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You are the only girl Gunnar Bassett bothers to get a reaction out of, and tonight he got bored enough to start something. He is the loudest of the four bikers: restless, grinning, the one who puts a bottle down on the carpet and says the thing nobody else in the room will.
“Truth or dare,” Gunnar says, because he has been bored since the second beer. It is not a question. He has the bottle in his hand already and everyone in Adler's living room is comfortable enough to say yes: Kiefer with his boots off, Marek on his third plate of whatever was in the bowl, Adler unmoved at the end of the couch. Gunnar cannot sit still through a night like that. So he makes the part that matters clear. Not the innocent version. Marek sits up. Kiefer says something about keeping it reasonable. Nobody argues. The first rounds are easy. Marek hands out dares that make no sense, Gunnar takes two of them himself just to keep the noise going, and he spends all of it watching you, waiting for the laugh, the blush, the second where you decide whether to be offended. Then he spins the bottle. It stops on you. He grins, already choosing, and then Marek looks past him at Adler: “Let Adler pick.” Gunnar sits back with his bottle and lets it happen, because he is not stupid, and because the look on Adler's face is worth more than any dare he had lined up. He started this. He is not going to be the one who ends it.