Truth or Dare

Drive

Well, that escalated quickly.

Santino kept a death grip on the steering wheel. Her damn car had auto transmission, so he couldn't even take his frustration out on the gear stick. And he had plenty of frustration to work off.

His attempts to initiate small talk had been met with a dry laugh from Pretty Boy, and a dismissive, "Pare, relax. Just focus on the traffic."

As if Santino couldn't navigate Manila traffic in the rain on a Saturday night. It stung his pride, and he wasn't usually so pikon.

He blamed the tequila, because it was easier than admitting his dare had backfired spectacularly. He'd have bet his life on Cassie choosing him for the kiss. Or chickening out. Seeing her attack her date—whom she'd mostly ignored up to that point—had left him stunned.

Their other friends had been shocked, too. But it hadn't stopped a few of them from giving him shit-eating grins as he hustled them out the door. He knew their friends believed he was stringing Cassie along, but the truth was ... complicated.

"Hey, can I have the—"

Cassie reached for the audio cable tucked into the small recess under the radio controls. For a moment, half her body lay against his side, and he felt the brief brush of her breast across his arm before she withdrew to the back, in shadow.

He put his hand on the gear stick even though there was no point. In case she decided to slide his way again.

Get a grip. He'd seen Cassie on dates before. They had even double-dated a few times, although those never really worked out well. Try explaining to a woman that your best friend was someone who looked like Cassie.

R&B blasted through the speakers, and he fumbled to turn down the volume. Cassie must have done the same on her phone because the music dropped to an inaudible level.

"Sorry," she giggled, and he let her adjust the volume at her end. It was loud enough that he could hear Pretty Boy murmuring something, but not so that he could make out the words.

He realised what a dumb idea it was when the next song came on. The last thing he needed was to think about blowjobs and quickies while he was trapped in her ridiculous car with her ridiculous date. For almost ten years he had managed, more or less successfully, not to see her that way, and he gritted his teeth and willed his penis to relax and his brain to stop imagining what she would look like looking up at him while she ...

He overtook the jeep in front of him and cut off a van trying to sneak past on the right. He heard Cassie squeal, probably from being suddenly thrown to the side by the car's momentum. Pretty Boy laughed, and then there was ... very conspicuous silence.

Santino strained his ears to make out any sounds from the back, but short of turning down the music—how obvious would that be?—it was impossible. He shot a reluctant glance at the rear view mirror and was gratified to see two distinct heads in silhouette.

Releasing a slow breath, he tried to concentrate on driving, but it was dark, and the music was sexy as hell, and he was bored, so of course all he could think about was what two people in the back of a car could get up to without having to kiss.

So many things.

They played like a porn montage in his mind, and by the time the song was over, he was so hard it hurt.

And then she moaned.