by T. K. Leigh
“And I am not…” Asher grabs the dice, watching as they roll across the surface of the table, “sucking his finger.”
Izzy sighs an exaggerated sigh, flopping back onto the couch beside Asher. “Men. This game is much more fun with only girls. They don’t care about this shit. We have no problem licking each other’s tongues.”
Both guys instantly snap their eyes to her. It’s so adorable that just the idea of two women making out gets their hormones running wild.
“But fine,” she continues, ignoring the way Asher adjusts his shorts. “How about this? Everyone gets one free pass. Of course, just say something you know at least one other person sitting here has already done and you won’t have to worry about spinning the bottle. Unless you want to…” She scoops up the dice and rolls, “blow on someone’s neck.” She looks around, lifting her bottle. “Are you all in?”
Lincoln flashes his eyes to me, a devilish glint in them. It is a bit juvenile and reminiscent of drinking games we played in college. But we’re in the city of sin. What fun is being here during a blackout if you can’t sin a little?
“Blackout Club,” I say.
“What?” She scrunches her brows.
“The first rule of Blackout Club…”
“You don’t talk about Blackout Club,” Asher and Lincoln finish in unison. Every man in their twenties and thirties knows a Fight Club reference when they hear one.
“Exactly.” I raise my beer, meeting Izzy’s eyes. “Like you said, this is a bubble. We’re all consenting adults… Single consenting adults. I’m in.”
“Me, too,” Asher says, lifting his own bottle.
We all shift our attention to Lincoln. He raises his beer and we all clink bottles, sealing the deal. “Let the games begin.”
Chapter Eight
An hour and two beers later, Asher confidently says, “Never have I ever gotten so drunk I had to be carried out of a bar.”
I glance around our little party, our circle of trust. Neither Lincoln nor I raise our beer to our mouths. I’ve carried more than my fair share of drunk people out of a bar, but I’ve never been carried out myself.
When I look at Izzy, she smirks, slowly bringing her bottle to her lips. Something about the smug expression on Asher’s face leads me to believe he was aware of this incident.
“Okay.” I place my lukewarm beer on the coffee table and lean across it to where she sits next to Asher. “There’s obviously a story here. I need to hear it.”
“Fine.” She takes another sip of her beer, then faces me. “It was Christmas break my junior year of college. I was spending it in Connecticut with my family. Jessie was in Massachusetts. I had planned to visit him, but decided to surprise him and go early.”
“Jessie? Your brother?” Lincoln asks, looking to Asher.
“Yes. They were, well… They were—”
“Engaged,” Izzy finishes. “Until that night.” A flicker of heartache passes across her expression before she recovers. “Their parents are snowbirds who flee the cold north for the south every winter. The guys usually went down to Florida for Christmas. Well, Jessie was getting back into town that day. Asher was already back, since he was a music teacher and school had resumed. Anyway, I told Asher my plan to surprise Jessie when he got home that day. I had this entire scenario in my head.
“At first, it all did go according to plan. Asher left me a key to Jessie’s place so I’d have enough time to freshen up after the two-hour drive. I even made him the lasagna he loved, thinking he was probably going to be hungry after traveling all day. When I heard the car pull into the driveway, I went into the dining room, taking a page from Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman. You know, when she surprised Edward wearing a tie…and that’s it. Sexy, right?” Her expression falls. “Until Jessie walked into the house and I could hear moans and giggles.”
“Oh, Iz,” I exhale, my hand covering my heart. I may not have the healthiest approach to relationships, but I’ve never cheated. I’ve never been anything but honest about what they were getting into with me — laidback, no strings, uncomplicated fun. Nothing more. Still, a pang squeezes my chest, thinking how Izzy must have felt at that moment.
“He tried to apologize, promise it was just a one-time thing, but in my heart, I knew that wasn’t the case, that it had probably been going on a lot longer, especially considering she was the one he ran to the second he landed in Boston, not me. So I stormed out of there. After getting dressed, of course,” she says, her voice lightening.
