Truth or Dare (Kingston Brothers Book 2)

by Isabel Lucero

  Oh Lord.

  “Yep,” Cill replies with his own laugh.

  “Good for her,” my dad chimes in.

  I burst into the kitchen and slam my purse on the counter. “All right, why are you guys already talking about me?”

  Cill smirks from behind the island in the kitchen, and I almost start salivating when I lay eyes on him.

  He’s changed it up just a bit by wearing a white, button up shirt. Nothing too fancy, but more dressed up than the usual T-shirt. His hair is slicked back, and his beard is trimmed nicely. As I study him, his tongue swipes across his bottom lip and all I can think about is sitting on his face.

  The top button of his shirt is undone, revealing the tattoos snaking up his neck. His hands are decorated as well, and I eye them as he drums his fingers across the counter. Fuck, he’s hot.

  “Oh, Cillian was just telling us a story,” Mom says, touching his shoulder.

  I give him another once over, noticing the dark jeans and nice shoes. My eyes travel back up to his gorgeously sculpted face to find him still grinning at me.

  “What story was that?” I ask my mom, finally looking away from him.

  “Well, when he came in, I made a comment about how big he is, and how he’d definitely be able to protect you.” Mom glances at Cillian again with a smile. Lord have mercy. “And then he told us you didn’t need protecting, and mentioned this story about some guy at the bar trying to touch you, so you kneed him in the...well, you know.”

  “Balls, honey,” my dad chimes in.

  “I’m not gonna say that,” my mom says, swiping her hand through the air.

  Mom likes to act like she’s really classy when other people are around, but when it’s just us she’s telling jokes about masturbation and whatnot.

  “Oh yeah. That’s not the only time I’ve done that either. Men need to know,” I say with a shrug.

  “Atta girl,” Dad says.

  “How long have you been here? I wasn’t that late,” I say, walking around to the fridge to grab the pitcher of lemonade I know is there.

  “Maybe ten minutes. I got here a little early. I was just gonna wait outside, but your mom heard me drive up and came out and waved me in.”

  Of course she did.

  “Any other stories you guys shared in my absence?” I question, looking around the room.

  “We’re saving those for later,” Mom teases. “Anyway, dinner’s about ready, so if you all want to head to the table, I’ll bring everything out.”

  “I’ll help you, Mrs. Halcomb,” Cill states.

  “Aww, well, that’s very nice. Thank you. You can take those dishes right there,” Mom says, pointing at a dish full of rolls and one full of salad.

  “Yes, ma’am,” Cill replies, continuing to charm the pants off my mom.

  Once his back is turned and he’s walking to the connected dining room, Mom looks at me with huge eyes and gives me the OK symbol. I grin and shake my head at her.

  “Midge,” she whispers harshly.

  “What?” I reply in the same tone.

  “Go help him.”

  “Help him put dishes on the table?”

  Before she can say anything else, Cill is back. “Anything else?”

  “These are done,” she says, handing him two plates of chicken piccata and buttery noodles. “Midge can take the rest.”

  “Yeah, can’t just be sittin’ pretty, Midge,” Cill teases, walking away.

  Mom laughs.

  “I think you like him more than you like me,” I say with a faux pout, waiting for the plates.

  “Nonsense. I like you both the same.” She gives me a wink as she hands me two more plates. “I’ll take this one.”

  When we get to the dining room table, Mom looks around the table. “Drinks? What does everyone want?”

  “Oh, I have a lemonade in there,” I say, turning toward the kitchen.

  “I’ll take a lemonade, too, but I’ll get it,” Cill says, standing up. “You guys want the same?” he asks, looking at both my parents.

  “Fine with me,” Dad replies.

  “Yes, thank you,” is Mom’s response.

  In the kitchen, I pour three more glasses of lemonade.

  Cillian comes to stand next to me, our bottom halves hidden behind the island. His hand brushes against my thigh as he leans back to check out my ass.

  “Glad you changed your pants. Your ass looks great in these.”

  I put down the pitcher and glare up at him and he chuckles.

