The Date Dare

by Tara Sue Me

  The Date Dare

  Tara Sue Me

  Publication Date: November 19, 2018

  Copyright © 2018 by Tara Sue Me

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Cover image: istock.com

  Cover design: Mister Sue Me

  Editor: Sandra Sookoo

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  Chapter One: Darcy

  Chapter Two: Elliott

  Chapter Three: Darcy

  Chapter Four: Elliott

  Chapter Five: Darcy

  Chapter Six: Elliott

  Chapter Seven: Darcy

  Chapter Eight: Elliott

  Chapter Nine: Darcy

  Chapter Ten: Elliott

  Chapter Eleven: Darcy

  Chapter Twelve: Elliott

  Chapter Thirteen: Darcy

  Chapter Fourteen: Elliott

  Chapter Fifteen: Darcy

  Chapter Sixteen: Elliott

  Chapter Seventeen: Darcy

  Chapter Eighteen: Elliott

  Chapter Nineteen: Darcy

  Chapter Twenty: Elliott

  Chapter Twenty-One: Elliott

  Chapter Twenty-Two: Darcy

  Coming in 2019

  Also by Tara Sue Me

  About the Author

  Chapter One: Darcy

  “Sometimes good things fall apart so better things can fall together.” Marilyn Monroe

  Elliott and I have been best friends since Kindergarten, so I don’t think it’s a stretch to say I probably know him better than anyone. However, I have never been able to figure out why he dates the women he does.

  Take for example the one he’s with tonight. First of all, it’s the World Series and Atlanta is playing. Elliott and I always watch the finals when they’re in it. Granted, it’s been several years since they’ve made an appearance, but I knew it’d take more than a hot date to keep Elliott away from my place tonight.

  It’s fairly obvious his date, the second woman he’s dated this October and henceforth referred to as O2, wasn’t made aware of Elliott’s plans prior to their arrival. Not with the way she’s leaning against the table examining her nails and the dagger of ice glare she shoots Elliott with every five minutes. Elliott is, of course, clueless. But that’s Elliott for you.

  He probably thinks the skintight dress she’s wearing is fine for an evening of baseball and beer. More than likely, he’s perfectly content to wait until after the game to peel the red fabric off of her, but O2 is not. She wants Elliott and she wants him now.

  Not that anyone can blame her. I’ll be the first in line to admit Elliott is one of the best looking men I’ve ever seen. And thanks to his job as a trainer for the state’s professional lacrosse team, the Georgia Storm, his body is pretty fantastic, too. Of course, that’s my opinion based solely on my imagination and what I can infer from the way he wears his clothes. I haven’t seen him naked since we were six.

  So yes, Elliott’s a catch and a half and any woman would be proud to be on his arm. And yet, he keeps going out with these plastic lookalike women.

  I skirt past O2 and sit on the couch beside him.

  “O2’s a little overdressed, isn’t she?” I ask, reaching across him to grab a handful of chips.

  “Her name is Alice,” he says, keeping his eyes on the television.

  “She makes it to November, she’ll be Alice. Until then, she’s O2.”

  “Don’t let her hear you call her that. I don’t feel like explaining your naming system to my date.”

  His voice is sharper than normal I look at him in shock. He’s not actually serious about this one, is he?

  “What crawled up your ass today?” I ask. I’ve been refusing to learn the names of his women for a least the last year and he’s never minded. I turn my head to see what this latest one is up to and find she’s chatting with Richard, one of the players Elliott works with.

  I actually end up watching her for a few minutes and not once does she ever turn her head toward Elliott. She’s completely caught up in her conversation. At one point, he says something and she laughs this horrible sounding laugh that is part hyena and part strangled cat.

  Then, right there in my kitchen with God and half the Storm players present, she reaches out a perfectly manicured nail and runs it down the guy’s chest. Now I’ve never mastered the fine art of lip reading, but I’m pretty good at interpreting body language and her body wasn’t so much saying You must excuse me so I can go sit with my date but rather, Let’s blow this joint so I can blow you.

  I’m not sure if Richard knows she came with Elliot. I’d like to think not. In the Utopia I’ve created in my brain, work friends do not walk around with their hand on your date’s ass. But then again, I work in the hotel industry and Elliott works with professional athletes. I know from previous conversations with him that a few members of the team are into some pretty kinky shit, so I don’t know, maybe they do.

  But when I glance back at Elliot, he’s watching them with a look that is so raw and vulnerable that I swallow the smart ass comment I’m about to say and put my hand on his knee.

  “You deserve better, Elliott Taber,” I whisper, so no one hears, but the game is back on following a commercial break and no one is paying us any attention anyway.

  He shakes his head and looks surprised for a few seconds. It’s almost as if he’d been asleep and I woke him up.

  “What?” he asks.

  I nod to the corner of the kitchen where Richard and O2 are trying to make out without looking like they’re making out. Which really means they’re standing in the corner of my kitchen and being all handsy when they think no one’s watching.

