Double Dare You

by Cara Lockwood

  He took another drink of his beer. Then a cry went up from the bar—Allie’s cry. He whirled in time to see some other patron at the bar deciding to get in on the action. He had an arm around her and was dragging her to him against her will, asking for a kiss as well, though the look on Allie’s face told him she was in no mood to oblige him. The bartender was gesturing and yelling at the man, but whatever the threat from her new boyfriend, it wasn’t enough. Before he could stop himself, he’d stashed his beer on a ledge near Channing and was on the move, every muscle in his body telling him that he had to intervene. He felt a sense of possessiveness he had no business feeling rising up in him, a ridiculous primal instinct he knew was wrong but couldn’t fight. Nobody touched Allie without her permission. Ever. Period.

  He made it to the bar just in time to see Allie give the patron a good stomp with her stiletto ankle boot on the inside of his foot, and he leaped back, cursing. Allie’s frown and the wagging finger in the man’s face told Beck she had the situation handled. But then, she always did. He felt a fierce swell of pride in his chest. That was his Al, all right. Lord help the man who underestimated her. God, he missed her. She swiped past him, glancing up for a split second, her green eyes ablaze. He watched her head to the ladies’ room, and without thinking, he followed her into the small corridor. He found her outside the locked door, leaning against the corner and fiddling with her heel. He watched as the heel fell off the sole of her shoe. She’d broken it against the man’s foot! He couldn’t help himself—a sly grin wiggled across his face.

  “Well, that’s one way to make sure he understands the value of consent,” he managed, folding his forearms across his chest. “You okay?”

  Her head snapped up then, her green eyes fixed on him, fury still flickering there. She’d stashed her librarian glasses somewhere, and now he could see her green eyes clearly, large and burning. The fire in them didn’t cool when she saw him, either.

  “I’m fine,” she said as she tried unsuccessfully to reattach the heel. Whatever had held it there was useless now.

  “I might have superglue in my truck,” he offered. The idea of her wobbling about on lopsided shoes for the evening wouldn’t do.

  “I don’t need your help.” She ground out the words as she glared at him. There was a series of novels in that one little sentence, added meaning behind every word. Frustrated with her heel, she let out a sigh and stopped trying to affix it to her boot, as she sagged against the wall one legged, like a depressed flamingo. He almost laughed but thought better of it. Laughing would make her only more furious and he didn’t want to chance her breaking her good heel on his foot. She wobbled a little, biting her lip in frustration. She ducked down and tried to unzip the broken-heeled boot, but balancing on one stiletto in a small corridor with no good handholds made her less like a flamingo and more like an amateur athlete stuck on the end of a pole midvault.

  “Al...” He leaned in now, close enough to get a whiff of her amazing perfume, the signature floral scent that always used to drive him mad. She smelled like the Rockies in springtime, all in bloom beneath the Colorado sunshine. “Please,” he said with deliberate deference. He reached out and touched her elbow. Instantly, her wobble steadied. “Let me help.”

  She glanced up at him, an unanswered question in her emerald green eyes. He knew he wouldn’t be able to strong-arm her any more than he could tell daffodils where to grow.

  “Please, Al.”

  She softened a bit. Fairly confident she wouldn’t try to stick her good stiletto in his eye, he knelt before her and helped her unzip the broken boot, her delicate foot slipping out, revealing sheer lace socks. His eyebrows rose in appreciation. Only Al could make socks sexy. He saw the bright green polish on her toes and thought of her eyes. Still kneeling, he held her tiny foot on his knee, giving her a steady base, and tried not to think about the warmth of her toes against his jeans. He studied the shoe, and the heel that she wordlessly handed to him. He wasn’t sure if glue would work after all. Beck studied the slope of the boot’s sole, surprised to find it more like suede than leather, more pliable.