  “Mom!” I whine.

  “What?” her voice floats through the open doorway.

  “Nothing, never mind.” I lower my voice again. “Is nothing private around here?”

  “Really, though. You look great.”

  I try to hide my smile and spin back to the fridge to put the pitcher away. “Thanks. You clean up pretty good yourself.”

  “Yeah, I noticed you noticing me.”

  I shake my head and laugh, grabbing two of the glasses. “Whatever.”

  Back in the dining room, we place the glasses on the table and sit down. It’s a square table, so we’re all on opposite ends, with Mom and Dad to my left and right, and Cill right smack dab in front of me. Dinner with a view.

  “So, Cillian, it’s been a while since we’ve seen you,” Mom starts. “I mean, I’ve seen you out and about a few times at the store or a restaurant, but we haven’t said more than a few pleasantries. How have you been? Catch us up.”

  Cill piles some salad onto his plate, then starts talking. “I can’t complain too much. I have my own tattoo shop now. We’ve been in business for nearly three years. Uh, I’m still painting.”

  “Oh, good!” Mom clasps her hands together, genuinely happy to hear that.

  After Cill’s parents died, he went nearly a year without drawing anything. My parents witnessed the moment he picked it up again. We were here when he decided he wanted to try to sketch me. I think I had said he wouldn’t be able to. I challenged him in some way, because that’s who I am, and he came through. It was on a piece of printer paper I stole from my dad’s office, and it was only in pencil, but it was amazing. Mom and Dad came in when he was nearly done, and Mom almost burst into tears.

  Cillian’s mom bought him his first sketchpad. He told me the story about how she was tired of him drawing on the walls, so she bought him a leather-bound sketchpad that he could refill with paper whenever he ran out. When they died, he hid it away for a long time. It probably hurt too much to look at.

  “Yeah, I’ve been to a few art expos and I’ve sold some pieces. Everything’s been good.”

  “I’m so happy to hear that,” Mom says.

  “That’s good, son. You’ve got some real talent,” Dad states.

  Cill smiles. “Thank you.”

  “And your brothers? How are they?” Mom asks.

  “They’re great. Royce loves his job over at King’s Tavern, and Elijah’s still teaching at the college. And I’m sure you’ve heard about Merrick. He’s on tour right now, living it up.”

  “Yes,” Mom exclaims. “How exciting. Your parents would be so proud of you four.”

  Cillian stiffens a little, then smiles. “I think so, too. Thank you.”

  Dad clears his throat. “Yeah, You kids have really done well for yourselves.”

  “And I’m pretty damn amazing myself,” I say, lightening the mood.

  Mom and Dad laugh. “Yes, we’re very proud of you, Midge,” Mom says.

  “My favorite kid,” Dad says, making the same joke he always does as he reaches over and squeezes my arm.

  I respond the way I always do. “That would still be the truth if you had more than me.” I glance up at Cillian. “Though it seems like Cill’s giving me a run for my money.”

  Everybody laughs, and my mom brings a napkin up to her mouth. “Now we just need to get you married off.”

  I nearly choke on a piece of chicken. “Okay, Mom. Now’s not the time.”

  “Why not?”


  “Oh, Barbara, give it a rest,” Dad mutters.

  “You were a toddler when I was your age,” Mom says, and not for the first time.

  “I know, Mom. Don’t worry, I still have child-bearing years left.”

  “She’s a good catch, don’t you think, Cillian?”

  Cillian finishes chewing his food, nodding his head. “Oh, yes. A great catch.”

  I want to slide under the table and die. “I’m not a fish.”

  Dad laughs, and Mom scoffs. “I’m just saying.”

  “Yeah, yeah. You’re always just saying.”

  “Cillian, is Elijah single? He’s a good man, right?”

  “Oh, Elijah is the best,” Cillian says, looking at me with a grin. “Probably the best choice for Midge.”

  I slap my hand on my forehead. “You guys are really annoying.”

  “I’m not saying anything,” Dad mutters, digging into his chicken.