  “I was just saying you deserve better than O2 over there. I mean, really? What’s she doing hanging all over him when she came here with you?” I suddenly can’t stand looking at them anymore so I turn back to face him. “She’s a guest in my house. I have a good mind to kick her out.”

  “Don’t worry about it. I’m not,” he says, and doesn’t look upset or put off in anyway.

  I can’t get over how calm he’s acting. Seriously, this is not normal and all at once I’m growing more and more concerned about his state of mind. How can he calmly sit there like it’s nothing while his date is all but climbing over another man who also happens to be his work associate?

  “You’re entirely too calm about this,” I tell him. “It’s not normal.”

  He sighs deeply right as a chorus of cheers go up around us, and we both realize we’re missing a good part of the game. When everything calms back down, he leans over to me.

  “We don’t have a normal relationship,” he says in a low voice.

  “What do you mean by that?” I ask. “How many people do you know that have been friends for twenty-five years?”

  His gaze is steady. “I wasn’t talking about me and you.”

  “Then who were you talking about?”

  Another cheer goes up and Elliott brushes me off. “We’ll talk about it later. Come on, let’s watch the rest of the game.”

  Our conversation isn’t finished, and he knows this. But I agree that this isn’t the best place or time to talk. Besides, if he wasn’t talking about our relationship, then he had to have been talking about him and O2. And if there was any relationship I don’t want to talk about while my boys win the World Series, it’s that one.

  For the next few hours, we fall back into our old and comfortable routine of yelling at the players and the umpires. We eat way too much, drink way too much, and laugh wa
y too loud. In other words, good times.

  When the game ends and people begin to leave, I look around and both O2 and Richard are gone. Elliott shrugs like it’s no big deal, but I’m not going to let him get away with it that easily.

  As it so happens, I’ll be staying in Atlanta for an extended period of time. Typically, with my job as a brand expert with an international hotel chain, I’m only in my home city for two weeks out of the month. Since the season has just ended for the Storm, Elliott will be around as well. It’ll be the perfect occasion for me to finally get to the bottom of what the hell his problem is with women.

  “Looks like O2 left your sorry ass,” I say with a punch to his arm when everyone has left other than him.

  “Alice and I have an understanding.” His smile is back in place, and I can’t tell if he’s putting on a mask or not.

  I can’t imagine any couple with any sort of relationship that finds it acceptable for one person to leave the other in the middle of an evening out, but whatever. He can attempt to explain it to me later.

  “You and me,” I tell him. “Tomorrow night. The Barn. Seven o’clock. O2 isn’t invited and you best not even think of bringing O3.” It’s our favorite steak house, so he’ll show up.

  He jokes around, but eventually agrees. Before he leaves to catch the driving service he called, he leans over and kisses my cheek goodnight. It’s something he’s done countless times, but in the second before he pulls away, I think I notice a hint of hesitation. He’s gone and out the door before I realize I’m standing in my doorway with my hand on my cheek, lightly touching the place his lips had been seconds before.

  Chapter Two: Elliott

  “Women are meant to be loved, not to be understood.” Oscar Wilde

  When I was in college, my roommate asked me if it was weird having a best friend who was a girl. I wasn’t sure how to answer the question. Darcy had always been my best friend and she’d always been a girl. I finally told him no and weird would be having a guy as my best friend.

  That was when my eyes opened and I realized how rare it is to have a relationship like the one Darcy and I share. With her, I’m Elliott and she’s Darcy. We don’t have to apologize for anything and we don’t have to hide anything.

  But I am hiding something from her.

  Life is funny. You always think it’s the big moments, the ones with lots of pictures and fanfare that are the great turning points. Not so for me.

  My turning point was last year’s Holiday Charity Ball the Storm organization puts on each year. Darcy was my date, as per normal, because she loves getting dressed up as much as I hate it. Plus, she won’t act all weirded out to be in the public eye with a bunch of pro athletes. Trust me on that one, it’s a lesson I learned the hard way.

  We’re entering the hotel behind a player who had captured the city’s love and devotion by completing a seemingly impossible move to cement a win. The security guards were keeping the general public a good distance away, but a young boy ran up to this guy and asked for an autograph. The player was all smiles and proceeded to kneel at the boy’s level and talk with him. This was the shot all the newspapers and TV newscasters went crazy over.

  But not me.

  The boy’s mother and little sister were back away from the crowd and closer to where Darcy and I stood completely unnoticed. Even the boy’s mom had her attention focused on her son. Truth be known, it was where my focus was as well.

  Until I turned to see if Darcy happened to have her phone out so I could make sure we had a shot from our unique perspective and saw that she did not. Darcy had no interest in the boy or the famous athlete or anything the rest of those present were watching. Because Darcy was playing Peek-a-Boo with the boy’s younger sister.