  “Can I see the other one?” He reached for the good boot. She hesitated, but then let him, slipping her socked foot on the mat near the bathroom doors and raising her other foot. He slowly worked the zipper down the side, trying not to think about how he’d taken off her boots just this way...that night at the lodge. Boots...then jeans...then the delicate lace beneath. She stood very still, eyes watching his every move. He freed her from the second boot, and now she was standing in her lacy socks, her freshly painted green toes a beacon. He wanted to kiss them and stroke her calf all the way up to her knee. He watched as she shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other.

  “Floor cold?” he asked her, and she gave him a swift nod. He glanced around, seeing a stack of kitchen towels stashed in the shelves near the bathrooms. He grabbed a thick one and dropped it down near her feet. She tiptoed on the terry cloth delicately and stood there on the balls of her feet. He managed to divert his attention back to her boot in his hand. The good one. He’d put the broken one down on the floor. He straightened, as he studied the black suede boot, an idea coming to him. An idea she wouldn’t like, but that would help prevent her feet from freezing for the rest of the night.

  He took the boot, which seemed so delicate and small in his hands, and quickly snapped the other heel off.

  “What the hell!” cried Allie, her face beet red with anger. “Beck!”

  “You can walk in these now and your feet won’t get cold,” he said, even as she gave his chest a shove. He tried to defend himself against her blows. “And calm down. I’ll buy you a new pair.”

  She angrily swiped the boot out of his hand and jammed her foot in it. “I don’t need you to buy me anything.”

  “I know,” he said. Allie could take care of herself, but that didn’t mean that he wouldn’t want to if she’d ever let him. Her head bounced up, a tendril of auburn hair falling across her forehead.

  “I just want to make sure you’re okay, that’s all.”

  “So you break my shoe?”

  “I evened the pair,” he managed. Now her ire was fully focused on him, the jerk at the bar long forgotten. Suddenly, the heel fiasco was all his fault, instead of the handsy SOB who’d started all this—or the wimpy bartender who couldn’t defend her even in his own place. “I didn’t want your feet freezing, or for you to fall and break your knee hobbling around like a pirate.”

  She stuffed her other foot in the other boot and zipped it. They both glanced down at the flattened boots and saw her toes pointing oddly in the air. The once sexy ankle boots looked a bit like something that one of Santa’s elves might wear. Now Beck really did want to laugh. Hard. But he had to swallow his chuckle as she glared at her feet, exasperated.

  “I look ridiculous now.”

  Beck said nothing. She did, kind of, look ridiculous in her elf shoes. Not that any of the guys at this bar, or any other bar, would care. No man would be looking at her feet. She could wear a pair of stuffed bear paw slippers and still get hit on by every straight guy in the place.

  Allie frowned, more tendrils of loose hair falling forward in her face, her bun all but coming undone. He wanted to put his hands in her hair and finish the job. He longed to see her face framed by the silken auburn streaked with red, wanted to feel that silky hair once more on his bare chest. He mentally shook himself. More thoughts like these and he’d have a hard-on in the bar, right there. And he’d promised himself: hands off Allie. Period.

  “I don’t think your new boyfriend will care about the shoes, if that’s what you’re worried about,” Beck offered.

  “Boyfriend?” Confusion crossed Allie’s face.

  “The bartender?” Beck reluctantly nodded toward the bar, still not quite believing that the solidly below-average man was Allie’s choice to replace him.

  “Him?” A
llie laughed, confusing Beck. “He’s not my boyfriend. Any more than you are.”

  The sting of the comment was surprisingly sharp. Beck blinked fast. “Sure seemed like you guys were friendly.”

  Allie’s gaze focused on him with the intensity of a lion looking for the weak member of a pack.

  “Were you watching me?” she asked, a note of accusation in her voice.

  “Of course I was.” If she were in the room, then that was where his attention would be. Plain and simple. That hadn’t changed, might never change. “So you’re not dating him?”

  Allie laughed. “The bartender? No.”

  Relief flooded Beck. “Good.” That bartender couldn’t handle a woman like Allie. She was way out of his league.

