It’s awkward. No, scratch that—it’s weird AND awkward.

“Why are you smiling?” he says gruffly, startling me.

“You look terribly uncomfortable, and it makes me happy.”

“You like me uncomfortable?”

“Immensely! I love it when you aren’t sure what to say or do.”

“Like now?”

“Plus, you came to help out with prank night, and now you have a new pet. Fort Knox is breaking apart and getting soft, little by little.”

He grins then. “So I’m not usually like this?”

“Like, fun and lovable?”

He blinks at those words, his lips parting, and he starts to say something but stops.

“Go on, say it,” I say. “As one guy told me the first day of class, just get it all out.”

He takes a deep breath, stands, and walks over to the bed, making my heart skip a beat. “Truth or dare, Tulip, and you can’t say dare.”

Oh.

The tension tightens in the room as tendrils of excitement flash through my nerve endings.

I bite my bottom lip, anticipation rising. “Payback, I assume?”

“You bet.”

Shit. I can’t read him right now, not that that’s unusual, but his eyes are low and heavy.

“Okay, I’ll play. Truth.”

“Were you in love with Chance last year?”

“I thought I was. I wasn’t.”

His gaze glitters at me as if he’s trying to decide if I’m telling the truth. “Hmmm.”

“My turn—”

“Nope,” he says. “You had three times in the auditorium, remember? Truth or dare?”

I stand up and face him, nervous with my heart pounding in my ears. “What do you want me to pick?”

“Lady’s choice.” His chest rises rapidly as his eyes linger on my mouth.

“Truth, again.”

“Last year, did you want me as much as I wanted you?” His words are husky.

I shiver. “Yes.”

“Fuck…” A long sigh comes from him and he scrubs his face.

“Don’t wimp out now, Cold and Evil. Ask the next one so I can get my turn.”

A low grunt comes from him as if he’s not sure it’s a good idea for us to continue this game, but he sucks in a breath and finally says, “Truth or dare, Tulip?”

“Dare.” Dare, dare, dare, baby. I don’t know what’s going to happen, but…

The electricity in the air cranks up, the hair on my arms rising as he breathes deeply, his face open, so open and full of heat, and I don’t know what I’m doing here, but I’m in the moment, and he’s so close and…

“Kiss me,” he growls.

I take the two steps necessary to press my chest against his. Slowly sliding my hands up, I shudder at the feel of him, the silky quality of his practice jersey, the way his muscles spasm against me as I caress his collarbone, the hollows of his face. My fingers trace his eyebrows, marveling, amazed by how indescribably gorgeous his features are. And he wants me. I can see it by how still he is, the tense way he holds himself, as if he doesn’t want to startle me.

My hands tangle in the hair around his neck. He puts his hands around my waist and tugs me closer, until we’re one. I slide my tongue over his parted lips and he gasps, and I don’t think I will ever get tired of the little truth that he kisses me, kisses me, when he doesn’t anyone else. Moaning, I nip at his bottom lip and pull with my teeth, and his hands clench around me, his tongue darting out and caressing mine. He groans my name and deepens our kiss, his lips hard and insistent, his hands now pressing on my ass. A tornado twists inside me, desire ripping and tearing at the very heart of me.

Will every kiss by him always be like this?

When I pull away, I stroke my hand over his cheek and stare up at him. “You kiss like it’s your last.”

His lashes flutter as he licks at my finger, sucking it into his mouth, making me breathless, the sensation sending waves of heat to my lower body.

Hang on there, body, there’s still a game to play.

“Truth or dare, Knox?”

“Which one do you want?” he asks, eyes glowing

“Truth.”

“Ask.”

“How did you get your scar?”

I just need him to tell me, to open up when I know he hasn’t to anyone else except probably Dane.

He sways on his feet. “God, Ava…”

I cup his face. “Scars serve as medals of honor, and the strongest hearts have the most. I like your scars. Share them with me.”

He takes a breath and his words slay me. “My mother sliced my face open.”

I force the shock to not show on my face. It’s not what I thought he’d say. I entertained the idea that maybe he did it to himself even though he denied it the day he helped change my tire. I blink, reorienting my thoughts. “Why?”

He moves to my bed and sits down, and I follow him, curling my legs up. His throat bobs, emotion stark on his face. “She went through these fugue episodes, more after the attack. I woke up one day and she was straddling me, a kitchen knife in her hands. She lashed out…she didn’t know who I was.” He stumbles over the next words. “She told me I was ugly after it happened, but she didn’t know what she was saying, so please don’t think badly of her. I don’t. I’ll love her always…she was my mom.”

I bite my lip at the pain in his voice.

“She killed herself a month later.”

Tears prick at me as those images flicker in my mind, and I shove them down, pick up one of his fisted hands, and press it to my lips. I kiss each knuckle, unfurling his fingers until they’re no longer clenched.

“I know I’m not ugly, but sometimes, sometimes, it gets in my head a little, and I…just…I don’t know…can’t stop thinking about it. I mean, if my own mom hurt me, then what the fuck is wrong with me? Then I remind myself that she had serious issues, but shit, the scar bugs me. I see it everyday in the mirror, and it’s a reminder that maybe I didn’t help her enough, that I should have seen how bad off she was that day we left her to go to school and she…she ended it.” He sucks in a breath. “It just…made me push people away. I didn’t want anyone to know what happened and I didn’t want to ever fucking kiss a girl again.”

“I’m sorry it happened, Knox.” God, what else can I say? He’s been through so much more than I ever realized.

He nods, sighing. “Dane has similar mental issues, I think.”

I wince.

“What?” he asks.

“He was doing coke the day I was hit outside the gym.” I describe how I saw the powder on his nose. “I kinda sorta said I wouldn’t tell you, not really out loud, but with my eyes, and now I’m a snitch again and we haven’t really been talking—”

He squeezes my hand. “Thanks for letting me know. Now, can you truth or dare me again? Because I really feel like this conversation took a nosedive.”

I turn to face him on the bed. “Okay, truth or dare?”

“You sound so serious,” he murmurs.

I pop him on the arm lightly. “I am! It’s the only way to get you to talk to me.”