mansion looming behind the pool. “I’m like a roach—it’ll take more than dunking me in a little water to kill me.” She winces. “Shit, I didn’t mean—”
I drop my gaze, no longer able to stare into those frank blue eyes. “I meant here, with us,” I say.
Us. I almost snort, but hold it back and instead take another sip from my glass.
“Didn’t really get a choice in the matter.” She ducks her head, drawing my gaze. “Hey, I thought we were drinking together.”
“We are,” I say, half cheering her as I lift my glass a little before coating my tongue with whiskey.
“It’s evaporating faster than you can drink it,” she says, her eyebrows lifting. I give her a grudging smile. Maybe it’s the few fingers of Irish cream affecting her, but she seems easier to talk to. “Tell you what,” she says, taking a gulp from her glass before setting it down on the bar.
She reaches out and wraps her fingers around my glass. I release it reluctantly, frowning at her when she sets it beside hers. “Right.” She shifts in her seat, turning fully toward me, with her back on the slowly darkening afternoon. “Let’s play a game.”
I snort at her, shaking my head, but she holds up a finger. I expect it to touch my lips, and that sensation is so intense that the ghost of her touch flutters on my mouth. I lick my lips, willing away the strange sensation, and she gives me a wary look.
“Truth or dare.”
I roll my eyes. “Not in a million—”
“Three rounds.” She holds up her hand, fingers spread.
“Not interested,” I say, reaching for my glass. She puts her hand over mine, pressing it to the wooden counter. When I look at her, she tilts her head a little.
“Chicken?”
“Games are for kids,” I say.
She shrugs. “Then, let’s pretend to be kids for a while.”
Her words hang heavy in the air, and for the first time—perhaps ever—I drink in the sight of her.
She’s right, of course. We’re not kids anymore. Perhaps it’s been years since we could accurately claim that. It has nothing to with age—neither of us can legally drink yet—but with the life experiences we’ve endured.
I lower my lashes a little, draw a deep, slow breath, and let my hand slide onto my thigh as I sit back on the barstool.
“Okay,” I say. “Begin.”
She holds up a finger, slowly twirls it, and points randomly at the bottles of alcohol on the shelves in front of their mirror. “First, a shot.”
“You shouldn’t be mixing,” I say.
“You shouldn’t be telling me what to do,” she answers whip-quick, and then grins at me. “Chicken?”
I’m tempted to ask what the hell’s gotten into her, but I have a feeling I’d sound so much like my father that she’d laugh at me. I have no urge to have my stepsister giggling at me.
So I go around the side of the bar and study the bottles. I’m not a big drinker, and prefer whiskey or scotch, so I turn back to her and gesture at the bottles like a magician about to perform a trick. “Pick your poison.”
She smiles back and shakes her head. “Dealer’s choice.”
I grab a bottle of tequila, expecting her to protest. She doesn’t, and honestly, that shouldn’t surprise me. I open the fridge, but her voice stops me from taking out a lemon. “None of that shit. Just bring it over.”
I keep forgetting—if there’s one thing Candy’s more experienced than me at, it’s drinking.
“Pour.”
I do as she says, and slide one of the shot glasses over to her. We toss them back, me with a grimace and Candy with a small cough and a shudder.
“What if they come looking for us?” I ask.
“Then, they’ll find us drowning our sorrows.” She should have been smiling, but she’s not. “Your turn,” she says, and holds up a finger.
“That doesn’t count.”
She grins. “Fine.” She shimmies her shoulders and lifts her eyebrows expectantly. “You starting, or am I?”
“Ladies first.”
Candy purses her lips and looks around for a few seconds. Then her eyes flash back to me. “Truth or dare?”
“Truth.”
Her eyes widen a little, then she shrugs. “How did your mom die?”
The room darkens, brightens, darkens. “Dare,” I say.
“Uh-uh.” Candy takes a sip of her drink, lifting a finger. “No takesies backsies.”
“Dare.” My voice drops low. “Or nothing.”
She brushes off my irritation with another shrug and looks about the room again. “Fine, cheater.” She starts tapping her lip. Then she spins around and points out through the glass