  “I don’t even know his name,” she added.

  This felt like a punch in the gut. “You kissed a guy and you didn’t even know his name?” Beck felt like an alien had come down and taken over his friend’s body. She was not the make-out-with-strangers-in-a-bar type. Allie picked her lingerie with care, and her men with more deliberation. It was one of the things that made Allie...Allie. They’d spent enough time at enough happy hours to know how the other operated, enough time together lamenting the Aspen dating scene to know what made the other tick. It had been why they’d been such great friends. Until the blizzard that had snowed them in on top of the mountain and everything changed.

  “Why?”

  Allie shrugged. “Because Mira dared me to.”

  “Dared you?” None of this made sense. “What the hell is that?”

  Allie laughed. “I’m playing a game of double dare you. So why do you care? Don’t you have some mark to make tonight? Is it Channing?”

  Beck flinched. They were back in Allie and Beck mode, friends mode, where she’d be his wingman at the bar and he’d reveal the real truth about what it was like being Aspen’s most-talked-about bachelor. It was comfortable. Dangerously comfortable.

  “No, I can’t stand Channing.”

  “She sure likes you.” The words seemed to have some weight to them. Beck tried not to think about what that meant. Despite the fact they were acting like good old friends, something was off. Beck knew exactly what. It was because he’d tasted every inch of her body and he’d liked it. Liked it so much, he craved another round. And another. “Well, I’m sure you’ll have your pick of the bar. Anyway, I’ve got to go. The bartender told me he’s off in fifteen minutes.”

  Now Beck felt like he’d been hit with a ton of bricks. She was going to take that lame guy home after that pathetic show at the bar when he let that patron slobber all over her? She was going to show him her red lace? His brain felt short-circuited. The world he lived in no longer made sense.

  “You’re going to fuck him?” He stared at Allie as if seeing her for the first time. “You don’t even know his name.”

  “That never stopped you before.”

  “Yeah, but, Al. You’re not me.” He thought this was obvious. Al didn’t do casual. She’d never done anything casual in her whole life. She was all in or nothing. There wasn’t an in-between with her.

  “I’m not?” The challenge in her voice was unmistakable. “Maybe I’ve been going about my life all wrong. Maybe I’ve been boring.”

  What was she even talking about? “You’re not boring.” She was anything but. And taking after him was the last thing she ought to do. If only she knew how little he’d enjoyed anything or anyone since the weekend they’d spent together, how he drifted aimlessly through nights with strangers like a robot. He could go through the motions, but he felt numb inside, as if he was stuck in a performance trying to convince himself that sex could be half as good with anyone else. He already knew it would never be as good with anyone as with Allie.

  “Al...” He sighed. He knew all he had to do was pull out his phone right now, and in seconds he’d probably have a Tinder hookup waiting in the parking lot. There was no way she’d believe that was the last thing he wanted with her standing in front of him. “If you take that guy home, it’ll be a mistake.” Then she’d feel the emptiness he felt, the uselessness of it all. “You’ll regret it.”

  He was speaking only the truth, but she immediately took offense.

  “I’ll be the judge of that,” she said. He recognized Allie’s stubbornness, but not this newfound determination to sleep around. She didn’t avoid her problems by having sex with strangers. That was Beck’s coping mechanism, as ill-advised as it was.

  She cared too much, that was Allie’s problem, and she wasn’t built for casual sex. It was why it had been a colossal mistake for him to go there. He wasn’t a relationship guy. Allie deserved the guy who bought her flowers and wrote his own sappy poems in Valentine’s Day cards. Not the guy who didn’t plan his life more than a week in advance. “Please don’t take him home.” Beck realized he had no sway anymore. As much as he wanted to protect her and keep her safe from scruffy-bearded bartenders, he actually didn’t have a say in her life.

  “Why do you care?”

  “Because...” He never stopped caring—that was the whole problem. Because he was jealous, even though he had no right to be. “Because I don’t want you to get hurt.”

