Page 14 of Rhys: and the girl who was always his

I desperately try to convince myself that I can act normal. I force a smile when Rhys laughs, hide my longing glances, and suppress the urge to reach out every time our paths cross in the kitchen. I even try not to feel that piercing ache when Ashley cosies up next to him on the couch, even though that charade is supposed to be history. I’m failing at playing the part of the carefree friend.

“Okay,” Arden declares, lifting a beat-up deck of cards as if it were a sacred relic ready to settle our unspoken disputes. “Tonight, we’re going old school. Cards Against Humanity. Yasmin’s brilliant— or so she claims, so you can all thank her for the emotional rollercoaster we’re about to endure.”

Yasmin flashes a mischievous grin from the far side of the couch. “It’s only traumatic if you can’t laugh about it.”

Rhys lets out a low, rumbling chuckle that twists something tight inside me. I shift away, claiming I’m adjusting my position, though really, I’m trying to hide the way my eyes linger on the soft freckle near his jaw.

“You okay?” Ella leans in urgently as if reading the conflict in my eyes while Arden shuffles the cards.

I give a too-quick nod. “Totally fine. Why wouldn’t I be?”

Her glance sharpens, silently telling me she sees right through my charade. “Just checking.”

The usual high-spirited madness of our game nights surrounds me—snacks scattered everywhere, people lounging on cushions, chairs borrowed from the dining room. This should be comforting noise, yet with Rhys so near that our knees occasionally bump, every laugh feels like an unspoken challenge. It’s as though he’s testing how far he can push me—and how much of myself I can still hide.

“Ally,” Chase calls from the floor, theatrically sprawled like a fading superstar. “Make sure your card’s good. I’m still recovering from that ‘dead dolphin in the bathtub’ combo you unleashed last time we played.”

I manage a smirk. “You mean the card that won?”

He groans and flops back with a theatrical, pained expression. “You’re merciless.”

“I respect that,” Millie chimes in, tearing into a slice of garlic bread. “Fear the redhead.”

“Amen,” Ashley mutters, barely lifting her eyes from her drink.

I catch myself frozen—as if suspended in a moment—unsure whether to feel flattered or humiliated by her comment. When I glance at her, she’s absorbed in watching Rhys.

Before I can wrestle with those feelings, Arden strikes up the first round. “Alright. Winner of this round gets to assign a dare. No pressure, folks.”

There’s a chorus of groans punctuated by Yasmin’s gleeful whoop, making me wonder if everyone else finds this as exhilaratingly conflicted as I do.

We play through the round, and when the cards are flipped and votes cast, it’s Rhys who wins. Of course—he bides his time, gambling for moments of victory when it truly matters.

With a lazy smirk, he surveys the room before his eyes lock onto mine. “Ally. Dare.”

My heart stumbles in its rhythm. “Why do I get the feeling this is personal?”

“Because it is,” Chase mutters under his breath, prompting Yasmin to swat him roughly.

Rhys leans forward, elbows resting on his knees, his face invading my space. “I dare you to tell the truth.”

I blink, caught off guard. “That’s not how dares work.”

“Not anymore.”

“Truth or Dare is a different game,” I protest, my voice wavering with an uncertainty that I can’t quite hide.

“Fine. I dare you to tell the truth about the last person you thought about kissing.”

The room plunges into a silence so deep it feels suffocating as if each of us is holding our breath.

My mouth goes dry. I wrestle with the decision—I could lie; I should lie—but the truth is already etched in every sideways glance, every unspoken confession in this tangled room. I look at Rhys, meeting his gaze that seems to pierce straight into me. He already knows.

I clear my throat, forcing out the truth: “Easy. Chris Hemsworth.”

Laughter cascades around the room, and Chase groans with theatrical despair. “Ugh, basic.”

“He’s Thor as if I wouldn’t want to kiss him,” I retort, though even as I speak, I feel the sting of my own vulnerability.

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