Page 34 of Dark Horse

Well, speaking of Jesse. That I can’t keep my family safe. That I won’t be there when I’m needed most.

It’s already happened so many times that I feel sick most nights when I go to bed and think about it.

You do everything you can. You can’t let the past haunt you. Jesse wouldn’t want that. Neither would your parents.

Truth or dare?

TWELVE

DAKOTA

Truth or dare?

THE DEVIL:

That was an abrupt left turn. Are we in grade school again?

We’ve got to stop talking about sad stuff. We’ll go to sleep depressed. And when I go to sleep that way, I wake up that way.

I have too much to do tomorrow as a bridesmaid to be sad.

Dare.

Send me a picture of you.

I’m getting ready for bed…

So? I was in bed.

I watchthe dots pop up and disappear for a moment.

THE DEVIL:

Fine.

A minute later, a photo comes through, and my heart stops. I’ve only seen Grant shirtless a handful of times in my life, and almost all of them were when I was a teenager, and he still lived on the ranch. A mental image of him tossing hay bales off a truck while shirtless has lived in my mental vault since I was sixteen. But all of them were from a distance and never in a format I could save for safekeeping.

He’s standing in what I assume is his bathroom. I’m realizing at this moment that I’ve never seen the inside of his home, either, even though he’s been in mine dozens of times. Hundreds, really, if you count when Jesse owned it.

His shirt is off, and he’s got low-slung, dark-gray sweatpants on. He’s got a slew of tattoos running down his right arm and wrapping over his shoulder and teasing the edge of his neck. I’ll have to study them later, see what secrets they hold, as I think I’ve only seen a few of them before. His abs are perfection, and his arms are perfectly defined. He’s that perfect kind of fit where you know he works out plenty but not so much that he lives in the gym. His hair is mussed, and his hand is tucked behind his head as he takes the photo, a look of discontent on his face at the idea of capturing his late-night routine.

THE DEVIL:

Truth or dare?

Truth.

Do you actually get off talking to those men, or is it an act?

An act usually. The toys do the hard work.

There were times it wasn’t?

Yes. But not because of them. Because I could check out enough to think about someone else instead.

Who do you think about?

Truth or dare?

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