Page 65 of Forbidden Lessons

I clap my hands over my face when she wins again. “This sucks!”

She rubs her hands, clicking two of her rings together, then shakes them out and draws the next card.

“Huh…” Melissa looks over at me, eyes narrowed. “Pour us a shot.”

I don’t argue. Judging from her expression, she’s making a hard decision. We clink our tiny glasses and pour the liquid down our throats. She shudders, and I gag.

“Yeah, fuck that,” she mutters, shaking her head. “I’ll suffer the consequence.”

“Really?”

She holds the card out to me between two fingers. “Yeah. I got this.” Then she leans forward and closes her eyes like she’s preparing for something.

I glance down at the card, and my lips purse into a bemused smile.

Aw.

Cruelty:

Review your partner’s appearance out loud in the most critical light possible.

Consequence:

Allow your partner to slap you across the face.

I rub my hands together and shake them out, just like she did.

Melissa peeks at me. “You’re enjoying this way too much.”

“Invasion of privacysucks,” I say with a grin.

“Yeah, well, I like it rough some—” She cuts off with a gasp as my palm connects with her cheek.

I didn’t mean to hit her so hard. The way her neck snaps to the side, it’s like her head almost came off.

“Shit, are you okay?” I scramble forward, grabbing her shoulder.

She knocks my arm away. “Do I have a hand print?” she asks, straightening as she gingerly touches her face.

My lips twist. “Kinda.”

“Damn, girl. Remind me never to piss you off.” She gives me an admiring look, and then holds out her arm, getting ready for the next round.

I crow out in victory when I win, crack my knuckles, and slowly ease the third card off the stack.

Straightening my arms and flicking my hand, I wriggle on my cushion to get comfy?—

“Oh my God, just do it already.” Melissa’s half-yelling, but there’s a smile hinting at the corners of her mouth.

I’m full on smiling, so fucking happy that I finally have the upper?—

Shit.

“Shit.”

“What? What is it?” Melissa scans my face and then holds out her hand. “No, wait. I don’t like that,” she says, circling a finger near my face. “Shot.”

She pours us each another shot. We clink, we swallow.

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