Brooks sets the ice bucket down on the bed and drops three chip baggies in the middle of the comforter.

"We always go so gourmet," I joke.

"You read my mind."

I glance at him across from me on the bed before quickly redirecting my eyes on our stash. To be honest, the vodka and chips are the last thing I want to taste right now.

"What?" He asks, clearly reading my mind.

"Would you put on a shirt please?"

"Can't concentrate without it?" He asks.

"Something like that."

Brooks decides we are going to play a wild game of Truth or Strip Dare. In essence, it's Truth, but if you decide to skip, you are dared to remove a piece of clothing. Dangerous considering my arsenal consists solely of my T-shirt and thong.

"Pop a chip, crunch, more chips," Brooks tells me, squeezing open one of the Doritos bags and tossing a few chips in his mouth.

"Ice cube in the mouth, then shot, then lemonade," I direct him.

We do several shots this way, while demonstrating a politeness uncharacteristic to both of us. For the first three rounds, our "truths" mainly consist of favorite holidays and biggest fear and tons of other things we already know each other's answers to.

"It's nice," Brooks says, looking at me. "To have this kind of night in person."

"And not miles apart?" I add.

"Without cellphone speakers, yes. Exactly."

1 AM hits.

1:30 AM hits.

"Okay, okay. my turn. Truth, why don't we have 2006 music on right now?" Brooks laughs, eyes creasing.

"Fair! We're a disgrace. Gimme your phone." I scoot across the bed to snag his phone from the comforter beside him.

I browse Spotify to cue up some gems, but notice Brooks is watching me again. I sit back to my spot on my bed and bite my lip to stop myself from grinning.

"Truth or strip dare?" I ask.

Brooks pops another half-melty ice cube and swigs from the last of the vodka bottles. No lemonade. "I think I'm ready for strip dare."

"Knew you'd cave first." I scrunch my nose, happy at his defeat. "Okay, okay. I strip dare you to remove the T-shirt that you've been wearing begrudgingly this whole time."

He laughs, shaking his head, but slides the shirt up and over his head, discarding it in a heap on the floor. He's taken the opportunity to inch closer to me on the bed. Fuck me.

He watches my eyes watch him. "Impressed?"

"Nothing I haven't seen before," I shrug, feigning disappointment.

He laughs it off and I focus hard on MakeDamnSure.

"Truth or strip dare." Brooks's low tenor is a silky whisper on my ears.

I size him up, on the one hand wanting to reciprocate, to prove I'm not a prude princess who won't play the game. On the other hand, I'm at least three shots deep and I don't trust myself.

"Truth."

"Do you want to spend the night here?" Brooks stares into my soul.

"Why do I feel like that's a loaded question?" I frown.

"How so?" Brooks hangs his head to the side.

"Like night doesn't just mean tonight," I say.

"Don't overthink it." Brooks shakes his head. "Just answer."

"It's 1:30 AM now. I think I am spending the night," I joke.

"You always do that," Brooks groans. "Make everything a joke. No more truth for you. I'm going to limit you to strip dare only."

"No fair!"

I laugh because he's right. And because of his stupid face and how much better it would look between my legs right now. I'm just a basic girl. And Brooks is just a boy, a boy in a king-sized bed, but fuck if it ain't a weakness like no other.

"Alright," I say.

Brooks looks at me, dubious, and runs his hands through his hair. I decide my hands  would look better there, and in one swift motion I am across the bed. No more drained airport bottles or empty chip wrapper barriers between us now.

I situate myself on Brooks's lap, straddling him as he leans against the headboard. The familiarity is, well, like riding a bike. His expression of disbelief pivots to one of desire real fast.

"Alright what?" He questions, eyebrow raised.

"Strip dare," I say plainly.

I grind my waist against his and honestly, let's praise the cheap fabric of his gym shorts. My fingers are twisting in his hair and his hands are balancing my hips, pulling them even closer to his. I stop him from kissing me (Pretty Woman rules) and raise myself up on my knees so we can't feel each other anymore.

"No fair," Brooks breathes heavy against my neck.

I grip his hair in my fingers to tilt his head back so our eyes meet.

