Chapter 1: Truth or Dare
The fire crackled, a low, hungry sound that seemed to sync with the pulse of the music playing softly from the Bluetooth speaker. Shadows danced on the log walls of the cabin, stretching and contracting with every pop of ember from the hearth. Brandon felt the heat on his back, but it was nothing compared to the heat of five pairs of eyes fixed on him from the semicircle on the bearskin rug.
“Okay, okay, my turn!” Andreia announced, her voice a little too loud. She snatched a card from the pile in the center, her red hair catching the firelight like spun copper. She read it, her sultry eyes widening with delight before flicking up to meet Brandon’s. “Dare. I dare you, Brandon, to give the person to your left a… lap dance.”
A collective gasp, followed by a burst of tipsy giggles, filled the room. The person to Brandon’s left was Andreia herself. She was already shifting on the rug, patting her thighs with a challenge in her grin.
Brandon’s hazel eyes shot to Gabby. She was curled into a deep leather armchair, a glass of red wine dangling from her fingers. Her low-cut black dress seemed to drink in the shadows. She met his look with a raised eyebrow and that knowing smirk, then gave him a slow, deliberate shrug that said, You’re on your own, baby. For the bride.
Raquel, the bride-to-be, sat very still beside Gabby, her beautiful brown eyes unreadable. Karina, Gabby’s younger sister, just giggled into her whiskey, her glasses slightly askew.
“C’mon, financial adviser,” Andreia purred, leaning back on her hands, which did interesting things to the neckline of her top. “Show us where you really invest your energy.”
Brandon ran a hand through his sun-streaked hair, feeling a stupid, boyish flush creep up his neck. He was in good shape—he logged hours at the gym for this very confidence—but this was different. This was his wife’s family. Sort of.
“The music, Gabriella,” Andreia demanded, not looking away from Brandon.
With a roll of her blue eyes, Gabby picked up her phone and tapped the screen. The soft indie rock cut off, replaced by the heavy, percussive beat of a hip-hop track. It thumped through the floorboards.
“You asked for it,” Brandon muttered, pushing himself up. The atmosphere thickened, the sweet scent of perfume and whiskey now undercut with something sharper—anticipation.
He moved toward Andreia. Her smile was victorious. He stood over her for a second, the fire casting his silhouette around her, then lowered himself. He didn’t sit, not quite. He braced a hand on the floor behind her, caging her in as he started to move.
It was awkward at first. He was a guy who danced at weddings, not in cabins. But the beat was a physical thing, and the warmth of the fire and the intensity of her gaze burned away some of his inhibition. He rolled his hips, once, twice, finding a rhythm. His chiseled frame, usually hidden under sweaters or polo shirts, was all too apparent in his simple henley and jeans.
Andreia’s earlier bravado softened into something more focused. Her sultry eyes watched his body, her lips slightly parted. She didn’t touch him, but her attention was a palpable force.
Karina whooped. Raquel took a long sip of her drink. Gabby just watched, her smirk settled into something more contemplative, her finger tracing the rim of her glass.
Brandon caught his wife’s eye over Andreia’s head. Gabby’s gaze dropped, slowly, deliberately, down the length of his body and back up. A silent message. A claim. The possessive thrill of it cut through his performance anxiety, fueling him. He gave a final, sharp grind of his hips against the air before standing up, slightly breathless, and offering a hand to pull Andreia up.
She took it, her hand warm. “Not bad,” she said, her voice a shade lower. “For an amateur.”
The room erupted in laughter and claps, breaking the tension. Brandon collapsed back onto the rug, reaching for his beer.
“My turn!” Gabby declared, setting her wine down. She didn’t reach for the card pile. She laced her fingers together, her gaze sweeping the room before landing, with pinpoint accuracy, on her husband. “I have a dare. For Brandon.”
“Oh, God,” he groaned, playing along. “Am I going to have to do shots with my pinky up?”
“No,” Gabby said, her voice smooth. “I dare you to kiss the most beautiful woman in this room.”
A loaded silence descended. The only sound was the crackling fire. Karina giggled nervously. Andreia’s eyes flicked between Brandon and Gabby, sensing a game within the game. Raquel had gone perfectly still, her glass frozen halfway to her lips.
Brandon’s warm hazel eyes crinkled in confusion. He looked at his wife, the obvious answer. But Gabby wasn’t looking at him expectantly. She was looking at him with that mischievous glint, her head tilted toward Raquel.
His heart gave a hard, sudden thump. No. She didn’t.
Raquel, her tall, curvy form tense, met his gaze. Her brown eyes were wide, a flush creeping over her cheekbones. She had always been quiet around him, her quick wit reserved for others. He’d caught her looking, sometimes, years ago, before he and Gabby were serious. He’d never acknowledged it. Gabby apparently had.
