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“I don’t know.”
Her lips press into a firm line. “Tell me the truth.”
I look up at the sky for answers. “Because I had told you about the fight I got into at the bar, how I ended up with my spinal injury, and I wanted to know what you thought of me—what you really thought of me after I told you.”
“What I really thought of you? As if I was lying, or faking my reaction?”
“No. Maybe. I don’t know.”
She’s quiet again, and her gaze drops to her lap.
“I’m sorry, Charly. I did it just that once, and I won’t do it again. I promise.”
She lifts her eyes to mine, and I can’t read the expression on her face. “Well, since we’re telling secrets, then I guess I should be honest with you as well.”
Unease seeps into my gut. “About what?”
“I invaded your privacy too.” She grimaces. “Far worse than you did mine.”
My mind races with possibilities. “What are you talking about?”
She pushes to her feet and paces around the fire. I follow, waiting in suspense for what feels like ten minutes.
“The other night, you were in the shower. I was walking to my bedroom, and then I heard something. I called your name through the door, but you couldn’t hear me over the fan.” She squeezes her eyes shut. “I wanted to make sure you weren’t hurt. I thought maybe you’d slipped and fell.”
“Okay ...”
“When I got inside the bathroom, you ... you were ... I saw you ...”
“It’s no big deal. We’re both grown adults.” I let out a relieved breath. “I’m sure you didn’t see anything you haven’t seen before.”
“There’s more.” Her chest rises with her inhale. “You were touching yourself.”
Oh.
I’m turned on by the thought of her watching me jerk off in the shower, but I push it aside because she looks so upset by this. “You didn’t know. It’s okay.”
She covers her face with her hands. “But I didn’t leave, Bryce. After I knew what you were doing, I didn’t leave.”
Oh.
I peel her hands away, needing to see her eyes. “Why didn’t you leave?”
“I guess ... because maybe ... I was turned on by it.”
Heat rushes down my spine.
She lifts her arm, and lets it fall, her hand smacking against her thigh. “So, I can’t be mad at you for reading my journal—which I really want to be mad at you for, by the way—because I watched you masturbate like some creepy peeping Tom, and it was wrong, and I told myself to leave, but I just couldn’t. I mean, I know I could’ve, but I didn’t want to, and I don’t know what came over me because—”
“Charly?”
She stops rambling. “Yeah?”
I step closer to her. “Truth or dare?”
Her nose wrinkles. “What?”
“Pick one.”
