Page 10 of Wicked Dares
“That’s it. My youngest brother was there at the time, and we decided to go into business together.”
I’m surprised how easily he can speak to me. But I guess as a club owner, he must speak to a lot of people, especially women. “That sounds great.”
“It has been. Think of the phrasework hard, play harder.”
That phrase was definitely made for him, and something tells me this man only works so he can play.
“I see what you mean.”
“So… Butterfly…” He sets his glass down on the table beside him and deepens his stare. “Ready to play?”
“Before I say yes, can you give me an idea of what kind of dares you have in mind? Is it just for me?”
He shakes his head. “You can dare me, too. We take turns. As for the dares… well, I can’t really tell you what they’ll be like. It all depends on how far you’re willing to go.”
“That sounds kind of crazy.”
“Crazy is the soul of a dare.” His tone almost sounds poetic. “Not knowing what you’re going to do until you decide to do it is the thrill.”
“Okay...” One more sip of my drink before I place my glass next to his. “I think I’m ready.” The words come out way steadier than I feel. Must be the wine.
“Good, let’s start small with a couple of questions and requests.”
“Requests?”
He leans in close, almost too close, and his gaze holds mine in place. “Like take off your mask.”
My mask. I actually didn’t realize I was still wearing it.
Biting the inside of my lip, I drag off my mask. In the wake of its absence, I suddenly feel a little exposed, like I’ve given him access to something more personal than my face.
“I hope I’m not hideous,” I joke.
“Oh no. You most definitely are not hideous.” He borrows my earlier words.
I hold back a smile. “Thank you. What’s next?”
“Your turn. A question or a request, which can be anything besides trying to get my name. I won’t ask you yours, either.”
I think for a moment. What can I ask him?
Of course, I’d like to know his name, but that’s the whole thing about the mystery of the club. And I get it. Sometimes it’s good to be anonymous. Especially when you’re trying to forget who you were when everything fell apart. People can become passing ships having fun under the guise of being whoever they want to be.
“Apart from the club, what do you like?” I hope that doesn’t sound lame.
“Poker.”
“Are you good at it?”
“The best.” He winks at me. “My turn.”
“Fire away.”
“Where are you from? You have a hint of a Southern accent on some words.”
It must be my nerves. I have what people call a watered-down accent caused by living in different places. The Southern part comes out under tension. Sometimes I sound no different from Aunt Bess. “I’m originally from Tennessee, but I grew up in San Francisco. Now I’m here.”
“That’s interesting.”