“Gabby,” he said, a warning in his tone.
“It’s a dare,” she replied, all innocence. “For the bride-to-be’s party. You wouldn’t deny the bride a little spectacle, would you?” Her words were light, but her blue eyes were unyielding. This was a test. A gift. A grenade. He couldn’t tell.
The air was charged, every detail hyper-clear: the weave of the bearskin under his palms, the faint, sweet smell of Raquel’s perfume cutting through the woodsmoke, the way Gabby’s blonde curls glowed in the firelight.
Brandon stood. He walked the two steps to where Raquel sat. She looked up at him, her expression a mixture of shock and a deep, secret hope he now realized had always been there.
“Raquel,” he said softly, an apology and a question in her name.
She gave a tiny, almost imperceptible nod.
He leaned down, one hand braced on the arm of her chair. He kept it chaste, closed-mouthed, a press of lips that lasted no more than three seconds. Her lips were soft. She tasted of cherries and champagne. She made a small, breathy sound against his mouth that no one else could hear.
When he pulled back, the room was utterly silent. Her beautiful brown eyes were glassy.
Brandon turned to face his wife. Gabby’s smirk was back, but it was tight at the edges. Her chest rose and fell a little faster beneath the black dress. She had watched the whole thing, every second, and the possessive thrill she’d felt earlier now warred with something raw and green in her gut. She had orchestrated it, but seeing it—seeing the way her cousin had looked at him—was different.
“Happy?” Brandon asked, his voice rough.
“Ecstatic,” Gabby replied, the word crisp. She lifted her wine glass again, but her knuckles were white. “Your turn, Raquel. Truth or dare?”
Raquel blinked, pulling herself back from somewhere far away. She looked at the man still standing near her chair, then at her cousin’s sharp, smiling face. The game had shifted. The fire cracked, sending a spiral of sparks up the chimney as she drew a breath to answer.
The fire cracked, sending a spiral of sparks up the chimney as she drew a breath to answer.
“Dare,” Raquel said, her voice quieter than before. She wasn’t looking at the card pile. She was looking at Gabby. “I dare you, Gabby, to trade places with Karina for the next round.”
It was a deflection, a safe play, and everyone felt the collective release of breath. Gabby laughed, a bright, sharp sound, and unfolded herself from the armchair. “Boring, cousin. But fine.”
As the two sisters swapped spots, Karina flopping into the still-warm chair with a giggle, Andreia slid across the rug closer to Brandon. The new music had a deeper, slower bassline that seemed to vibrate in the floorboards.
“My turn again,” Andreia announced, not waiting for any official order. The whiskey had made her bold, and the charged air from the kisses and the lap dance had stripped away any pretense of mere games. Her sultry eyes were dark pools in the firelight. “Brandon. Truth or dare?”
He felt Gabby’s gaze on him from the new spot on the rug, a tactile pressure. “Let’s go with truth,” he said, aiming for casual. “Seems safer.”
“It’s not,” Andreia promised, her smile all teeth. “Truth: What was the first thing you thought when you saw me tonight?”
He could have lied. He should have lied. Something polite, generic. You looked nice. But the warmth of the fire, the buzz of the beer, and the flickering, permission-heavy atmosphere of the room loosened his tongue. His mischievous streak, the one Gabby loved and occasionally feared, nudged him.
“I thought,” Brandon said, his hazel eyes holding Andreia’s, “that red was a hell of a color on you. And that the cabin might not be big enough for both of us.”
Karina whistled. Raquel took another drink, her eyes on the fire. Gabby’s expression was unreadable.
Andreia didn’t blush. She preened. “Liar,” she breathed, but she was delighted. “You’re skipping the real truth. But I’ll allow it.” She leaned forward, the neckline of her top gaping slightly. “My turn again. Dare. I dare you to let me give you a lap dance. Right here. Right now.”
The room, which had begun to relax, snapped back to electric attention. This was no longer a game of Brandon performing for them. This was an invitation into the fire.
Brandon looked at Gabby. Her face was a mask of cool amusement, but her jaw was tight. She gave a tiny, almost imperceptible nod. The same nod Raquel had given him. Go on. It was a challenge and a concession, all at once. Prove you’re still mine in the middle of it.
“Okay,” Brandon said, his voice rough.
He started to move to sit more formally on the rug, but Andreia was faster. She was on him before he could settle, one knee sinking into the bearskin on either side of his hips. She wasn’t tentative. She pressed herself against him, her hands coming to rest on his shoulders. The heat of her was immediate and overwhelming.
The music swelled. She began to move, a slow, grinding roll of her hips against his. Her eyes never left his. This wasn’t a performance for the room; it was a conversation between two people. Her curves, all in the right places, fit against him with a maddening precision. The scent of her, wild and sweet, filled his senses.
