Page 23 of A Little Complicated

“I guess we do,” I murmur, ignoring the zing of our hands brushing against each other. It’s stupid. And juvenile. But then again, so is this game.

To be fair, I get it. The odds of me being hooked with Maverick freaking Buchanan is just my luck. Orourluck, apparently, since neither of us can seem to catch a break.

I don’t bother filling the silence anymore. I’m not sure I can convince my tongue to form words anyway. Not when he’s standing this close. Not when I can feel every single emotion radiating off him. Resentment. Annoyance. Frustration.

Like I’m a fly in his soup or an eyelash in his eye.

I nibble on my thumbnail of our non-connected hands while everyone finishes being cuffed to their partners. After a satisfied Reeves says something to one of the freshmen a minute later, he cups his hands around his mouth and yells, “Earthquake!”

Let the game begin.

7

OPHELIA

Like mice, everyone scurries for a surface above ground. Cushions are already spread out on the floor, and most of the tables have been cleared off, leaving a decent amount of room for people to stand, but the spots are filling up fast. Maverick pulls me toward a side table, and we climb onto it as a pair ofverydrunk girls race toward the same cushion on the ground with their men trailing behind. Clearly, they’re already plastered, thanks to the free refreshments from earlier. They clash together like cymbals, landing on their asses as a bout of giggles overtakes them while their partners stare dumbfounded at each other, their feet still touching the ground, er,lava.

“Freeze!” Reeves yells. He stares down at the drunk girls from his perch on the coffee table and orders, “Tops.”

Neither girl bats an eye as they reach for the hems of their shirts and pull them over their heads, leaving them in their bras while they succumb to another fit of giggles. The guys do the same, but thanks to the chain linking them to their partners, their clothes hang in the center, dangling next to the girls’ already discarded shirts like a makeshift clothesline.

It isn’t sexual. Honestly, it’s kind of funny.

A few more girls stumble onto the ground, and Reeves orders them and their partners to take shots, all of which more freshmen deliver. When everyone has finished the shots, he yells, “Earthquake!” another time.

I jump off the side table onto a pillow, hopscotching it to the cushion-free couch. Maverick follows my movements when a few more people hit the ground with a thud.

“Freeze!” Reeves calls.

Another couple loses their shirts, and a few more take shots presented by the freshman who cuffed me to Maverick earlier.

Gotta give the kid an A-plus for his service.

Once they’ve downed their tequila, Reeves gives a satisfied nod and calls, “Earthquake!”—again—from the coffee table.

My mind races for a new place to stand. I jump from the couch to a discarded cushion on the floor to the coffee table in the center of the room. It brings me up close and personal with the judge himself.Oops.Maverick slides in behind me, his warmth hitting my back and pushing my front even closer to Reeves.

I’m sandwiched between them. Two hot bodies. Both literallyandmetaphorically.

Yeah. They’re not exactly hard on the eyes. I’ll give them that much.

Reeves grins down at me and cocks his head.

“Is this against the rules?” I murmur. “Like a no-go zone, or—”

“Freeze!” he booms, but he doesn’t tear his attention from me as he points to a few more people who touched the ground. “Shot. Shot. Shot. Bottoms. Shot. Top.” He rattles off the orders but doesn’t shout earthquake again like I expect. He simply looks at me. Waiting. But I don’t know what he’s waiting for.

“Reeves?” I quirk my brow.

“I’m seriously regretting letting Mav talk me into The Floor is Lava.”

“You and me both,” Maverick grits out from behind me. The words caress the back of my head, causing a ripple of awareness to skate along my spine.

Attempting to ignore it, I ask Reeves, “And what would you have chosen?”

“I dunno.” He shrugs, his eyes finding Maverick’s and returning to me. “Spin the Bottle. Chase. Truth or Dare.”

“Reeves,” Maverick warns. His fingers brush mine, but Reeves continues rattling off game ideas, leaning closer to me. “Strip Poker. Seven Minutes in—”

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