In too Deep

Chapter One Ronan Doyle never imagined a kids’ game of Truth or Dare could f**k with his head as an adult. But that was before a very grown-up Chloe McCarthy sat across from him as a temptation. So much more than she had as a teenager. He didn’t belong sitting around a bonfire in the middle of the street, pretending to be happy, making jokes as he listened to childhood friends play Truth or Dare. He’d been gone for years, back only because his family had summoned him to make decisions about their father. Today, though, he’d hoped for the comfort of home. He hadn’t realized he’d be walking into the annual block party. As a teen, this party had defined his summers. Until his fourteenth summer. That year changed everything. The summer his dad had disappeared. Twenty years ago today, in fact. Hence the reason for the visit home. Most of his siblings, headed by his older brother Brendan, had been pushing to declare their father dead for years. On his last visit home, the twins mentioned that since it had been twenty years, it no longer made sense to wait. He couldn’t let that happen. It was too final, and they still had no idea what really happened. So he decided to move home. Not here, home. This neighborhood held too many memories. Instead, he bought a house nearby, but far enough to not have constant reminders. The day his dad went missing hadn’t been during the block party. The party had been the weekend before. It was the last good memory he had of his father. So here he was, sitting on a crappy lawn chair as Maggie, the youngest of the O’Learys who was about his sister’s age, circled the fire looking for her first victim. He’d already witnessed some steamy revelations about which neighbors had hooked up with each other over the years, as well as a few s****l dares. It was a little weird, even to his alcohol-filled brain to see people he knew as kids, now grown, still playing the same games they had twenty years ago. Some of the faces had changed, as younger siblings aged into the group. When he was fourteen, it was Spin the Bottle, not Truth or Dare, and he’d been lucky enough to plant a kiss on Maureen Lynch. He studied the faces around the fire. No Maureen. “Ronan,” Maggie said, pulling him from his memories. “Truth or dare?” Someone on the other side of the fire called, “No fair. Everyone knows the Doyles will do anything. A dare won’t scare him.” “Especially a dare created by Maggie. But I’ll take truth.” There was nothing Maggie could ask that would make him appear worse than how most of these people already viewed him. And it might be a good reminder for Chloe to stay away. Maggie rubbed her chin in thought. “What’s the worst thing you’ve ever done to someone in this neighborhood?” Funny how she had to qualify it. As if they all assumed he’d done much worse away from here. They weren’t wrong. He laughed and looked across the fire at Jimmy O’Malley, who grew up to be a cop just like his dad. “Hey, Jimmy, what’s the statute of limitations on grand theft auto?” A few people laughed and someone let out a low whistle. “That’s my cue to bow out. I’ll be back. Anyone need a refill?” Jimmy asked, holding his plastic cup. Ronan rested his elbows on his knees. Chloe leaned forward, attention riveted on him. He focused on the O’Leary sisters running the game. “When I was fourteen, I stole your father’s car. Crashed it into the liquor store so I could get some more beer. Needless to say, I was already drunk.” And angry. So f*****g angry. Everyone stared at him slack-jawed. Mr. O’Leary had been a pillar of their close-knit Chicago neighborhood. He took a swig of beer. “Your dad was cool about it. Pissed, but cool. Didn’t call the cops or tell my mom.” He paused. There was no dad to tell at that point. That was the summer he disappeared. “He just made me work off the cost of the repairs.” He raised his cup. “To Patrick O’Leary.” The crowd howled in laughter and smiled as they toasted the man who had died a few years ago. The whole time he told the story, Chloe sat on the ground, staring at his every movement. Her denim shorts rode to the crease of her a*s cheek as she shifted her legs and her t-shirt with the sleeves cut off clung to her curves, serving her up as a distraction. Nothing about her reminded him of the sweet, quiet girl afraid of her own shadow. She’d always been off-limits, first as his older brother’s girlfriend, then because her parents had unjustifiably threatened him with arrest. None of it, however, had stopped the temptation. So when it was his turn to ask, he wanted to scare her off. Test this new, bolder version. Teach her it wasn’t nice to tease. A quiet voice in the back of his mind did its own taunting, telling him that he just wanted a chance to touch her. She shouldn’t let him. Turning, he asked, “Chloe. Truth or dare?” “Dare.” One reddish-brown eyebrow arched in a dare of its own. Definitely bolder. “I dare you to let me do a body shot off you.” Holding her gaze, he searched for the flicker of fear, a flinch to begin the flight, but saw nothing. “Who’s got the tequila?” she asked. Had her voice always had that sexy rasp? Fuck. Of all the responses he might’ve imagined, that wasn’t one. He’d expected her to blush and decline at worst or run off and hide at best. He’d wanted to remove the temptation and it backfired. Someone passed a bottle and another person ran off and returned with a salt shaker and limes. Keeping eye contact with him, Chloe twirled her hair and tied it on the top of her head. Then she poured the shot, lay down in the street, and pulled her shirt up. His mouth went dry. She sprinkled salt on her skin just below her breasts and balanced the shot glass on her stomach before putting the slice of lime between her teeth. With everyone’s eyes on them, he rose from the