Stinger

about themselves. No lying. No making something up. A genuine, true secret–something they've never told anyone else before."

I crossed my arms over my chest, biting my lip. I looked from the cap in one corner, to Carson in the other. "That's an impossible shot. The distance, and the size of the cap. It can't be done."

He raised one brow. "Are you in, or not?"

I exhaled. "Fine. Whatever. Go."

He paused. "Wait. Do you agree to the rules?"

"Yes, yes, a 'basket' for a secret. I'm in." I knew it was impossible, and so why not? I'd play his game.

He held the dime up, lining up his shot, moving to the right slightly, a look of pure concentration on his face as he tossed the dime overhand. It went straight in the cup, didn't even bounce. A solid dunk. What. The. Hell?

I gasped. "You cheated! That's not even possible!"

Carson laughed. "I cheated? How in the hell did I cheat? No way. Don’t try to get out of this. You owe me a secret, Buttercup. Let's hear it." He leaned his shoulder against the elevator wall, crossed his arms and tilted his chin down, looking expectantly at me.

I glared at him. "I mean, it's not as easy as that! I don't have any secrets." I raised both arms up and let them drop.

He kept looking at me, not saying a word, expressionless now. "Tell me why you're so perfect, Buttercup."

I made a disgusted gurgle in the back of my throat and crossed my arms again, looking away from him. I thought about what he was asking me. Did I really come across like that? Perfect? I felt the furthest away from perfect as a person could get. I was always trying not to rock the boat… trying to be enough… trying to make up for…

"My dad has had enough disappointment in his life. I'm just trying not to disappoint him," I blurted out.

Carson tilted his head, his eyes filling with… something. I looked away. "Anyway, that's all. My dad's had a hard time of it. I just want him to be proud of me. Is that so weird?"

"What disappointment has your dad had?" he asked quietly.

I stared at the wall for a minute, suddenly, inexplicably, wanting to say what came next. "When I was eleven, my little brother died of non-Hodgkin's lymphoma. He was the only boy. I have two sisters." I looked down at my nails, studying them. "My dad is a cop… a real guy's guy. I guess me and my sisters always felt like maybe… like maybe…"

"Like maybe one of you were expendable because there were back-ups?" Carson asked quietly.

My eyes snapped up to his and I just stared at him for several seconds. I had never thought about it in those terms but… "Maybe. Yes."

He nodded, still looking into my eyes. Then he walked over to the cap in the corner, plucked the dime out and held it up to me. "Your turn."

* * *

Carson

My throat had gone dry and I felt a strange itchiness just under my skin when Grace told me about her brother and her dad. I didn't really stop and think about the feeling. I had never really talked about emotions with anyone other than my granny. But she had passed away when I was seventeen and since then, I didn't go there much. I had initially suggested this game to take Grace off balance. I could throw a dime into a cup from further away than across an elevator. I had hours and hours of practice. It's what I had done to distract my mind while waiting for my mom to get off set.

But then she had actually shared with me and just like that, I was the one off balance.

I handed her the dime and stood back as she glanced at me and took her place in the opposite corner from the small cap and lined up her shot, underhand.

I studied her as she focused. Damn, she really was a beautiful girl. Sexy, but with a classic beauty that made me want to stare at the perfection of her features. She was slim, but had curves in all the right spots. Just exactly what I liked. I could tell she would be just as pretty stepping straight out of a shower in the morning, without a stitch of makeup on. I twitched in my pants at the image. Shit, this I did not need. I bit my own tongue to distract myself from thoughts of Grace stepping out of a shower, just as she let the dime fly. My head turned to watch it land with a plunk straight in the cap.

I laughed out loud as she whooped and threw her arms in the air in a victory pose. Wait, shit, this was not funny. Only, the look of pure excitement on her face made me want to scoop her up and hug her. Until I remembered that I don't hug. Anyone. Ever.

I sighed and tried to look as bored as possible. "All right. What is it you want to know about me?"

She tilted her head and narrowed her eyes and scraped her teeth up her full bottom lip in a way that had me biting my own tongue again.

She walked back to her side of the elevator and slid down to the floor, pulling her legs up and covering them with her sundress like she had done before. I waited.

"A secret that you've never told anyone else, right?"

I nodded.

"Okay, why do you do porn?"

I laughed. "The answer to that question isn't exactly a secret. It's fun and it pays great."

She furrowed her delicate brows and stared at me for a minute. "Why do you really do porn, Carson?" she asked.

I chuckled. "Not everyone who does porn has some screwed up childhood and dark past. The industry is a lot different than it used to be. There are all kinds of safety measures in place…"

She continued looking up at me silently.

I sighed and slid down to the floor. Was I really even considering going there with this stranger? This princess? I sat staring straight at the wall for a minute or two and then almost against my own will, I started talking, "My mom was a porn star in the eighties. From what I know, it doesn't happen often, but when it does, it's taken care of pretty quickly–she got pregnant. She decided not to have it taken care of. I’m the bastard of any one of a hundred hired dicks. How do you like that fairytale, Buttercup?"

Her eyes widened and her lips formed a silent o. We stared at each other for a quiet minute. "That doesn't explain why you do it now too."

I laughed. "I was practically born to do it, babe. Created in lust and sin. Destined to do the same."

"It's not your fault how you were–" And fuck me if those big, blue eyes weren't filled with pity. I felt something inside me squeeze in a way that I didn't fucking like at all.

"No, and it's not your fault you have a pretty little mouth, but maybe if you crawl over here, we can both use our God-given assets to make the next few hours go by a little faster." I raised my eyebrows.

She stared at me, her cheeks flushing. "That's why you do that. You pull that sex-on-a-stick, asshole mask on to hide the fact that you're ashamed of who you are."

I laughed out loud. "There's my little Dr. Phil again. Tell me, where did you get your clinical psychology degree from? Oh, that's right. The University of Bullshit. Tell me this, Buttercup, are you as good at diagnosing yourself? Do you realize that that perfect princess gig you have going on is all an attempt to make up for the fact that you believe you should have been the one to die instead of your brother? But guess what? Your brother did die. And all the perfect princess crap in the world won't change that."

She sucked in a loud gasp, her eyes filling with hurt. I immediately felt like shit. "You bastard! " she hissed, getting up on her knees and "walking" on them toward me, anger almost instantly replacing the hurt I had first seen flash in her eyes.

I got up on my knees too, the bastard comment making my chest tight. She had used my own word against me and I didn't like the way that felt. "Prude," I hissed back.

"Man-whore!"

"Oh, real inventive, Ice queen!"

We met in the middle of the elevator, both on our knees, her neck bent to stare up at me, rage etched