Page 11 of Seein’ Red

I glare at him, shooting invisible daggers with my eyes, wishing I had real ones. Either that or duct tape to put on his mouth.

“Standard rules apply!” he declares. “Truth or dare…none of that double dare or promise to repeat crap. If you don’t want to answer your truth, then you have to do your dare. If you don’t want to do your dare, you have to answer your truth.”

“There is not enough alcohol in the world to make me answer your questions tonight, Nash.”

“I agree with Willa; can’t we just hang out?” Sylvie asks.

“You know how I feel about this game,” Bronwyn adds.

“Girls don’t want to play, dude,” his own twin tells him.

Nash doesn’t accept their pleas either. And here I thought he was being thoughtful by bringing me my favorite snack. Nope, just buttering me up since he planned on being his normal jackass self. I should have known better.

I look over to the couple of honor, hoping they’ll step in, but they’re too lost in each other to care. Looks like we’re stuck doing this.

“Heads is alphabetical, and tails is birthday, from there it’s your choice who’s next,” he continues, flipping his coin. “Tails! You’re up, Princess.”

Fuck, I hate that nickname. I hate it when we’re alone, and I hate it even more when he does it in public.

“Let me see that!”

I pop up like a gun went off, my chair toppling over behind me. Nash had bought a special two-tailed coin to help Dustin propose to Kenzie last spring, and I don’t put it past him to use it again now.

He hands it to me, that stupid fucking know-it-all smirk squarely on his face. I flip it over in my hands multiple times, each new flip confirming that it’s a regular quarter.

Damn it.

“Truth,” I grumble, fixing my chair and sitting.

“When was the last time you got laid?”

What?!

He cannot be fucking serious. There is no way I’m answering that. And he knows it.

For a second, I consider strangling him. Pretty sure every single person here would come to my defense and tell the authorities it was a justifiable homicide. He’s pulled shit like this before, and it’s always to get a rise out of me. Something I can’t let happen.

But as always, two can play this game.

“Dare then.”

“I dare you tell me the last time you got laid.”

Fucking fucker…

“Nash…Elijah…Keller…” I say through gritted teeth.

I swear on all things holy, if he lives to see the end of the night, it will be a miracle.

Sorry, Dustin, you might just be short a groomsman come tomorrow…

“Willa Mae Hayes,” he counters.

I can feel everyone else’s eyes on us, and that is not okay. We do not need to be the center of attention right now. Or frankly ever.

My brain whirrs, trying to figure out a solution. One that doesn’t require either lying or giving up way more information than I want. Either one of those options is going to lead to more questions than I want to answer. Ever.

But then I feel a cool tap to my arm. I swivel, looking to my left. Sylvie is leaning over, holding out a beer. I take it from her, laughing as I read the label. Sob Story from Southern Brothers Brewing. How appropriate, both the name of the beer and that it’s my brother’s brewery.