“I was a mess and not thinking clearly. I was so convinced he was the perfect man for me, although hindsight’s always twenty-twenty. As I tried to figure out what to do, I passed a bar.”
“Which just so happened to be where my band was performing that night,” Asher continues. “Around the time we finished our first set, I looked up to see her sitting at the bar, some punk putting his hands all over her. But she was too drunk to realize what was going on.”
“Not one of my finer moments.”
“I knew some kind of shit had to go down for her to be there when she was supposed to be with Jessie. So I hauled her out of there before something untoward happened. Canceled the rest of our gig that night, much to the displeasure of the bar’s owner, and took her to my place to sober up.”
“The next morning, as he helped me nurse one of the worst hangovers of all time, I told him what happened. To which he said—”
“You deserve to be with someone who looks at you every day as if they won the lottery.” He meets her gaze, a tender moment passing between them before Izzy quickly averts her eyes, clearing her throat.
“So that’s how I was carried out of a bar. Who’s next?” Her voice brightens, an obvious attempt to get the focus off her and Asher. “It’s your turn, isn’t it, Chloe?”
I stare at her, dozens of questions on the tip of my tongue. I want to know why she never told me about this, why she never mentioned Asher at all. Did they hook up that weekend, but she hid it because of how Jessie would react? Despite the heartache and pain he’d caused her, she’d still care about him. She probably still does. That’s the type of person she is.
Izzy narrows her gaze on me, wordlessly telling me not to press the topic. So I don’t. Not now. I don’t want to ruin the fun we’ve been having. And I do admit I’ve had a lot of fun. I suddenly have a new appreciation for game night.
“Okay then.” I adjust my posture. “Never have I ever given or received a lap dance.”
“Try again,” Izzy sings. “Already asked.”
“Crap. That’s right.”
I pull my lips between my teeth, trying to come up with something that hasn’t already been said and at least one person has done. This has proven to be the difficult part of the game, considering Izzy’s the only person I know well and I’m running out of risqué things I’m confident she’s done. Factor in the rule that you must say something before time is up, added after Asher took several minutes during one of his turns, and it’s a bit more stressful, yet exciting.
“Ten seconds, Chloe,” Lincoln taunts, waving his phone in front of me, displaying the countdown.
“Okay, okay.” I bounce on the seat, adrenaline filling me as I wrack my brain. Then I look back at Lincoln, the timer only showing two seconds, and say the first thing I think of. “Never have I ever gotten freaky in an elevator.”
My voice rings out as I bring my own beer bottle to my lips, taking a small sip. I expect someone to drink with me, indicating they’ve done it, but no one does.
“Remember, we’re in a bubble. Circle of trust. Blackout Club and all that. It’s okay if you have.” I shift my eyes around, everyone shaking their heads.
“Looks like you earned a penalty round.” Izzy pushes the bottle and dice my way, her lips kicking up into a sly grin.
So far, everyone else has done this at least once. The first time, Izzy had to touch Lincoln’s finger. We all laughed when they did a little E.T. finger touch with each other, Izzy fanning herself a
fterward, pretending to be all hot and bothered from the contact.
A few minutes later, Lincoln had to roll after he couldn’t come up with something in enough time. Lucky him. He had to blow on Asher’s chest. Things started to heat up a little when Asher had to bite Izzy’s ear. The instant his teeth clamped onto her lobe, her face flushed and lips parted as her eyes fluttered closed. She can insist they’re just friends all she wants. There’s more going on.
Doing my best to push down the nervous flutter in my stomach, I reach for the dice and toss them onto the coffee table. They teeter on their edges before falling over, landing on SUCK and TONGUE.
A chorus of “whoa” and a few whistles fill the night sky as I swallow hard.
“Looks like things are about to get very interesting,” Izzy comments.
“I suppose they are.” I grab the bottle and give it a spin. Now I know how contestants on The Price is Right must feel when they spin the wheel, trying to get as close to a dollar as they can without going over. The anticipation and tightening in their body as it nears that magical number, then the despair when it lands on a nickel. I wonder if Lincoln is my dollar, or if he’s simply a nickel and I should spin again.
