Page 42 of How Dare You
“Dare.” I shrug.
“You’re picking a lot of dares. Are there truths you’re hiding from me, daddy?”
There it is again. I shift in my seat. “Not hiding a thing. Dares are more fun.”
“This is getting hard.” She drums her fingers on the arm of her chair, considering.
“You ready for another?” I ask, pointing to her beer.
She passes me the empty bottle but asks to switch to lemonade, which I happily grant, giving her time to consider her next move. When I return with our drinks, she’s smirking again. Good.
“Got something for me?” I ask, leaning back into my low chair.
“I do,” she nods. “I dare you to show me the search history on your phone.” A loud pop and a spark crackle from the fire, like an exclamation point on the end of her dare.
“That is a good one.” I run my fingers back through my hair.
“Hand it over, daddy,” she reaches forward, folding her fingers toward herself in a gimme it motion.
Reaching out, I take the opportunity to hold her outstretched hand in mine, then smile. “Pass.”
Her tiny, surprised gasp is worth using my one pass. Let her wonder. Truth is, I’ve been searching for information about her. Trying to figure out what went down between her and Trina. If she could actually be about to lose her business. What I might do to help. She would be livid if she knew, and the game would be ruined.
“A truth then.” She’s quick with an alternative. “What’s something you regret?”
Everything I have is a result of choices I’ve made. If I don’t like the outcome of something, it’s almost always my fault. My job to fix it. Even though I don’t generally dwell in regret, there is one thing that’s been keeping me awake at night for months. “Letting you get away that night.”
Her mouth drops open in surprise, but she’s quick to twist it into a teasing grin. “And what would you have done if you’d caught me?”
Instead of answering, I grab another log from the woodpile and add it to the fire. She stares at me impatiently as I stoke it back to a steady burn. “You’re not getting two answers out of me on one question.” I tell her, as I shift a log and more sparks fly up to join the smoke. “Your turn.”
She watches me, assessing until I return to my seat and then leans forward in her chair. I match her motion, bringing us closer together, but not close enough. “Truth.”
When I first built these chairs and set them up around the firepit I imagined it would be nice to have space, so people wouldn’t have to sit too close to each other. But in this moment, it’s killing me that she’s too far away to touch.
I slow my voice, wanting her to catch the gravity in my next question. “Why did you run away from me that night?”
Her response is quick and defensive. “I didn’t run away.”
“You’re being pedantic.” The furrow in her sharp brows shows me I’m not the first person to make that accusation. “Why did you leave?”
She worries her lip between her teeth in a move I’ve never seen her make before, taking her time to give me an answer. “I guess I just came to my senses. You know me a bit at this point.” She pauses for a moment. “At least enough to understand that I wasn’t being myself that night.”
Her words settle like rocks in my stomach. “I don’t understand that.”
Her brows furrow in confusion. “Rhe-daddy,” she laughs quietly at the correction. It could serve to cut some of the seriousness from our conversation, but I don’t allow that. I hold her stare, and she finally continues. “I barely ever drink more than one or two drinks at a time. I don’t go on impromptu dates with magnetic strangers who have panty-melting smiles. I don’t stay out past 8:30 on a work night, let alone break into country clubs after midnight.” With each item she lists, her words grow more fervent, looking to me to agree with her, but I refuse. “I don’t skinny dip in public after breaking into said country club. And I don’t make out with strangers. Ever. That wasn’t me that night, and when I realized how out of character I was acting, I had to get back to reality.”
“It was real to me,” I respond.
We watch each other in the soft glow of firelight, for a minute that stretches like an hour, but then the wind shifts, blowing a cloud of thick smoke into her face. While she’s sputtering and batting it away, I lean forward, all the way off my chair, grab onto the legs of hers and drag it across the pavers, out of the smoke, and right next to me. Her eyes widen and her mouth rounds out into a satisfying O shape.
She’s close enough now that I could hold both of her hands in mine, but I doubt she’d allow it yet. “I saw a magnificent blonde, with the longest, sexiest legs I’d ever seen put some finance bro in his place, and then by a stroke of luck I’ll never understand, but always be grateful for, you let me have the rest of your evening.” The barest hint of a smile tugs at her lips. “You stayed up late, broke into a country club, and went skinny dipping with me. You did those things. You don’t get to say it wasn’t you.” Her sapphire eyes widen when my voice becomes more insistent. “That’s a cop out. You’re far too strong to write it off as a mistake. You’re in control of yourself, your choices, everything. You knew exactly what you were doing, and you did it on purpose.”
A heavy silence falls between us, one I’m not eager to fill. She reaches her hand out, and my eyes drop to her movement. I watch, mesmerized as she begins lightly tracing lines over the top of my hand up over to the sensitive skin of my wrist with her manicured nails. After a few passes, she asks, “Truth or dare?” catching me off guard. I’d forgotten we were playing.
“Dare,” I answer, willing her to keep her hand on mine.
Her answer is immediate. “Whatever it is you would have done if you’d caught up to me that night—” My eyes lock to hers. “I dare you to do it right now.”