Page 84 of Beyond the Lines
But even my limits are being tested, even though I haven’t had to do a dare.
Ben’s hand has somehow migrated from the back of my chair to rest lightly on my shoulder, and I don’t shrug it off. I’m enjoying myself, and the way Em is smiling at me tells me she knows it. But we’re interrupted after James suggests a rule change.
“New rule—if you get called bullshit, you lose an article of clothing. But if you call someone else and you’re wrong,youlose an article.”
“Seriously?” Ping says. “That’s so cliché.”
“Scared?” James challenges.
There’s a beat of silence as the suggestion hangs in the air.
“I’m in,” Marnie says quickly, exchanging a look with Trevor.
“The girls choose,” Ben says, looking at Em, Ping, and me. “We play if you want to.”
I glance at Em, who shrugs. “Your call.”
Marnie slides over to me and Em, whispering urgently. “Please say yes.”
“I don’t know…” Ping hesitates.
“I’m out…” Em says, standing.
Suddenly, I want to help Marnie. She and the others have been there for me in the last few weeks, although in differentways. And besides, I’m having fun and feel comfortable, so as long as everyone has their boundaries respected, what’s the harm?
“I’m willing if others are,” I hear myself say.
Wait, did I just agree to play strip bullshit?
The alcohol must be hitting harder than I thought…
“Fine,” Ping relents. “But underwear stays on.”
“And no cell phones…” I add, keeping this safe and private.
“Totally,” Ben says quickly, looking at me as he speaks. “All limits respected.”
And just like that, we’re playing.
The first rounds are mostly harmless. Trevor loses his hoodie, revealing the arms that Marnie has been swooning over for weeks. She actually applauds, earning a grin from Trevor. James throws his socks into the center of the table. Ping sacrifices a hair tie.
But it’s all fun, and none of it feels sleazy.
“My turn,” I announce, placing down two cards. “Two fives.”
“Bullshit,” calls Marnie immediately.
Shit.
I flip the cards—a seven and a three.
“Boots,” I decide, kicking off my chunky ankle boots.
“Your poker face needs work,” Ben says, leaning closer.
“Does not,” I protest.
“Your left eyebrow twitches when you lie.”