  “Maybe you should get Elijah’s number.” Mom keeps on talking, and I continue to want to die.

  “Mom, no. I’m kind of seeing someone anyway.”

  Everybody stops moving.

  “What? Who?” Mom questions, her hands frozen in midair.

  I glance up and notice Cillian watching me. He seems just as curious as they do. I look to my mom and shrug. “Just a guy. I don’t want to talk about it yet.”

  “Is it serious?”

  Another quick glance at Cill’s face while I pretend to just be looking around the room. He gives nothing away. His expression is neutral, and he slowly goes back to eating.

  “Uh, I don’t know. Which is why I don’t want to talk about it. I just don’t need anybody’s phone number. That’s all.”

  “Well, I only care that he treats you right. Does he treat you okay?” Dad asks.

  I nod, giving him a smile. “Yes, Dad. He’s great.”

  Dad gives me a single nod. “Good.”

  Cillian smiles at me from across the table and my cheeks start feeling hot. Fucking Christ I hope my mom isn’t looking at me right now. She’ll know. I know she’ll know.

  I take a few seconds to focus on my plate before I let my eyes travel in her direction. She’s watching me carefully, then her eyes slowly slide over to Cillian before landing back on me.

  “Well, I’m sure he’s a fine young man if you’ve chosen to spend time with him.”’

  And thankfully, that’s the end of the conversation. For now.

  31

  Cillian

  “Dinner was great, Mrs. Halcomb. I really appreciate it.”

  She waves me off. “Oh, please. I’ve done it a million times before, and you’re always welcome to come over. Please don’t let too much time pass before we see you again.”

  “I won’t,” I say with a smile. “Want me to help you with the dishes?”

  “No, no. You and Midge go out back. John can help me with these.”

  John mumbles something from his chair, but Barbara just rolls her eyes and shoos me and Midge out of the room.

  We exit out the glass doors in the kitchen and emerge onto their stone pathway with a view of their in-ground, kidney shaped pool.

  “Ah, this pool holds some memories,” I say, following Midge to a couple of chairs nearby.

  She laughs. “Yeah, you and Royce torturing me, Christina, and Laura. Little heathens.”

  “Oh, please. You and Christina threw mine and Royce’s towels into the pool.”

  She glances at me. “That was only after you two kept doing cannonballs when we were trying to sunbathe.”

  “Oh yeah.”

  She shakes her head with a smile on her face. “It was a lot of fun back then.”

  “Growing up sucks.”

  “Yeah. Laura got married to a guy in the military and moved away like three years ago. I’m not even sure what happened to Christina. After high school, she seemed to disappear.”

  “She was desperate to get away from this town,” I say, remembering her always complaining.

  “Yeah, I used to hate it, too. It’s grown on me now, though.”

  “I couldn’t imagine leaving,” I say. “Too many memories here.”

  Midge exhales softly, staring out at the water. “Your parents?”

  “Yeah. It’s weird, because they’re gone, but if I moved away, I’d feel like I was leaving them.”

  She nods her head quietly, then reaches over and squeezes my hand. “I’m glad you don’t want to move.”

  My eyes roam over our connected hands before looking into her eyes. “I’m glad you’ve stuck around.”

  For several moments, we stay connected—both by our hands and our eyes. She eventually pulls away and looks back at the water, lit up by lights both inside and out.

  “Do you still have that picture you drew of me?” she asks. “The one on a piece of printer paper?”

  I let my mind travel back to that day, remembering the determination to get it right, to have my first drawing since my parents’ died be something they’d be proud of. “I don’t think so.”

  “Yeah, it’s been like ten years. I was just thinking about it earlier.”

  “Want me to draw another one?”

  Her head swivels over her shoulder, a flirty grin playing on her lips. “You want to draw me like one of your French girls?”

  “Funny,” I say with a low chuckle. “I wasn’t thinking that way, but hey, I’m down if you are.”

  She throws her head back and laughs. “I can’t imagine lying naked across a couch for hours. It’d end up being a hideous picture of me sleeping with drool coming out of my mouth or something. No thanks.”

