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. No. Yes.Double or nothing or I shall call you Petula. Petula? I m trying not to laugh. Petula? I m trying not to laugh. That s a slave name.I read it somewhere. No.I m not going to be Petula. Double or nothing or I tell my agent I can t work withyou because I slept with you.I gasp with outrage. You wouldn t! You can t! That snot fair! You did this too!He shrugs. All s fair in love and war & and since youkeep trying to convince yourself you don t even like me, Iguess that makes this war.Double or nothing. He takes astep closer.I tap my foot.He has me over a barrel and he knowsit.My Frankenstein cocktail buzzing brain cannot computea way out of this mess except by taking his challenge.Maybe it doesn t want to not figure out the smart answer.Ican do this.I can tell the truth or take a dare and get itover with.I just can t tell him I like him or how I really feel. Fine.Truth or dare, but you can t ask the samequestion.A very satisfied smile comes over his face as hemoves closer.I m nervous again.My heart is racing.He s staring atme, the smudged eyeliner, scruffy beard, and tattoosmaking him look like a rocker demon about to possess mysoul.I feel like letting him do it too, which is the scariestpart of this scenario. Truth or dare, little girl, he asks in a low growl. Truth, I whisper, afraid if I say dare he ll make metouch him again, and I know if I do that there will be nogoing back.He closes the space between us and stops just in frontof me. Okay & tell the truth & if I were to get down on myknees right here in front of you, and put my tongue betweenyour legs and lick your clit until you come screaming, wouldyou stop me? Or would you let me do it?I nearly faint at his words.My jaw drops open.I stareat him and in that moment, I know he s dead serious.Hewill do this to me if I just don t say no.I practically come in my underwear just looking at him.Two licks.That s all it will take.Wham, bam, thank youma am.My mouth moves around in imitation of speaking, butagain, words escape me.He reaches up and puts his hand over my breast,squeezing it and pinching the nipple through my dress.He s so bold and so uncouth, and I wouldn t change thatabout him for all the money in the world.I moan. Tarin & this is so unfair& Voices come from the hallway.A split second after Imove away from Tarin, the door bursts open and Scottwalks in.It s like a cold shower, but with people watchingme take it.Horrible doesn t begin to describe how it feels. Yo, yo, yo! Don t all you rock-n-roll fans rush me atonce.I don t want you mess up my new threads.I turn around, my face frozen in shock and horror atwhat might have just happened. What? Scott looks at me, his expression going frompleased to confused.He looks down at himself. You don tpleased to confused.He looks down at himself. You don tlike it do you? Dammit, I knew it was too much.Why didn tyou say anything before I got up on stage?I shake my head, unable to respond. Dude, it s good.You re all good. Tarin walks pastme like we weren t about to lick each other from head totoe in the middle of his family room and shakes Scott shand. Congrats, man.You got skills.If you want, we canhit the studio tomorrow. Yeah, sure, that d be awesome. Scott s back tobeing thrilled with himself and I m working on recoveringfrom sexual shock.I walk slowly around to the couch andpick up my shoes that are next to the coffee table. I m going to bed, I say, my voice not my own.I shovemy bra under the couch with my foot.I ll get it later. But I just got here, whines Scott. Don t you want tocelebrate my awesome self?I kiss him on the cheek as I walk by. Tomorrow.When I m not as exhausted.You are awesome, though.Iam your biggest fan of all time. Jack wants you to call him, Scott says as I walk outthe door.I m able to remain silent until I pass through the door.Then I scream at the top of my lungs when I get out into thehallway, no longer able to manage the pressure.Thefrustration echoes around my head, banging into my skulland making me wish I d just held it all in.Holy headache. What s her problem? asks Scott. She s just frustrated.She has to give me an assmassage tomorrow.I shut the door to the family room behind me to keepfrom hearing anymore of Tarin s nonsense.There is noway in hell I m touching his ass, even though I now know it snot really as hairy as he made it out to be.I trudge up the stairs and go into my bathroom.Theshower removes every last trace of Tarin off my body, but itcan t erase the feelings that still plague my system and thememories of his face and body that are burned into mybrain.Still wearing a damp bathrobe, I collapse into bed andfall into a restless sleep.I dream all night of Austin, a ghoststanding just out of my reach.He just floats there andstares at me, saying nothing.I beg him for his forgiveness,but it doesn t come for me.The only thing I can feel is pain,and the worst part is that I don t know if it s his or mine.Chapter Twenty-NineI M AWAKENED BY SOMEONE TAPPING on my door.Islide off the bed, knowing before my feet even hit the floorthat today is going to be a major chore.I have a headache,either from the terrible cocktails or the self-loathing that hastaken me over, and my tongue tastes like I ve been lickingcat butts all night.The clock says it s seven o clock in themorning.I crack the door open, fully expecting to see Scottthere.My heart drops to the floor when I realize it s not him. Time to work out, sunshine.Why aren t you dressedyet? Tarin s looking me in the eye like nothing happenedlast night.He s freshly shaved and showered, the bastard.I put my hand over my mouth so my breath doesn t leakout into the hallway. I overslept.I ll be out in a fewminutes. Are you sick? No.Just a little hungover. Mmm& He nods his head. I hear great sex ll dothat to ya. Shut up. I close the door in his face.He walks awaylaughing, and I rest my head against the wood frame, a longsigh breezing out of my lungs.I am so going to wish lastnight never happened.I slog through the tasks of showering and dressing forour morning workout.I put on my navy blue running shorts,a white jog bra, a hot pink tank top, and light green runningshoes.It looks like a toy store vomited on me, but I don tcare enough to try and match anything; I m too hungoverwith regret.Everyone is down in the foyer waiting for me thirtyminutes after my wake-up call, dressed in workout gearthat s way less obnoxious than mine.Except for Scott ofcourse.His shoes amp my headache up another couplenotches with their horrible orange fluorescence
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