Page 93 of Fractured Souls
“Oh god.”
“When I fell out, my balls hit the seam, and it gave me a big papercut.”
“Oh my god.” Jamie crosses his legs.
“Yeah, it was fucking awful. But I’d lost my shorts so Noah had to help me find them. I’m standing there, I’d twisted my wrist falling off and I was cupping my bleeding sac, and then—”
“And that’s when the cops showed up to bust the party.” Noah laughs. “I found his shorts, though.”
“Thankfully they didn’t press charges or anything. I had to go to the hospital, though.”
“Can never look at a pool toy the same way again,” Noah mumbles.
“You were no help.”
“And you said you could balance! Here we are.”
“Is that why there’s a small scar on your right one?” Hunter asks. Mark closes his eyes, nodding. “The more I learn, the less I want to know.”
Reaching into the basket, he pulls a name out. “Noa—”
“Truth. I’m an open book.”
Shaking his head, Mark thinks. “I can’t think of one disgusting thing I don’t already know about you.”
“You guys are way too close,” Hunter agrees.
“Then, dare.”
“Can’t think of one thing you won’t do. Wait!” Mark grins “You can’t talk for the rest of the game.”
"Have I ever told you how sexy you are." Hunter tugs Mark onto his lap kissing the side of his head. "Good boy."
Noah’s lips drop open, then he folds his arms and glares. He waves a hand at Mark, rolling his eyes and gesturing wildly at him, then sinks back into his chair. He reaches with his hand, grabbing at the air, waiting for the basket.
Mark grins, handing it over.
Noah pulls out a piece of paper with my name on it. “Uh, truth.”
He grabs the paper he used to write our names on and writes down his question.
Have you ever been in love ?
Why would he do that? Why? But while I’m upset, I know why. To get me talking, because I have to talk, and he knows I won’t do it on my own. I have to say something. Noah likes to push his friends, I know he does, and we’re drunk, and he’s not thinking clearly.
Neither am I.
Which is why I turn to Cam. “Yeah. I have.”
Camden’s eyes widen. “What?”
“I have, and I am.” All the words I’ve contained over the last two decades tumble out of me.
“What are you talking about?”
“What do you mean, what am I talking about? Camden, come on!” I stand up, anger and alcohol now fueling my mouth. Goodbye common sense. My face is burning. I’m sure it’s incredibly red right now.
“Bo—”
