Page 29 of A Fighting Chance

“I assumed you’d sleep in your bed,” I say, nodding to his now empty bed.

“That’s not how sleepovers work,” he says, grinning at me. He nestles down into his chair, covering himself with a blanket of his own and positioning himself so we’re staring at each other. I try to close my eyes and settle myself, but I feel his eyes on me.

“Are you going to stare at me as I try to fall asleep?” I ask, opening my eyes and looking at him for an answer.

“Maybe,” he says, his smile doing strange things to my stomach and lower region.

“I have a better idea,” I say.

“Oh yeah?” he asks eagerly, his eyebrows practically jumping off his face.

“Not that,” I say, rolling my eyes. “How about we play a game?”

He looks at me quizzically, studying my expression. “What kind of game?”

“How about…truth or dare?” I ask. Somewhere inside me, a bold and brave version of myself has escaped the closet, removed her gag, and is now playing with fire.

Gentry’s face lights up with excitement. “This is the type of game I can get behind.”

“Okay,” I say. “Who goes first?”

“Ladies, of course,” he says, tipping his head to me.

I nod in return. “Okay, Gentry. Truth or dare?”

His eyes narrow for a few moments as he considered his options. “Truth.”

“How many times have you been in love?” I ask, not hesitating too long.

He turns his head, looking up, his eyes growing distant as if he’s recalling and calculating. After a moment he says, “Two.”

I think about this and the two women he loved at one point and find myself wondering what kind of women they were. I nod, satisfied with his simple answer.

“Your turn. Truth or dare?” he asks.

“Truth,” I reply. I don’t think I’m ready for a dare just yet.

He studies my face again, a smile taking over his lips, forming those dimples I detect beneath his short beard. “Where’s your favorite place to be kissed?”

I’m certain my eyes bulge. “You mean…geographically? Like, what city?” I ask, already knowing the answer but buying myself time.

He laughs. “You know that’s not what I mean.”

I squirm under his playful gaze and sigh. As a woman, I’m completely comfortable talking about sex with my friends. And it’s not so much that talking about sex with partners bothers me. But I don’t want to talk about anything sexual with Gentry. Because he rattles me. My resistance is wearing thin, but I still think it’s a terrible idea. I’m slipping.

I turn my hands over, showing him my exposed and outstretched palms.

He studies my hands for a moment, waiting for more. When nothing else comes, he says, “Your…hands?”

“Specifically, my palms,” I say.

He looks at me intensely for a moment, his eyes sharp.

I can tell he’s thinking about my response and I interrupt his thoughts with, “Truth or dare?”

He swallows, his Adam’s apple traveling the length of his throat and back. “Truth,” he says, surprising me.

“Do you want to kiss me?” I ask, surprising myself.

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