  It wasn’t like I’d never seen her do it before. I had. But somehow, something about that moment struck me inside and I knew I’d never recover. There she was, dressed to the nines in a gorgeous black designer gown, her long brown hair in an elegant upsweep, and pearls she’d borrowed from a friend. She’s standing slightly bent at the waist so she could get somewhat eye level with her audience, and playing Peek-a-Boo with a baby.

  Now, I’m not saying there wasn’t anything magical about the athlete and the boy. It was a great shot and great promo for the club. But it was the largely ignored couple just behind them that created the biggest stir for me.

  The autograph was finished, people started moving forward again, and the mother with her two children in tow walked away. Darcy took my arm and tilted her head.

  “Are you okay?” She asked, her blue eyes filled with concern.

  “Yes, I’m fine. Just a bit chilly.” It was surprising how easily the lie slipped out, but what was I supposed to do? Tell her I’d fallen in love with her?

  Not likely.

  * * *

  True to form, Darcy is waiting for me when I arrive at the restaurant the following evening. Her absolute refusal to ever be late anywhere is a trait of hers I accepted years ago. But tonight as I slide into the booth to sit across from her, she quickly covers up a look of surprise.

  I raise an eyebrow. “Are you shocked that I’m here or that I came alone?”

  Instead of giving me an answer, she replies with, “I knew you wouldn’t stand me up.”

  Interesting. She thought I’d bring someone with me tonight? I don’t have time to contemplate why that is before she answers as if I asked the question out loud.

  “You do realize that this is the first time in almost a year that you haven’t brought a date along when we’re doing something together?”

  My first thought is that surely she can’t be right, but her words echo in my head and I don’t need a calendar to know she’s correct. I haven’t put myself in a position to be alone with her since the charity ball last December.

  “I guess I hadn’t realized that,” I say. “I’m sorry, Darcy. Truly.” Though what I’m apologizing for, I’m not sure. I don’t think it’s a good idea for me to be alone with her because I’m afraid I’ll slip and she’ll know how I really feel about her. Along those same lines, I’m not going to apologize for falling in love with her because that’s just stupid. Maybe I’m apologizing for not having the balls to tell her how I feel. I don’t know.

  I don’t realize I’m digging my fingers into my hair until she reaches across table and gently touches my arm.

  “Elliott,” she says, and I don’t deserve the concern in her eyes. “Hey, I’m worried about you.”

  I reach up and take her hand. “I’m fine, Darc,” I say, using an old nickname I haven’t used in years. It’s unexpected and her cheeks flush. I run my thumb over her knuckles, hoping to soothe her a bit. “I’m stressed out, that’s all.”

  She’s a smart woman and she’s aware it’s more than that. But she’s also my best friend and she knows when not to push. “Okay,” she says, pulling her hand away because right at that moment the waiter comes to take our order.

  When he leaves, she thankfully changes the subject, but I’m not sure the new direction is any better. “Tell me what you were talking about last night when you said you weren’t normal.”

  “I meant Alice and I were never in a normal relationship.”

  “After she left your ass high and dry last night, I would hope you’re not in any sort of relationship with her.”

  “Our time together was based on a mutual agreement to fulfill specific needs the other person had.” I’m hoping she’ll let me leave at that, but it’s unlikely since I can almost see her brain working through the meaning of my words.

  I silently plea with her to let it go and when I see our salads being brought to the table, I think I might get a reprieve, but no sooner is the server gone, than she levels her gaze back my way. “Explain, please.”

  I think about making it sound prettier than it is, but fuck it, I’m talking to Darcy. Seriously, she knows all my dirty little secrets.

  Well except for one.

  Still, I'm a bit hesitant with my r
eply, so I say it completely devoid of any emotion. “I had a need to get laid and she had a need to meet some professional athletes.”

  “Are you serious with that answer?”

  “Did I stutter?”

  “Oh my, God, I can't believe you.” She's put her fork down and leans across the table. “You are, aren't you? You're completely serious.”

  I shrug. I'm fairly certain there was nothing joking in the way I answered. “Is that a rhetorical question or are you expecting an answer?”

  “You know this is not normal, don't you?”

  “I believe I said as much last night.”

  “No. I mean this is way, way, way beyond normal.”

  It's always made sense to me. After all, I do have needs and the woman I love isn't going to take care of them since she doesn't know I love her. What am I supposed to do?

  But of course I can't tell her that.

  I’ve suddenly lost my appetite, and I should say something to convince her I’ve not gone off the deep end or to steer the conversation toward a less volatile subject. Unfortunately, at the moment, I have no idea how to do either.

  This is why I never meet with her alone anymore, because I knew as soon as I did, this very thing would happen. I’m surprised she isn’t seeing right through me and picking up on exactly what my problem is.

  She gasps and my heart stops. Fuck. She does know. I take a deep breath and tell myself I can do this. I can confess my feelings about her and we’ll take it from there. She won’t feel the same, but it’s not like she’ll stop being my friend.