creaky chair and lowered himself to her prone body. His mass cast her in darkness despite the flickering fire beside them. His shadow completely swallowed her. Her eyes continued to speak to him. Go ahead. This was your dare. Are you chicken? The problem was that Chloe wasn’t the kind of girl who taunted and teased. She’d always been the girl to help a neighbor, went to church every Sunday, never spoke a mean word to anyone. But laying splayed out before him, she didn’t look so innocent. Sweet? Yes. The kind he wanted to devour. He licked his lips and lowered his mouth to her abdomen. When the tip of his tongue made contact with her skin, she quivered slightly. He stroked slowly, allowing her time to change her mind. She smelled like summer: sunscreen and bug spray and youth. Completely fitting for this moment. The rough grains of salt on his tongue rubbed against her as he lapped them up. Goosebumps rose across her skin as his tongue moved, but she held still. He picked up the shot glass and downed the tequila. The burn of alcohol slid down his throat, tasteless. He concentrated on savoring her and the silky feel of her skin on his tongue. Then he moved to her mouth to take the lime from her lips. He hovered above her face for a second, staring into her eyes, still full of dare. Leaning in, he couldn’t help but allow his tongue to sweep into her mouth to sample her f*******n taste. He pulled back with the lime at the same time she gasped. Silence surrounded them as if they’d been swallowed by a bubble. Only the crackle of fire behind him spoke of time continuing. He waited for the slap that didn’t come. She simply sat up, tugging her shirt in place. She shot another arched brow in his direction. Chloe had definitely outgrown her shyness. The crowd began to murmur, but no one spoke of what they’d witnessed. Chloe rose to take her turn. He tossed the lime into the fire. Chloe turned her attention to the crowd. “Kevin.” “Truth.” “Why didn’t you ever ask me out when we were younger?” Seemed like Chloe was trying to push everyone’s buttons tonight. If the Doyles were the worst in the neighborhood, the O’Malleys came in not too far behind, and Kevin was an O’Malley. “You were a good girl, like your sister.” “So?” she asked. “I dated Brendan Doyle,” she added with a wave over in his direction. Ronan burst out laughing. Of course, she wouldn’t get it. While Brendan had had a rough year or so right after Dad disappeared, he straightened up, became the model son. He bought into the whole, I’m-the-man-of-the-house-now thing. Everyone loved him. Some people around the fire focused on Chloe and Kevin. Others stared at him, wide-eyed and open-mouthed. He hated the added attention, so he went to refill his beer at the keg. He didn’t know what he’d been looking for from that stunt. The ability to finally put his tongue in Chloe’s mouth without repercussion? Give her reason once again to fear being near him? He got neither. She simply handled it as part of the stupid game. Footsteps slapped the pavement behind him. He turned to see Chloe striding up, the sway of her hips causing her shirt to ride up a little, baring a strip of skin he’d had his tongue on. “It’s good to see you back in the neighborhood.” He gave a non-committal hum. He wasn’t sure how good this was. She ran a finger over the rim of her plastic cup. “So, that was pretty hot,” she said, lifting her chin toward the fire. “If you say so.” “Oh, I definitely say so.” She stepped closer. “How long are you in town for?” “Not sure.” Until I can find answers about my dad. “Maybe we can get a drink together. Or something.” “What are you doing, Chloe? How drunk are you?” In his recollection, being drunk was the only way she was ever attracted to him. “I’m not drunk. A little buzzed. And that body shot got me humming. I just thought we could continue.” “Really?” He pushed their history from his mind. If he was going to hell, he planned on making it worth it. He dropped his cup and slipped a finger through the loop of her shorts at her waist. He tugged her closer until her body brushed his. He lowered his mouth to hers. Her breath fluttered against his lips, and he could almost taste the size of this mistake. Before making contact, someone yelled, “Chloe? Where are you?” She jumped away from him like he’d expected her to when he suggested a body shot. She licked her lips. “That sounds like my mom. I’ll be back.” The hell she would. She was playing games and he wanted no part of it. Running as her mom beckoned, no different than a kid being called in for the night. Instead of returning to the fire, he walked toward his mom’s house. Sitting on the concrete steps, some of which were missing chunks—why hadn’t she asked him to fix this?—he watched the happenings of the end of the party from a safe distance. He’d grown up with most of the people at the bonfire. Unlike him, they’d kept in touch with each other, returned for the annual party, remained close. He’d turned eighteen and ran. He couldn’t wait to get away from here. The weight of people’s stares was too much for him. The sympathetic glances, the pitying head shakes, the questioning looks—as if he had answers about what had happened to his father. Between the scrutiny of the neighborhood and the brokenness of his family, he couldn’t stand it, so he’d left. Chloe’s parents and their threats hadn’t helped. He’d been back periodically over the years, never able to totally stay away. He loved his siblings. And his mom needed him. But he couldn’t be involved with the neighborhood the way some did: going to church as a family (church? The place might burn if he crossed the threshold), family barbecues that included the neighbors (he wasn’t much of a cook), and of course, planning this block party (far too full of memories for him).