Brandon’s hands hovered awkwardly at his sides before settling on the rug, fists clenched in the thick fur. He could feel every shift of her body, the intent behind it. A flush spread up his neck. His own body was responding, a traitorous, basic reaction he tried to will away.
Gabby watched, her smile frozen. The possessive thrill was gone, burnt away by a hotter, sharper feeling. She had set this in motion, but now it had its own momentum.
Andreia leaned in, her lips close to his ear. Her breath was warm. “You can touch, you know,” she murmured, a whisper meant only for him. “It’s part of the dare.”
The permission hung in the air. Karina was staring, open-mouthed. Raquel had looked away, studying the flames as if they held the secrets of the universe. Brandon’s heart hammered against his ribs. His gaze flicked to Gabby. Her blue eyes were icy, waiting. What will you do?
His hands unclenched. Slowly, he lifted them, letting them come to rest lightly on Andreia’s waist. The fabric of her top was thin. He could feel the heat of her skin beneath it.
Encouraged, Andreia melted closer, her arms looping around his neck. The motion brought her chest flush against his. She buried her face in the crook of his neck, her sigh a hot whisper on his skin. Her hips never stopped moving.
ANDREIA PULLS BRANDON CLOSER.
Her body molded to his, eliminating the last slivers of space between them. One of her hands slid from his shoulder into his hair, her fingers twisting gently in the sun-streaked strands. It was an intimate, claiming gesture. Her lips brushed the line of his jaw, not quite a kiss, but a promise of one.
The world narrowed to the feel of her, the pounding beat, the crackling fire. Brandon’s control, the easy confidence he wore like a coat, was fraying. His hands tightened on her waist.
Across the rug, Gabby stood up. The movement was fluid, silent. She didn’t say a word. She simply walked around the semicircle of watching women, her silhouette blocking the fire for a moment. She came to a stop right beside them, looking down at her husband and her cousin’s sister entwined on the bearskin rug.
Andreia felt the shadow and went still, her face still hidden against Brandon’s neck.
Gabby leaned down, her blonde curls falling forward. She placed a single, cool hand on Brandon’s cheek, turning his face toward her. Her blue eyes bored into his, searching, reading every flicker of guilt and arousal she found there.
Then, her other hand reached out and grasped Andreia’s shoulder, not roughly, but with undeniable firmness. She pulled her up and away, breaking the connection.
“Dare’s over,” Gabby said, her voice low and perfectly clear. It wasn’t angry. It was final. “My turn.”
The silence that followed was absolute, save for the hungry roar of the flames.
Gabby’s hand was still on Andreia’s shoulder, a point of contact that was both casual and commanding. She didn’t push her off, just held her there, separated, until Andreia shifted her weight and sank back onto her own heels on the rug. The spell was broken, but the air remained thick enough to taste.
“My turn,” Gabby repeated, her eyes still locked on Brandon. She finally released Andreia’s shoulder and straightened up, smoothing the front of her black dress. “And I choose… Karina.”
Karina, who had been watching the whole exchange with a sort of drunken, open-mouthed fascination, jumped as if zapped. “Me?”
“You.” Gabby’s smile returned, but it was different now—less playful, more strategic. “Truth or dare, little sister?”
The familiar phrasing, the familial nickname, worked to slowly deflate the room’s heaviness. This was a return to the game, but on Gabby’s terms. She was reasserting control.
Karina pushed her glasses up her nose, thinking. Whiskey made her brave, but it also made her sentimental. “Truth,” she slurred slightly. “Hit me.”
Gabby perched on the arm of Brandon’s chair, her hip brushing his shoulder. A deliberate touch. “Truth,” she began, her voice deceptively light. “Who was the last person you fantasized about who wasn’t a celebrity or a stranger?”
Karina’s blue eyes went wide behind her lenses. A blush, vivid and immediate, flooded her cheeks and chest. Her gaze darted, for one incriminating second, toward Brandon before snapping to the fire. “Gabby! That’s… that’s mean.”
“It’s the game,” Gabby said, unmoved. “Spill.”
“It’s…” Karina fumbled, taking a huge gulp of her drink. The ice cubes clinked violently. She was the worst liar in the world. “It was just a silly… from that vacation. Years ago. At the lake house.”
The lake house. Brandon remembered. Four years ago, just after he and Gabby got engaged. A family trip. Karina had been there, less reserved back then, fresh out of a bad breakup.
The memory clicked into place for Gabby, too. Her eyebrow arched. “The raft,” she stated, not asked.
Karina buried her face in her hands and nodded, her curly hair bouncing. “Oh my god, yes, the raft. I was sunbathing and I saw… and I had too much wine at lunch. It was nothing. It was a decade ago.”
