More often than not, his scowls make me want to flip him the finger, but I feel a bit like we turned a corner tonight, and now the glare is making me feel self-conscious.

While I lick the remnants off my lips, I slide through the water to hand it back to him. His eyes follow my tongue in the least discreet way. The brush of it more sensual than I anticipated. The weight of the water pressing on all the best places.

I’ve never reacted this way to a man simply looking at me. Years in a bar with men giving me covetous looks, and none had me fumbling around like a nervous virgin.

I should hate him for it. But I’m intrigued. “Want to play a game?” I ask, pushing backwards across the space toward my bench. My foot glides against his calf as I go.

He quickly pulls his leg away. “I’m a little old for games, Willa.”

I quirk a brow, hiding my arms under the water to cover the gooseflesh popping up in response to his words. “Never too old for truth or dare.”

He stares at me, fingers pulsing around the glass propped up in his hand.

Having Luke out of the house is making me bold. It’s just us and what feels like an endless stretch of land behind me. “Truth or dare, Cade?”

He takes a swig, eyes almost coal black in the night. “Truth.”

“Where are my panties?”

His lips slope up, a sly expression hitting his face. “In the garbage.”

I giggle, tipping my head up to stare at the stars overhead. “Good. Your turn to ask.”

A deep rumble hums in his chest, and my eyes drop to the definition in his pecs. “Truth or dare?”

“Truth.” No way am I picking dare. He’ll dare me not to talk for a week or something.

“Why did you have underwear in your purse?”

I push forward to snag the glass of bourbon out of his hand. My knee brushes his, but this time he doesn’t move. I take a small sip, eyes shifting to meet his. “Honestly, I don’t like wearing underwear. They’re uncomfortable, they ride up, they leave panty lines that I hate. They’re just a nuisance, so I carry a spare pair.” I point at him. “Clean ones. Just in case of emergency.”

“A panty emergency?”

I shrug, pressing the glass back into his fingers and giving them a squeeze around the glass to make sure he doesn’t drop it. “You just never know,” I reply as I move to his bench rather than across from him.

It will make sharing the drink easier.

That’s what I tell myself.

“Why do panty lines matter? If people know you’re wearing underwear, is that . . .” His face scrunches kind of adorably. “Is that a bad thing? Everyone wears underwear.”