  “You could never be hideous.”

  Her fingers briefly touch her cheeks, like she’s trying to hide the blush. “You’re either being sweet or a liar, but thanks, I’ll take it.”

  The glass door slides open, and we both turn back to see Mrs. H coming outside.

  “I’m not staying,” she says immediately, her hands up. “I convinced your father to take me out for ice cream,” she tells Midge. “I just wanted to say bye to Cillian in case you’re gone before we get back.”

  I stand up from the chair and wrap her up in a hug. “Bye, Mrs. H. Thanks for dinner. Hopefully I’ll see you around soon.”

  Her arms go around me and pat me on the back. “I hope so, too. You take care of my girl, okay?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” I say with a smile.

  She kisses Midge on the cheek and walks back into the house.

  “God, I love your mom.”

  Midge laughs. “She’s a good one. Oh, and I’m trying to help my dad plan her birthday party. Long story, but Mom doesn’t want to end up at a bowling alley again.” My eyebrows shoot up, but Midge raises her hand and shakes her head. “Dad thought she’d love it. She did not. So, I’m talking with my grandparents, and we’re gonna try to have it at the lake house. You think you’ll be able to come?”

  “September fifth?” I ask.

  “Yep.”

  “I’ll be there.”

  She smiles. “Good.”

  Midge starts taking off her shoes, then I watch her walk to the water and dip her foot in. “Pretty warm. Wanna play Truth or Dare?” she asks, a mischievous smile on her lips when she glances back at me.

  “I don’t know, that game seems to only end one way,” I reply, lifting a brow.

  “You scared?”

  “Never. Do you have self-control?” I ask with a smug smile.

  “Nope.”

  I get up from the chair and join her near the water. “Then we probably shouldn’t play, otherwise you might end up on your knees out here, and this concrete doesn’t look soft.”

  She flushes, taken by surprise by the look of her parted lips and wide eyes. “Who says I’d be on my knees?”

  “Are you saying you wouldn’t want to be?” I challenge.

  Her tongue wets her bottom lip in one slow swipe. “I’m not saying that.”

  “Hmm.” I step closer. “Then what are y
ou saying?”

  She moves into me, her hands undoing the buttons on my shirt, before her fingers dance across my chest. “Maybe I just want to touch you.”

  “You can touch me whenever you want.”

  “Yeah?” she muses, opening the shirt wider. “What about kissing you?”

  Her hands move lower, coming to rest on the waist of my pants as her lips plant soft kisses along my torso.

  “You can do that, too.”

  “Whenever I want?” she whispers.

  “Whenever you want.”

  “Mmm.”

  It’s taking everything in me to not rip the rest of my clothes off, throw her to the ground and take her right here and now. I don’t think her parents would appreciate that very much, and it wouldn’t be the most comfortable situation for us either. If rug burn is bad, I’m sure concrete burn is quite the bitch.

  “Midge,” I warn as her fingers dip into my pants and her tongue slides across my stomach.

  “You said whenever I want,” she replies.

  “Yeah, but I really want to fuck you right now, and I’m going to assume you don’t want that to happen in your parents’ backyard.”

  She giggles softly, then brings her head up and looks me in the eye. “Remember when we were seventeen and came out here to hide from my dad after he caught us speeding down the road.”

  “You were speeding. I was the innocent passenger, but yes, I remember.”

  “We hid behind that tree over there.” She tilts her head just barely, but neither of us look in the direction of the tree.

  “I remember.”

  That was the day I wanted to kiss her. Well, I wanted to kiss her plenty of other days, but that was the day I almost did. I’ve regretted not doing it since. We were crouched behind the massive tree and several bushes that surrounded it. Midge was cracking up, and I had put my hand over her mouth while her dad had stormed into the backyard looking for us.

  “I wanted you to kiss you then,” she says in a tone so soft I’m not sure if I heard her right. “I debated with myself the whole time we were hiding. It was maybe only five minutes, but I envisioned it happening, and right before I got the nerve to do it, you stood up.”