walking my way with two drinks in his hand she told me to cheer myself up with a “hot jock.” In that instant, I decided to cheer myself up by shooting one down, repeatedly.
“Do you regret it?” I ask.
Cutter quivers with a quick smirk then shakes his head.
“You asked your question. That’s all you get, Price. My turn.” His lip sneers in satisfaction, and though my gut knots with a touch of uncertainty, something tells me this whole situation we’re in now is his big re-do. And this time, I plan on taking Ivy’s advice and making myself feel better with a hot jock.
“Fine. I choosedare,” I say, resting one palm on the table and leaning my weight into it to force myself to relax despite the constant vibrations thrumming through me.
