Truth or Dare Read Free Page A

on her.
    “Whatever you normally do.”
    Then they were mere inches apart. His left hand resting awkwardly on her hip in a way that left her unsure whether it was to hold her in place or push her away. His right hand slid beneath the fall of her hair and a shudder chock-full of creepy undertones ran through her.
    She was open to the possibilities.
    Like the rules of this godforsaken pact dictated she had to be.
    And there it was, contact.
    The cold press of their reluctant kiss, the parting of stiff, unwelcoming lips, and the slimy, wet stab of Ford’s tongue into her mouth, twice. Because he was that kind of a good friend. She’d barely had a chance to ponder if it was over when she wrenched back, gaping in horror.
    “Did you
gag
? In my
mouth,
Ford?”
    The guilt in his eyes said it all and, wow, her only consolation was knowing this had to be rock bottom. The night couldn’t get any worse.
    Except the low rumble of laughter, mocking and undeniably at her expense, quickly relieved her of that misconception.
    Witnesses were definitely worse. And judging by the telltale grate happening with her last nerve, she knew exactly who it was standing at the end of the walk.
    Apartment Three.
    —
    By Tyler Wells’s standards it didn’t get better than this. The landlord, Ford, had kissed Maggie…and it was bad. As in, barf-in-the-mouth bad. Which meant Ty had just busted his favorite little blond harpy in what had to be a top fiver for most humiliating moments. Ever.
    And to think he’d almost stayed in tonight.
    “Peeping, huh?” Her fist balled on one-shot hip, Maggie scowled at him. “New hobby or favorite pastime?”
    Ignoring the taunt—mostly because it would torque her off even more than she already was—he swung the iron gate closed behind him and started up the stairs to the covered entry.
    “I tried to wait you out. Seriously I did. But the whole French retch combo—” He sent Ford a pitying look—which handily enough, doubled as another sweet dig at the cookie-baking crackpot—and shrugged. “It was too much.”
    “Yeah, well…” Ford rubbed his palm over the back of his neck. “It wasn’t what it looked like.”
    “Sure.” Except Ty was pretty much willing to bet his left nut it was
exactly
what it looked like. The stuff of nightmares. An unholy meshing of mouths, spawned by desperation, and never to be revisited.
    Definitely more action than he was getting, and incentive enough to keep it that way.
    Fishing around his pocket for his keys, he nodded. “Whatever it is—”
    Maggie snapped, “It’s none of your business,” as Ford assured, “It’s over.”
    Tyler unlocked the door, doing his best to ignore the stilted exchange of quiet
thank you
s and muttered promises of
never again
taking place behind him. Then, standing aside, he waited as they filed in. Ford made a beeline down the first-floor hall, ducking into his apartment, and Maggie went for the stairs as Ty checked the lock on the security door to give himself a few extra seconds before following.
    Not long enough, though. Because suddenly he was stuck with an eyeful of Maggie’s retreating form. And, hell, if that wasn’t the last thing he needed.
    It was bad enough, the way he got off on their sparring. It started the first day he tracked her down, intent on apologizing for being such an ass when she’d shown up at his door, wanting to assure her it wouldn’t happen again. Only before he managed to get out the first word, Maggie let that caustic tongue loose in an assault the likes of which he’d never heard before.
    She’d been vicious. Concise. Lobbing one low blow after another and, all the while doing it with that girl-next-door smile on her lips and demon glint in her green eyes.
    After that, he’d been hooked. And who could blame him, really?
    But while a heartfelt exchange of barbs was one thing, watching the gentle sway of her hips and spill of silky waves falling to the midpoint of her back was something else