Page 197 of Truth or Dare: A Second Chance Single-Mom Romance

His eyes, finally, meet mine. They’re as sad as a Bassett Hound’s. “Yes.”

I motion for the bartender and get her attention.

7

Jason

It’s past midnight by time Donovan comes home.

I don’t want to say I’ve been up, because I’m not his mother.

But it just so happens that I am awake, and sitting up in my bed in the living room with my laptop on my lap, watching a documentary on octopi—still not sure how I got here, but here we are.

“How’d it go?” I ask.

“Fine.”

Donovan closes his bedroom door abruptly. I hear the hiss of his shower. And, ten minutes later, his shower turns off. When Donovan comes back out, his hair is wet and he’s wearing a soft band shirt, black jeans, and the leather band that he never removes around his wrist.

He looks good. In a way that has always put cracks in my otherwise cookie-cutter life.

He picks the car keys up from a ceramic bowl on the kitchen counter and throws them at me. “We’re going to the Anchor,” he announces. “You’re driving.”

Donovan and I don’t hang out.

It’s one of our unspoken rules, I guess—we can live together, work together, but God forbid we ever mingle.

Except for tonight, when we share a drink side by side at The Anchor.

The Anchor is one of my favorite places in all of Hannsett Island. It’s locals-only—obviously, tourists are welcome, but it’s not as fancy as a couple of the other restaurant-bar options on the island. There aren’t any stellar views of the boats or the ocean: it’s just a dimly lit bar with cheap decorations, a couple smart-mouthed bartenders, and mixtures of clientele: usually leather-skinned fishermen, overworked nurses, and hospitality workers.

Plus, on Fridays, they have karaoke. And I’m not the type of man who can shy away from karaoke night. Like most surgeons and golden children, I live for the stage.

Speaking of—“Fuck, I love this song,” I say when Barenaked Ladies comes on.

Donovan groans. “Of course you would.”

He seems quiet—I mean, he’s always quiet. But he’s unnaturally quiet. His face is a little flushed, his eyes unfocused as he stares at his glass.

“Hey, let’s play a game,” I prompt.

Donovan turns his bleary eyes to me, but at least he looks curious now. “Like what?”

“Truth or dare?”

He grumbles, “Anything but that.”

“Okay. Two truths and a lie.” He doesn’t tell me to shut up, so I continue. “The rules are simple: I give you three statements and you have to guess which one is the lie.”

“I know the game,” he says and puts his glass to his lips. “I was invited to one or two parties in med school. Go ahead.”

“Alright.” I think a minute, and then come out with: “I met Bono. I once ate a birthday cake in one sitting. I’ve fainted during surgery.”

Donovan stares at me. “You never met Bono.”

I sigh. “I wish I did. Cool guy.”

I can feel him sizing me up. “Alright. You’ll have to explain the fainting.”

---