The seconds seem to stretch as the bottle takes a few more turns around the circle, each journey getting slower and slower until it gradually bypasses Asher, then stops close to Lincoln, which causes Izzy to whistle.
With all the confidence I’ve found sexy since the beginning, he leans back, draping an arm along the back of the couch.
“You can use your pass if you want,” he says flirtatiously, raking his gaze over my body before zeroing in on my lips. “I’ll understand.”
“Rules are rules,” I reply in a throaty voice, batting my lashes. “Plus, I’d rather save my pass for when I have to suck on Izzy’s chest.”
Both men groan. I can’t help but laugh. What is it about two girls together that always seems to force men to revert to hormone-crazed teenagers?
“Please don’t,” Asher begs. “Use your pass if you have to touch her ear, but not that. Anything but that.”
“We’ll cross that bridge if we get to it. But for now…” Smiling a coy smile, I turn to Lincoln, crawling across the couch and into his lap, my legs straddling him. He stiffens beneath me, jaw clenching, eyes darkening as they remain focused on me. Inching my mouth toward his, I murmur, “I believe the dice have spoken.”
“I believe they have.”
“And that red flag that was being waved earlier?”
“It’s green, baby.” He brings his hand to my head, digging his fingers into my scalp. “Conditions are very favorable.”
“I can feel that.”
Slowly, I erase the last bit of distance between us, pressing my mouth to his. The kiss is soft and reverent at first, neither one of us pushing forward. I can’t, not yet, breathless from the sensation of this first touching of our lips, my body buzzing to life. If this is how I react from an innocent kiss, I shudder to think what will happen when he deepens it.
As if able to read my thoughts, a groan rips from Lincoln’s throat, his hold on me tightening as he yanks me harder into him. I gasp at the feel of him, how excited he is. He takes advantage of my open mouth and swipes his tongue against mine. Instant fireworks erupt in my stomach, the raw need making me kiss him with more urgency, more desperation, more unsatisfied hunger.
I grasp at him, subtly circling my hips to relieve some of the pressure building inside me. But I fear nothing will extinguish the match he lit at our first meeting, the spark he’s flamed with each subsequent encounter, so much so that the fire won’t be put out easily. Not anymore.
He brings his hands to my face, our fevered kiss turning into something sweeter, more ardent, more personal, offering me a different side of him. An unexpected side. He exhales, breathing into me. It’s such a strange thing, feeling another person’s air expand in your lungs, giving you life. I don’t even know this man, but that’s what he’s doing — making me feel alive.
He sensually caresses my tongue with his, heat curling down my spine as I try to remember the last time a kiss made me feel this. I don’t even know what this is. And for once, I don’t care. I’m just enjoying the moment before our bubble bursts.
Our motions slowing, I gradually pull back, still resting my lips on his. I don’t want to stop feeling them, tasting them, savoring them. Not yet. His kisses are the sweetest drug and I an addict, wanting to squeeze every last drop I can.
“Say you want more,” he whispers, his grip on my head keeping me from escaping his demand. I wouldn’t try to escape him even if I could.
“I want more.”
A smile slowly curves his mouth. “I want more, too. I want so much more.”
Chapter Nine
“Mmm…,” I moan, squirming in my seat. My breathing is labored as I run my hand down my chest and along my stomach. “That’s it. I’ve always wanted someone to blow on my finger.”
I stop moving, opening my eyes to Lincoln’s and Asher’s disappointed pouts, Izzy’s giggles echoing around us.
As the night wore on, it’s become increasingly difficult to come up with something original before time’s up, which has resulted in more throwing of the dice and spinning of the bottle. When Izzy spun and it landed on me, Asher’s and Lincoln’s eyes lit up like a kid running downstairs on Christmas morning. But when they looked to the dice and saw all she had to do was blow on my finger, both wore a similar expression, this time of a little kid who was told they’re about to go to Disneyland and end up at the dentist instead.
“What? Were you hoping for something hotter?” I smirk as Izzy returns to the couch, Asher draping his arm along her shoulders.
