Page 82 of Wicked Sins

“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 sliding doors. “Dive in.” The corners of her mouth lift up. “Naked.”

I bark out a laugh. “I thought we were trying to be circumspect.”

“We were?” She blinks innocently at me, taking another tiny sip of her drink.

I growl as I stare out the window. “No,” I say.

“You’re a shitty player,” she mumbles into her glass.

“What’s the penalty?”

She points at the bottle of tequila. I pour myself a shot and down it. “Truth or dare?” I ask, my voice rough from the alcohol burning its way down to my stomach.

“Dare,” she says around a lopsided smile that hides her one crooked tooth.

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