  “I think it’s a little late for that.” She blinked, and he worried for a second she might cry. If she cried, he’d be undone; he wouldn’t be able to keep his resolve. He’d pull her into his arms and beg her for forgiveness. And that wouldn’t help either of them. How could he tell her that he’d just find a way to disappoint her? Later, five or even ten years down the line, the Beck genes would come roaring to the surface. They always did.

  “I’m...” He almost said “sorry” but stopped himself. Sorry wasn’t enough. “Just...please don’t do this.”

  She took a step closer to him and he felt his own heart tick up, the thought of pain and heartbreak slipping away. Her perfume was in his nose, and all he wanted to do was inhale. She was so close he could dip down and kiss her now, show her what it meant to be properly kissed, not slathered on. He could kiss her in the way he knew she liked. Every bit of him wanted to. Wanted to feel her lips once more against his. Make her sigh into his mouth.

  “You can’t tell me what to do anymore,” Allie said, voice low.

  Beck couldn’t help it. He chuckled and shook his head slowly. “Al, I never could tell you what to do.” And he wasn’t dumb enough to start now. “I just don’t think the bartender is the answer to your problems,” he said. “Trust me, I know.” He couldn’t even remember the names of the women he’d been with but he knew that they’d only made him feel lonelier.

  “Maybe the bartender is just what I need.” Her green eyes were ablaze with defiance. “Maybe I’ll just accept any crazy dare that Mira or anyone else throws my way. Not because I’m scared of what Mira or anyone else thinks, but maybe I’ll do it just because I can.”

  Allie stabbed a finger in his chest, and Beck felt laughter bubble up in his throat, which he promptly squashed. There was no way he’d tell her that her anger coupled with her elf shoes made her off-the-charts adorable.

  “Look, you don’t have anything to prove to me, okay?” he managed. If this was about trying to make him jealous, he needed to stop this right here and now. She needed to get past him if she was ever going to truly be happy with someone else.

  “Why do you think it’s about you? None of this is about you.” Allie’s right eyebrow twitched, her tell. She was lying.

  “This isn’t about me?” Beck knew he shouldn’t poke the bear. Knew he should just let her leave the little alcove feeling like she’d won this fight. But Beck couldn’t let it go. She needed to face her feelings, or they’d always have control over her. She’d never get over him, if she was always trying to prove she was over him. The ultimate irony.

  Not that he’d done much better. He’d faced his feelings for Allie every day since that weekend, and it hadn’t h
elped him one bit. He had no idea how forty-eight hours had upended his life, but they had.

  “You think it’s about that weekend? It’s not.” Again, her eyebrow twitched. “I don’t even think about that weekend.”

  Now he knew for sure she was lying.

  “You don’t?”

  “No. I don’t.” She glared at him. He’d made her come more times than she could count, and she’d shouted his name in a hoarse ecstasy that he’d never heard before. She absolutely remembered. He would bet money on it. Hell, he’d bet all his money on it. “You think I won’t take that bartender home? Just dare me. I will.” He almost wanted to catch her up in his arms right then, show her who she should be taking home tonight.

  “If you need me to dare you, then maybe you’re not all that into the idea,” he said dryly.

  She flipped her hair from her eyes and looked as if she might breathe fire, burn him to ash if she could. That’s it, he thought. Get angry. Angry was much better than sad. Anger could help her get stronger. Sadness would eat her alive, but anger would help her fight. Help her recover. “You’re impossible. I’ll take him home anyway.”

  “You’ll take him home and you’ll think of me.”

  Shock bloomed on her face as her mouth fell open. He’d rendered her speechless—for once. He grinned. He knew she needed to get angry, for her sake, but he was also enjoying pushing her buttons. He’d forgotten how easy she was to bait and how much he loved her temper. He was drawn to that heat, that fire, in her.

  “I will not,” she managed, once she found her voice again. “How dare you even think that I’m somehow hung up on you...”