Truth or Dare Read Online Free

and Ford were forced to endure it, Ava deserved to share in the post-traumatic suffering as well. The pact had been her idea.
    Ava shook her head. “I didn’t break in.”
    From the back of the apartment, Sam called out, “It wasn’t breaking. I used my key.”
    Oh, well then. Except…“What’s he doing in my bedroom?”
    “Checking to see if that three-pack of condoms I bought you was still in your bedside table. We thought you might have been…you know, hopeful or something.”
    Really, it should have felt like a violation, but compared to having Ford’s tongue in her mouth, this paltry bit of B&E barely ranked.
    Leaning back a step, she called down the hallway, “The rubbers are still there.”
    “Yeah, found ’em already,” came the enthusiastic reply. “I’ve moved on to your panty drawer. And how about a
hell, yes
for the racy stuff at the bottom.”
    Heaving a deep sigh, she staggered into the living room and snuggled into her favorite cushy chair. “So how bad was it? Did we at least look kind of sexy?”
    “Not even close, no.” Sam strolled down the hall, wearing a beat pair of faded jeans the same color as his eyes and a plain white long-sleeve T-shirt that told the story of a career rooted in manual labor without bragging about it. His hair was its usual tousled mess of sandy blond and his face sported a just-back-from-the-beach warmth that was a gift of his natural complexion.
    “It was bad, Maggie,” he said. Then elaborating as only he could, added, “Like blunt trauma to the eyeballs—bleach-scrub-for-the-brain bad. Seriously, I don’t get why you keep doing this. You sucked face with Ford, a guy you have zero romantic interest in, for the sake of some stupid pact. Why don’t you girls stop trying to force something that isn’t ready to come and wait for a guy who actually does it for you? I mean, if you were getting an itch scratched once in a while, I suppose it would be different. But with the rules—”
    Suddenly he broke off, a curious look fixed on his face. He turned to Ava. “Where
do
you get your itch scratched?”
    Ava froze, her big brown eyes gone saucer wide.
    Aha!
Someone else on the hot seat tonight.
    But before Maggie could get too excited about the coming squirm, the front door swung open and Ford stepped in, looking suspiciously…clean.
    And totally oblivious. “Who’s got an itch?”
    “Did you…shower?” Maggie asked, her ego more than a little dinged.
    Ford at least had the courtesy to look apologetic when he raked his hand through the still-damp strands of his dark hair. “Sorry. I felt dirty.” Then, grasping for a distraction, “Ave, you have a rash or something?”
    Sam had an unholy glint in his eyes, and apparently not willing to take any chances, Ava cut in with a delighted smile. “Maggie was thinking about letting Apartment Three scratch her itch for her.”

Chapter Three

N OVEMBER
    “God, I hate that guy.” Maggie stood by the bay window looking down at Apartment Three, his Adidas planted on the gate’s stone footing as he leaned into his post-run stretch. He was still running in track shorts, his only concession to the changing seasons a long-sleeve running shirt.
    Ava walked up beside her, an open bag of Pirate’s Booty in hand. Glancing down at the growing darkness, she nodded. “Me, too.”
    “You know what annoys me the most? I bump into him constantly.”
    “Definitely annoying.”
    “At the grocery store. In the hall. Picking up my deep-dish at Lou Malnati’s. Did I tell you I ran out to grab a box of tampons at 7-Eleven and turn around at the counter…
he’s behind me in line.
He’s everywhere.”
    “Like the plague. But I mean, he does live in the building and all that stuff is, you know, a block away.” Then, catching herself, or maybe the look of betrayal on Maggie’s face, she finished with a hissed,
“Stalker.”
    Thank you.
    “Yeah. And with this running, I see him every day. Walking home from the gallery, I