by Ruby Dixon
“Which is the perfect party opportunity,” Epic says as he puts the tequila back on the table. “Shame you didn’t use it. That’s all right. We’ll find you something girly to drink. How do you feel about Jäger?”
“I don’t know?”
“Try the butterscotch rum,” Locke directs him from his spot across the room. He’s back to staring out the window, though I saw a hint of a smile earlier. He seems a little lost sometimes, and I know how that feels. I’m a lot like him, I think. And Epic? Well, Epic’s just Epic—endlessly brash and running his mouth.
“This shit’s kind of girly,” Epic’s saying right now, as if to prove my point. He opens the small, dark bottle and pours some of the contents into a red cup, then hands it to me. “Might be a little too sweet for you, but we can mix it with something else if you like it. We’ve got a ton of shit here, so we’re bound to hit on something you like.”
I hold the cup and sniff the contents, and it does smell sweet. Like frosting. I take a hesitant sip, and…decide it’s not bad. It’s definitely sugary, a bit like melted alcoholic candy. But it’s much better than the other stuff. I take another sip. “I like it.”
“Good. So we’ve got you settled. What are you drinking tonight, hombre?” Epic looks over at Locke. “You’re usually a bourbon man, but I don’t see that here. Gin? Vodka? I can probably ask for some—”
Locke raises a hand and shakes his head. “Nah. I’m out.”
Epic shoots me an unhappy look before glancing over at his partner. “What do you mean, you’re out? We need to have a little party, get to know each other. Hang with Becka. So we’re all not strangers anymore when we cuddle up on that bed.”
I take another drink, surprised at his words. Is that what this is? Plying me with alcohol so I loosen up? “I’m not sleeping with either of you.”
“Fucking, no. Sleeping?” Epic points at the bed. “I know you need your space, but that’s the only bed and we’re gonna get tired, too. Besides, just think of how safe it’ll be with you squeezed between two gun-toting bikers.”
“Mmm.” I’m not sure I like that idea. I do, however, like the butterscotch rum and the warm feeling it’s sending through my body. I take another sip and start wandering around the room.
“Seriously, man, you’re not drinking at all?” Epic says, moving over to Locke. He offers the man a cup, but Locke declines.
“Someone has to stay alert.”
“I’m not getting sloppy,” Epic says. “I’m just having a sip or two.”
“You go ahead,” Locke declines with a gesture at his seat. He’s next to the window and facing the door, his gun nearby. “I got this covered.”
Truth be told, I’m a little disappointed he won’t join in a bit of drinking. If it’s just me and Epic, it feels…dangerously like flirting. And, okay, if he joined in, it’d feel like flirting then, too. But maybe with two people to focus my attention on, it’d feel less like a commitment than just flirting with one guy.
Three people flirting together can’t go anywhere…can it?
And for some reason, I really like the idea of the three of us relaxing together. So I take another sip from my half-full cup and then move to Locke’s side and offer it to him.
He arches an eyebrow at me, surprised.
“That’s not enough to get you drunk, is it?” I ask. He’s a pretty big guy. “If it is, I can make you a smaller cup.”
Locke’s eyes narrow, but as I watch, a slow smile curves his mouth. He takes the cup from me, gives me a challenging look, and then turns it. I try to figure out what he’s doing until I see he’s turning the side of the cup and putting his mouth on the side tinged with traces of alcohol from where I sipped it.
And he watches me as he drinks.
That feels like a challenge…or a dare. My skin prickles with awareness. I don’t smile or say anything. I just watch, and then when he puts the cup down next to his gun on the windowsill, I move back to the alcohol spread on the little table and contemplate my next drink. Epic’s busy sloshing a ton of different things into his cup, and the results look dark and potent.
“What’ll it be, Becks?” Epic looks over at me. “Rum? Something harder? More tequila?”
Maybe it’s the alcohol I drank, or maybe it’s the fact that there’s this weird tingly tension in the room, or maybe it’s the fact that the knot of fear that seems to have been living permanently in my shoulders is starting to unravel. Whatever it is, I’m starting to feel a little bolder. So I reach over and pluck his cup from the table and claim it as my own. “This one will do.”
