Spending seven minutes in a closet with a stranger has to be the stupidest dare I’ve ever agreed to until it becomes seven minutes in heaven.
‘Back to Highschool’ frat parties aren’t my scene. But when the games start, and I’m dared to join in, I can’t resist.
You see, dares have always provided an excuse to be a crazy and exciting version of me. The kind of girl who steps into a closet wearing a little black dress and a blindfold, with no idea what to expect.
As the door closes, not one, not two, but three bodies press against me. Six hands roam over places that haven’t seen action for months. Seven minutes pass in a flash, and when time is up, I stagger out of the closet a disheveled, satisfied, and intrigued mess.
Because with just a glimpse of one tattooed hand, I know who achieved the unachievable. My stepbrothers knew how to blow my mind when no one had ever managed it before.
I’m mad as hell and freaked out at what we’ve done. I tell myself it’s all kinds of wrong, but my body won’t stop reminding me of just how right it felt.
I shouldn’t want more, but I do.
But without another dare, there’s no way I’ll be brave enough to find out if they can send me to heaven again.
Or will I?