"I'm letting you help remove the clothing," I whisper.

This is good, I think.

It's a nice way to move on -a last time that we know is the last time. A perfect goodbye. At least that's what I tell myself when Brooks's finger pushes aside my lacy and he stuffs his fingers inside me.

"You're so fucking wet," he whispers against my ear.

"I blame you," I barely breathe.

My left fingers grip his hair tighter and my right hand moves to his throat. I slightly choke his neck until he tosses his head back again, looking at me.

I lean myself into him more, letting his fingers go even deeper. Finally our lips meet in a rush of breathy air and lusty fervor. I taste his lips, his skin, his tongue on mine. I taste myself as he brings his fingers up between our mouths.

With both hands, he glides my lacy over my ass and down my legs. I kick it off, lost to the floor with his shirt, with what's left of my volition. I pull his black V-neck over my head and add it to the pile.

"Don't move," Brooks utters against my lips.

He pushes his arm against the headboard to lower himself down between my thighs until he's lying flat on his back. He hooks both arms beneath my legs and pulls me up to his face. I let my hands detangle from his hair and lean myself back.

Brooks's lips kiss everywhere, warm and moist and sticky. Everywhere but the place I'm dying for him to go most. He places a hand on each of my hips and guides me into a rocking motion on his face.

I don't have a single thought in the world. No conscience struggling with this. No excuse for stopping. Just pure wanton lust. But it's not my body that's lusty tonight. It's my heart.

"Brooks," I say, unhooking my leg from his shoulder.

"What's wrong?" He asks, removing his hands from me altogether.

"Nothing," I smile, once against tasting myself on his lips. "Except this is absolute torture."

"Torture?"

I slide down to his waist again as he props himself up. I'm back in straddling position and already working to remove his shorts, his cock hard against my hands. Throbbing is not an accurate description for what's going on inside me right now.

"I fucking need you in me." I let my hair fall against his face as I whisper into his ear.

Brooks responds with full-steam enthusiasm. He scoops me up and flips me over until I'm beneath him, his entire body weight pressing me deeper into the mattress. He props himself up with one hand and pulls my leg up to my side with the other. I wrap both legs behind his back as he pushes himself into me.

Not convinced Josh and I ever had sex, not that I'm thinking about him right now.

I burrow my face into Brooks's neck, running my tongue all along his skin, tasting his salt and sweat, and relishing every second. My hands glide down his back, nails digging, and wrap around his ass, grasping to bring him even centimeters deeper. He forces my face up to kiss him, biting hard on my lip.

I hear foil crinkle beneath my thigh and can't help but laugh at the fact we're fucking on chip bags and empty nips right now. I feel Brooks's smile against mine and can feel us both on the brink of something -the thing -everything!

Brooks shoves his palm against my mouth in a poor attempt to mask my moans. I feel him fill me and collapse against my body on the bed. He rests his head in my neck and we start laughing, unable to hold it back any longer.

I roll Brooks off of me and push my sweaty hair from my skin. I throw it into a bun as I sit up against the headboard. Brooks's mischievous grin is big enough for the both of us, and it's not lost on me that the entire room smells like us, like our sex.

Brooks reaches across the bed to tuck my hair behind my ear and suddenly -after everything we just did -the hair touch is too much.

"I should go," I say, instantly clamming up.

"You should stay," he says, his seafoam eyes searing into mine.

"Brooks." I sigh dramatically, rubbing my eyes to help shake his stare.

"Stay," he mutters again.

"Can't we just have tonight?" I ask. "And leave it perfect the way it is."

"It could be perfect forever." Brooks kisses my hand.

"I've heard that before."

I can feel myself souring, spoiling, soiling, any other s-ing the moment. But I know better than to fall for his absolute lies again. Looking at Brooks's perfectly chiseled jaw, at the softness of his smile, and the messiness of his hair, I'm determined to keep this night preserved, to not destroy this last beautiful memory of us.

Every single word of CWJBHN. That's all I'll say.

We lean against the pillows and I allow him to wrap me in his arms, his embrace extending far beneath the skin.

"Let's start with tonight," I say, smiling.

Who cares what becomes of us tomorrow?