“You wanna taste it first?” He smirks at me. “I don’t drink any of that cheerleader shit.”
Cheerleader, huh? I take a big swig of his drink—and nearly choke. My eyes and nostrils burn, and I manage to cough the mouthful down while Epic laughs and thumps me on the back. It’s rough going down, but the moment it’s in my belly, a smooth warmth flows through me. Oooh. I give him a thumbs up and take another sip.
“Go slow,” Locke warns, not getting up. “Because if you puke, you’re cleaning it up.”
I nod and pace myself, changing to tiny sips. I move across the room, then end up sitting back on the edge of the bed anyhow, crossing my legs under me to get comfortable. Epic finishes pouring himself another drink and then thumps down on the pink-and-white loveseat.
And then it’s all quiet again.
Crap. I really, really don’t like the quiet. I like the banter between these two. I like teasing them. Heck, I even like it when Locke chides me or Epic gives me shit. I just don’t like the silence. “You guys wanna play a game?”
“Like a drinking game?” Epic’s brows go up. “Or like truth or dare?”
Oooh, now we’re talking. “I vote truth or dare.” A naughty rush flows through my veins…of course, that might just be alcohol. Doesn’t matter. Things just got interesting.
“All right then, I’ll go first,” Epic declares.
“Why do you get to go first?”
“Because I’m awesome,” he says, as if that explains it all. “And because I called it. So, Becks, truth or dare?”
“Truth.”
“You’re no fun.”
“That’s true. My turn now,” I say impishly.
“Hey, wait. That wasn’t a question!”
Well, if you get technical, I guess it wasn’t. I shrug and take another sip of my drink. “Okay. Truth. Again.”
Epic studies me for a long moment, as if contemplating what he should ask. “How old are you?”
What, that’s all I get? Nothing filthy or scandalous? I’m disappointed. “I’m twenty-one in about three weeks.”
He nods as if satisfied with my answer. “All right, then. Your turn.”
“Not yet.” I point at Locke. “If there’re three of us, we’ve all got to play. You’ve got to ask him the same questions you ask me.”
“Do I? Bossy thing.”
“Yes, you do.”
Locke just snorts with amusement.
“Well then, Locke, truth or dare?”
Locke shifts his feet and glances out the window before looking back at us. “Well, since it ain’t exactly a tough question, I’ll go with truth. I’m thirty-two.”
That sounds about right to me. A few years ago, I would have thought that was so old, but looking at Locke, he carries it well. He’s mature but not elderly. Just…strong and capable. Experienced.
Oh boy. I think the alcohol is making my imagination act up, because I’m getting all squirmy just thinking about that sort of thing. I change the subject. “My turn?”
“Sure,” Epic says. “Unless Locke wants to go next.”
“Nah,” Locke replies. “She can go.”
All right, my turn then. Do I keep things low key or do I turn them up a notch? I consider it, but in the end I chicken out. I’ll let them make the big moves, I think, and I’ll stay with the small stuff. “Truth or dare, Epic?”
He shrugs. “Dare.”
�
�Really?” I’m surprised he’s moving to that this quickly. Then again, I shouldn’t be surprised—Epic loves a challenge. Any challenge.
“Well, yeah. No sense in pussyfooting around this shit. Let’s get to the good stuff.”
I drum my fingers on the edge of my cup. I’m actually not all that prepared to come up with a good, exciting dare. I eye the bottles of alcohol on the table and then look back at Epic. “I dare you to drink a full cup of the butterscotch.”
Epic makes a face but jumps to his feet. “Done and done.” He grabs the bottle and starts pouring it into the cup, eyeing me. “That the best you got?”
“For now. I’m just getting warmed up.”
He grins. When the cup is so full that the liquid is practically sloshing over the lip, he picks it up, winks at me, and then proceeds to chug it.
I wrinkle my nose at the sight. “I’m getting drunk just looking at you.” I glance over at Locke and he’s grinning, amused at his partner.
Epic drains the cup, belches, and then wipes his mouth. “Fucking disgusting shit.”
“Are you drunk?” I ask, curious.
