Page 42 of Strictly the Worst

“What?”

“Isn’t that a game that people play at sleepovers?” he says, a half-smile pulling at his lips. Blood rushes through my ears.

“I guess.” I nod. “What would the dare be?”

“Putting some real clothes on. But I’d rather you chose truth.”

My chest tightens again, the way it seems to do a lot when he’s around. I’d never realized how much this man could get under your skin if you let him.

“What truth?” I ask.

He presses his lips together, as though trying to think of the most excruciating question. “Okay, tell me the most embarrassing thing that happened to you as a kid.”

My eyes meet his, and I feel my cheeks flush.

“Oh, Carmichael. Do you have a juicy secret?” he asks me. “Because now I need to know.”

“I can just take the dare,” I remind him.

“Tell me your secret. Go on.”

I have no idea why I’m entertaining answering him. Maybe it’s the way he’s looking at me with the softest expression I’ve ever seen from him.

“I walked in on my parents having an orgy,” I say quickly, my words mashing together.

For a minute he says nothing, his mouth agape as he stares at me.

“No way,” he finally responds. “Seriously?”

I nod, remembering how mortifying it was.

“I’m gonna need all the juicy details,” he tells me.

“You have to promise not to tell anybody.”

He touches his brow. “Scout’s honor.”

And it’s weird, but I trust him to keep it to himself.

“I was fifteen, just a bit older than Zoe,” I tell him. “I was supposed to be staying at my friend’s house for a sleepover but I got sick and her mom dropped me off at home.

“Did her mom see?”

“No. Thank God. She could tell there was somebody home from the inside lights. So she dropped me off and drove away.” I pinch the bridge of my nose. “I can’t believe I’m telling you this.”

He gently pulls my hand away. “I’m touched that you are. I thought you were going to tell me you got your skirt stuck in your panties at school or something. So what happened next?”

I let out a long breath. “I walked in and saw my dad…” I shake my head. “I can’t. It’s so mortifying.”

“Your dad was balls deep in somebody not your mom?” he asks.

“Something like that,” I squeak.

“And your mom?”

My cheeks are burning. “Was in the kitchen.”

“Not cooking?” he asks.

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