As things got more personal and heated, the sexual tension within our little bubble has become palpable. Where Izzy and Asher once kept some space between them, they’re now practically on top of each other. And Lincoln and I… Well, I’m desperate for another lap around the track. I get the feeling he is, too, considering last time I excused myself to use the bathroom, he waited for me in the hallway, where he proceeded to slam me against the wall, stealing another kiss. But when I attempted to drag him up to my room, he resisted, said we weren’t there yet. If nothing else, the man has incredible restraint. I imagine when we finally do make it to the bedroom, that restraint will make things even more mind-blowing.
“Honestly, yes,” Asher responds, tearing me out of my hormone-filled thoughts. “We’ve been waiting for one of you to spin the other and it hasn’t happened. When it finally does, all you have to do is blow on her finger? I feel short-changed.”
“Rules are rules,” Izzy sings. “We can’t just make out because you want us to, hornball.” She playfully jabs him in the stomach. “If you want to see girls make out, go watch a porno.”
He waggles his brows, giving her a mischievous smirk. “Want to join me?”
“Maybe later,” she murmurs seductively, inching even closer to his mouth. The raw need I see coming off Asher has me wanting them to kiss, too. I can only imagine the sparks that will fly when they finally do. “Too bad there’s no power. It’s your turn.”
She abruptly pulls back, leaving Asher momentarily bewildered, and grabs Lincoln’s cell from the table. Opening the timer, she hits START. “Go.”
Asher takes a beat to compose himself, then says, “Never have I ever taken a sexy selfie.”
“Nope!” Izzy responds, then imitates an annoying buzzer. “Already asked. Try again.”
Asher leans his head against the back of the couch. “Never have I ever slept with someone whose name I couldn’t remember the next morning.”
“Try again!” Izzy shouts once more. For being as buzzed as she is, she has an incredible ability to recall everything that’s been said. Then again, she’s always been ridiculously smart.
“Shit,” Asher mutters as he licks his lips, squeezing his eyes shut.
“Tick-tock,” Izzy teases.
“Never have I ever
…” He runs his hand through his hair as he struggles to come up with something.
“Five seconds,” Lincoln taunts.
“Never have I ever…,” Asher says again, but still nothing.
“Four. Three.”
“Never have I ever…,” he repeats once more.
We all join in with Lincoln’s countdown, shouting, “Two. One!”
Izzy grabs the bottle and thrusts it into his hand. “Spin it, baby!”
He groans in playful irritation as he places the bottle back onto the table. Taking the dice, he rolls as we all lean closer to see under the dim lighting of a few flickering candles and the firepit. When they land on KISS and LIPS, Izzy and I erupt into cheers and whistles.
“I’m so looking forward to watching you two make out,” I joke, jabbing Lincoln playfully in his side.
He wraps his arm around my shoulders. The heat of his breath against my neck makes my heart skip a beat. “I’d much rather make out with you again,” he murmurs in a barely audible growl that has me involuntarily squeezing my thighs together. “I’d much rather do a lot more than make out.”
“Like what?”
He leans closer. “Be a good girl and you’ll find out.”
I float my eyes to his, closing the gap between us, our breath intermingling. “Maybe I like being bad.”
“Is that so?”
I slowly nod, my lips hovering near his. “Oh, baby. You have no idea how bad I can really be.”
He shifts in his seat, a low groan escaping his throat, just as Izzy says, “Time to spin, Asher.”
Reminded we’re not alone, we tear away from each other, returning our attention to the game. At first, it thrilled me, the promise of what could happen. Now all I want is to go to my room and have a different kind of game night with Lincoln.
Asher grabs the bottle and gives it a spin. Every time it closes in on Lincoln, Izzy’s eyes brim with hope.
As it slows and inches toward me, Lincoln’s hold on me tightens. His reaction to the mere thought of me having to kiss Asher is endearing. Then again, I doubt it will be a problem. He’d use his pass, just like Izzy used hers when she was supposed to suck on Lincoln’s earlobe. I wouldn’t have minded. But we don’t exactly have the same history Izzy and Asher apparently have.
