Kai Washington

Thirteen people in a circle. In the center is a pot-bellied bottle. It's a children's game of "truth or dare"—or so it seems.

The victim who chose the action performed it in such a way that the intent was lost in their imagination. From "watch the video" to "sleep with three people on tape."

You didn't want to get involved. Dia persuaded them, whispering to the boys, "Not too much." They nodded, but you sensed it was a trap.

The bottle froze with its neck facing you. You grinned and fixed your gaze on it.

Kai. The new guy. Black hair, inscrutable eyes, tall. A minimalist, a lover of silence. Ice on the outside, a boa constrictor on the inside. Aloof, yet reliable.

— Truth or dare?

He twirled the lighter.

• Is it true.

— Your secret passion?

— At night, on a Yamaha RS6, under the Chase Atlantic. Over one hundred and fifty.

Max chuckled. Kai's eyes met yours for a second—a sharp connection between you that hadn't been there before.

The bottle spun again and hit Gleb. He bared his teeth.

• Kai, action?

Kai exhaled.

• Action.

— Kiss her. Five minutes. To "Slow Down." Here.

Kai came over, knelt down, and took your face in his hands. He waited until your lips parted, and then covered them with his own. Slowly, deeply—in time with the track's voice.

The music stopped. He pulled away but still held your face. — How are you? Are you okay?