I Dare You

by Ilsa Madden-Mills

  I catch her hand. “I dare you to go to the last stall in the ladies’ room and wait for me.”

  “Now?” She blinks. “Why?”

  “You know why.” I cup her face. “And have your underwear off or there’ll be hell to pay, Buttercup.”

  Her chest rises rapidly, the color in her cheeks flaming. She thinks for a moment then stands rather shakily, gives me a final lingering look, and heads down the darkened hallway that leads to the restrooms.

  I give her five minutes before I pull out a couple twenties that more than cover the bill. