A/N: There's only one crude word in here…sorry if it offends anyone.
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There was one game that Sara Sidle was never good at-the good old-fashioned game of I Never. She always lost, no matter what or who she was playing against It wasn't that she couldn't hold her alcohol (which she couldn't all too well, but that's beside the point), but she wasn't always such a kick-ass loner. Life may not have treated her too well, but it was her life was made of moments that were either completely shot to hell or gifts from heaven.
Not everyone would have thought it, but Sara would take any dare when it was given.
Yet try telling that to Greg.
"You went skinny-dipping in January?" her friend asked in disbelief as the brunette downed her fifth shot of vodka to his third.
The questions had gone from the innocent "I have never run away from home" to much more dirty thoughts…and more dirty secrets.
Shrugging, she set the glass down. "It was a dare from my boyfriend…the mile-high club one." Sara had told the story to him as they tried to pass the time during the storm.
A pang of jealousy had gone through Greg, at the thought of some unknown (to him, at least) guy banging her against a flimsy airline restroom door. But he wasn't about to let her know that.
"Sounds fun," he had commented casually, as if it wasn't a big deal. Greg didn't expect her to be a virgin by any means, of course. It was just the idea that she had been an adventurous partner…and not with him.
But currently, Sara was having the most fun grilling Greg.
"I never…signed another guy's…" the brunette coughed to hide her embarrassment, but he understood. He remembered vaguely about hers and Nick's case, fondly dubbed "Mr. Johnson", where a fraternity pledge candidate got a girl to sign his penis, flesh and all. In one smooth motion Greg took the vodka bottle, poured a shot, and downed it in less than twenty seconds.
Chuckling, Sara stared and sputtered in her amusement. Resting her head on her hands, she tilted her head to the side. "So when was this, hm?"
Greg just gave her a sassy grin. "I don't swing that way, Sar. But see, it started like this…"
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They had run out of vodka after her eighth shot and his seventh. He only won because, as she eloquently put it, "you have an interesting personality, but your social life is as social as mine".
What a way to shoot a man's ego.
Right now, they were sitting cozily on the dark leather couch, watching as embers cracked lazily in the fireplace. A warm wool blanket lay strewn across their laps.
"I wonder how everybody is doing in Vegas," Greg wondered quietly, hearing the snow still roaring around outside.
Sara shrugged nonchalantly and leaned closer into him. He smiled secretly, enjoying her warmth snuggling into his side. Wrapping an arm lovingly around her shoulders, he hugged her and without much thought, he pressed a chaste kiss to her cheek. "Cold?"
A burning sensation flooded down from his lips down to her toes, warming her. "Uh…no."
With an idea forming in his head, Greg smirked slightly. "You sure?"
She nodded, her mouth pulling downwards in a small frown. What was he getting at?
He shifted a little, giving them a few inches of space between them. Another grin formed on his face, more relaxed and carefree. "How 'bout now?" the messy-haired man inquired, taking a little of the blanket with him.
By now, Sara was facing him with a full-fledge scowl. "What are you doing?" she demanded, yanking on the blanket to distribute it evenly among the two of them.
"Making sure you're not too warm," he commented smugly. "How are you now?"
"Cold, thanks to you," she snapped, not really putting heart into her irritation.
Greg nodded, happy that his little scheme was working perfectly. Adjusting his position on the couch, he ignored her confusion and questioning eyes. "Here, I'll keep you warm." Tilting her chin so that she could face him, he planted his warm lips over hers.