He shakes his head and thumps back into his seat. “Nah. Gonna take more than that to fell this beast.” And then he flexes, just in case I had any doubts. “This mean that Locke has to do a dare, too?”
“Locke gets to choose for himself,” Locke states in a dry voice. “Nice try, though.”
Epic just puts his feet up on the table, grinning. “Worth a shot, partner.”
“Truth or dare, Locke?” I ask.
“Truth.”
All right. “Real name?”
“Rafael.”
“Man, that is an easy question,” Epic complains. “You suck at this, Becks.”
“I’m just trying to get to know you guys,” I retort. “Sue me.”
“But now you don’t get to know my name,” Epic says. “Cuz all I’m gonna do are dares. Keep my secrets to myself.” He winks like this is some sort of prize he’s withholding.
“Oh please,” Locke says. “His first name’s Jefferson.”
The look that Epic shoots his partner is incredulous and irritated all at once, and I break into giggles at the sight.
“Guess it’s my turn now,” Locke continues and turns to his partner. “So, buddy. You holding on to that whole ‘nothing but dares’ concept?”
Epic’s chin goes up a notch. “Fuck yeah I am. Truth’s for pussies.”
“All right then. I dare you to lick the handle of your gun clean.”
“Dude, why not the barrel?”
“Because I don’t want you to shoot off your face? That and the handle’s where all the action is. Not enough sweaty gunge on the barrel.”
“Pfft. As if my gun’s been held by a sweaty hand, ever. I’m solid, buddy.” He takes his piece off a nearby table, contemplates it, and his mouth draws down into a frown. “You think I can catch shit from doing this?”
“One way to find out,” Locke drawls.
“Goddamn it. You’d better pick truth when it’s your fucking turn.” He braces himself, then drags his tongue down the handle of his gun.
And I can’t help but laugh again. This time, Locke’s laughing, too. It’s the expression on Epic’s face that makes this so funny as he tongues it over and over again.
“Cover every inch,” Locke coaches. “Get in there good and lick the chrome off.”
Epic shoots him the finger, gives the butt of it one last disgusted swipe, and then grabs his drink. He makes a face. “Tastes like sweaty palms and metal. I need to go brush my teeth.”
Locke just chuckles.
I take another sip of my drink, warm with laughter and alcohol. Epic brushes his teeth, bathroom door open, and I watch him as he does. I’m trying to forget that he had a really long tongue because I shouldn’t have found that nearly as fascinating as I did. My drunk brain just fixates on the weirdest things.
“Truth or dare, Rebecca?”
Locke’s quiet question draws me out of my reverie, and I jolt, feeling guilty somehow for watching Epic for so long…and thinking about his tongue the whole time. I feel my cheeks burning as I look over at Locke. Hearing my full name coming out of his mouth feels…weird. “You can call me Becka.” My friends do, and if we’re going to be living together for the next while, I’m hoping we’ll be friends.
“Fine. Truth or dare, Becka?”
“Make her lick something nasty,” Epic calls out.
“Truth,” I say immediately.
“You got a boyfriend at home? One that’s gonna be upset and we need to reassure somehow?”
I shake my head. Truth is, I have a very small circle of friends back at college and they’re all fellow chemistry nerds. I haven’t dated, and I’ve been so focused on keeping my scholarship that I haven’t given it much thought. Of course, I don’t know how my scholarship is going to work if I can’t go back to school in a few weeks. I…I’m not going to think about that. “No boyfriend.”
“My turn,” Epic calls out as he shuts the bathroom door behind him and heads back to his spot on the sofa. He sits and rubs his hands, looking gleeful. “Now that we’re getting to the good shit. Truth or dare, Becks.”
He’s watching me awful closely. “Truth?”
“You really a virgin?”
His words suck the air right out of me for a moment. “Geez! Dare!”
“Okay, I dare you to down your entire cup.”
I look down at it. It’s less than half full. “I can do that.”
“…After I fill it again.”
I squint at him. “Are you trying to get me drunk so I’ll answer your question?”