Brandon remembered the raft. He’d been swimming, hauling himself up onto the sun-bleached wood. Gabby had been on the shore, laughing with her mother. He’d stretched out, letting the sun dry his skin. He’d had no idea he had an audience.
A new kind of tension entered the room, laced with a strange, shared history. Raquel looked intrigued. Andreia, still flushed from the lap dance, watched with renewed interest, her earlier dismissal forgotten.
“Your turn, Karina,” Gabby said, awarding her a point for her tortured honesty. “Pick someone.”
Karina peeked through her fingers. The whiskey and the confession had fused into a new, daring alloy. She lowered her hands. “Okay. Okay. I pick… Brandon. Again.”
Brandon let out a soft chuckle, a release of nervous energy. “Of course you do.”
“Truth or dare?” Karina asked, her voice stronger now.
He considered. Truth had just proven dangerous. But dare felt like walking into a minefield Gabby had just partially mapped. “Truth,” he said, deciding the devil he knew was slightly preferable.
Karina leaned forward, her busty frame swaying. She bit her lip, then asked the question that had clearly been forming since her own confession. “When was the last time you… thought about someone else? Like, really thought about them?”
The fire popped. It was a direct hit, a question that bypassed the game’s performative layer and went straight for the foundation of the room—his marriage. Gabby’s posture next to him became utterly still. This was the line, and Karina, drunk or not, had just hurdled over it.
Brandon’s warm hazel eyes lost their crinkled ease. He looked at his wife. Her face was a calm mask, but the pulse in her throat was visible, fluttering. She gave no nod, no sign. This was his to answer.
He took a long, slow breath, the scent of pine and smoke filling his lungs. The truth was, he hadn’t, not in any real way. Not until tonight. The electric thrill of the attention, the heat of Andreia against him, the shock of Raquel’s soft mouth—it had stirred something he thought was dormant, or at least permanently devoted to one person.
“Tonight,” he said, the word simple and heavy. “I thought about it tonight.”
The admission hung there, raw and undeniable.
Gabby’s mask didn’t crack. She just watched him, her blue eyes absorbing the hit. Raquel looked down at her hands. Andreia smiled, a slow, knowing curve of her lips.
Karina, however, looked immediately remorseful. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—”
“It’s fine,” Gabby cut her off, her voice smooth. She finally moved, sliding off the arm of the chair and back onto the bearskin rug, crossing her legs. “He answered. The game continues.” She looked at Karina, and the intensity in her gaze was a command. “Your turn isn’t over. You dared him for a truth. Now you have to follow the pattern. You have to pick someone new.”
The rules were arbitrary, but the directive was clear. Move it along. Gabby was sandbagging the emotional crater that had just opened.
Karina, eager to redirect, scanned the faces. Her eyes landed on the one person who had been the quietest. “Raquel. Truth or dare?”
Raquel seemed to gather herself, pulling her tall frame up straighter. The bride-to-be. The one with the beautiful brown eyes and the quiet crush that wasn’t so quiet anymore. She looked from Karina to Gabby to Brandon. The air in the cabin seemed to coil tighter, waiting.
“Dare,” Raquel said, her quick wit finally surfacing in the boldness of the choice. She wasn’t going to offer up any more truths. Not when dares could be actions, and actions could be revelations all their own.
Karina grinned, the mischief returning. “Okay. I dare you to… show us the sexiest text message currently in your phone.”
It was a contemporary, invasive sort of dare. Perfect for the room. Raquel’s eyes widened, but she didn’t refuse. She picked up her phone from the rug, the screen glowing in her hand. Her thumbs moved, scrolling. A faint, private smile touched her lips as she read something, then she hesitated.
“C’mon, no cheating!” Andreia urged.
Raquel took a breath, then turned her phone around. The screen was bright in the dark room. It was a message thread. The name at the top was blurred by distance, but the text was clear.
I can’t stop thinking about that kiss. It was all I wanted for years.
The message was sent. The reply below it, from the blurred name, was simple: ?
It was a message that had never been delivered. A draft.
Silence, deeper than before, swallowed the cabin. Every one of them knew who the draft was for. The timing was too precise. The un-sent message was a grenade with the pin halfway out.
Raquel’s brown eyes lifted, finding Brandon’s. There was no apology in them now, only a stark, naked truth she hadn’t even needed to speak. Then she looked at her cousin.
Gabby stared at the glowing screen, her smirk finally, completely gone. Her lips were a thin, pale line. The possessive thrill was now a cold, hard stone in her gut. The game wasn’t a game anymore. It was a lit fuse.
And then Karina, sensing the precipice they were all on, giggled. The sound was wildly out of place. “My turn again!” she announced, too loudly. She reached for the whiskey bottle, sloshing more into her glass. Her eyes were bright and unfocused. “And this time… this time, I’m not just asking. This time, I’m in. KARINA JOINS THE GAME.”