Page 18 of His Kidnapped Irish Mafia Virgin

She shrugged and said, “You haven’t come up with anything. Do you have a better idea?”

I agreed to play, even though I knew it was a bad idea. Nora smiled with satisfaction as I pushed the files away from me and leaned back in my chair. It was a victory for her, and she looked as though she’d just won a much bigger battle than she had. For the first time in days, Nora wasn’t talking to me about locked gates, security guards, or the argument that had followed our kiss. I had somehow become part of Nora’s solution to saving herself from another afternoon of boredom.

“If we’re doing this,” Nora said, pointing a finger at me, “then we need rules. Otherwise one of us is going to change them halfway through the game.”

I leaned back against the sofa and smiled. “One of us?”

“You will.” The confidence in her voice made me laugh. She looked far too serious for someone talking about a game, which told me she had no intention of letting me find an advantage.

“What kind of rules?” I asked.

Nora rested her chin on her hand, thinking for a moment before she spoke. “First, no questions about the investigation. Or the people who attacked me,” she added. “I’ve spent enough time thinking about them. I don’t want this turning into another strategy meeting.”

“Fair enough,” I said without hesitation. “This isn’t about them.”

She nodded, clearly pleased. “Second, no dangerous dares.”

“I wasn’t planning on asking you to jump off the roof.”

“I know you weren’t.” She gave me a dry look. “But I’m just making sure. And no dares that are only meant to embarrass the other person.”

“So no making you sing in front of the guards?”

“Exactly.” She laughed.

“There goes my best idea.” I sighed dramatically. “Where did you even come up with all these rules?”

“We used to play all the time in high school. My friends started it whenever exams got too stressful.” She laughed softly. “Someone always regretted saying yes.”

For a moment I pictured a version of Nora I’d never known: a younger woman surrounded by friends, laughing until she couldn’t breathe while everyone argued over impossible questions and ridiculous dares. The Nora I knew had been shaped by work, responsibility, and survival. It was strange to remember she’d once had a life before all of that got so heavy.

“You look like you’re thinking too hard,” Nora said, tilting her head.

“I was just trying to imagine you in high school.”

She laughed. “Trust me,” she said. “You wouldn’t have survived me.” She studied me for a moment. “Don’t tell me you’ve never played.”

“I haven’t.”

Nora laughed, but the sound faded when she realized I wasn’t smiling back.

“My life wasn’t exactly built around party games,” I said.

The words came out more quietly than I’d intended, and I saw the understanding reach Nora’s eyes before she said anything.

“I’m sorry,” Nora said.

The silence that followed wasn’t awkward. If anything, it felt comfortable, as though we were both beginning to understand that neither of us had grown into the people we were by accident.

After a moment, Nora clapped her hands together softly and smiled again. “Well, we need to decide who goes first.”

“You,” I said.

Nora frowned immediately and reminded me that we were sitting in my house, which meant I should be the one setting the example. I pointed out that it had been Nora’s idea from the beginning, so it seemed fair that Nora should have the honor of answering the first question. Nora argued for another minute, insisting I was changing the rules before we’d even started.

“What? Deciding who goes first wasn’t one of the rules.”

“Fine,” she said at last, giving in with obvious reluctance. “I’ll go first. If this ends badly, I’m blaming you.”