He just grins, like a naughty boy who’s been caught and doesn’t care. Hard to stay mad at someone like that. “Well then, fill me up, I guess.” I hold out my cup.
“Man, you’d rather chug all that alcohol than tell me if you’ve lost your cherry?” Epic takes the cup and puts it on the table, opening up a bottle.
“Maybe she just wants an excuse to drink,” Locke says. He turns to me. “If you puke tonight, puke on his side of the bed.”
I giggle again, because that’s funny. Actually, everything’s pretty funny right now. I feel good and warm and loose, and even the sting on the back of my neck isn’t so awful at the moment. Clearly alcohol is going to fix everything. I accept my refilled cup from Epic and start giggling again.
“What?” he asks. There’s a grin on his face.
“Jefferson. Like the president?”
“Jefferson was a badass president. Just like Benjamin Franklin,” he says. “Now drink up.”
And then I can’t stop snort-giggling because Benjamin Franklin? Really? He wasn’t a president. Not even close. Epic is clueless. And I just keep laughing and laughing.
“All right, silly girl, either you drink up or we end the game now.” The words are stern, but there’s a mock-affection in Epic’s voice that makes me feel good.
“I’m drinking, I’m drinking.” I obediently lift my cup to my mouth and take a big swig. It doesn’t taste as strong as before, so I’m able to put a lot of it away before I have to pause and press my fingers to my mouth. For a moment, everything seems like it’s not going down, and I have a worried flash that I am, indeed, going to puke everywhere. But then it settles and I burp and I’m able to keep going.
“Next time, take the truth option,” Locke murmurs.
I raise a middle finger and finish my drink as the two men laugh. By the time I put my cup down, I’m druuuuunk. Fuzzy drunk.
I also feel wonderful. All slippery and happy and spinny.
“Truth or dare?” I hear Epic ask Locke.
“Truth, I guess.”
“You miss your old ride partner?”
I peer over at Locke with interest. Was there a ride partner before Epic? I didn’t know this.
There’s a long, long pause that makes me wonder if this is a touchy subject. “Sometimes,” Locke says eventually. He leans back in the chair and gl
ances at the window again. “We rode together for about five years. Knew how the other worked. It was just easier a lot of the time. But his personality? Nah. Taco was an asshole. And a traitor.”
“You guys weren’t best friends?” Epic asks.
Locke just gives a slow shake of his head. “Nah. Seems like I didn’t even know the guy in the end.”
He looks so sad, and when I look over at Epic, he looks sad, too. Like there’s something wrong between them and they don’t know how to fix it. And suddenly, I want to fix it. “Truth or dare, Epic?”
“Dare, of course.”
“I dare you to let me make you a drink and then you have to chug the whole thing.”
He accepts the dare, and I make him a big, sloppy, horrible-looking cup of gross. It turns out that if you add creme liquers to tequila and vodka, it makes a gray, thick, nasty concoction that Epic calls a ‘cement mixer.’ He drinks it anyhow, and Locke takes truth again, and we continue on for a few more rounds. We discuss my major at college—chemistry. We discuss how the men got their road names—it seems that while a prospect, Locke watched a lot of the television show Lost and his buddies thought he was a lot like Locke in that he “was a badass that got shit done.” As for Epic? When he was a prospect, he used ‘epic’ as a superlative so much that the name stuck. They’re funny stories, and I’m enjoying hearing from each of the guys. They’re so much more interesting than me. I avoid dares and sip my cup to keep my drunken buzz going.
Epic’s drinking, I’m drinking, and we’re having a good time. Locke? Locke’s just hanging out by the window, watching over things.
“Truth or dare, Becks?” Epic calls out loudly when it’s my turn again.
“Truth!” I say happily.
“I wanna know if you’re attracted to me or Locke.” He wiggles his eyebrows at me. “Not like, for real for real. But like, if we hadn’t just rescued you from the stable and shit was different, would you ride with us?”
The room seems awful quiet. I glance over at Locke, and he’s gazing out the window, but I just know he’s listening in, curious what my answer will be.
“Dare,” I decide after that.
“Chicken,” Epic taunts me.
“Dare,” I repeat. “Come on, I’m ready to drink more.”
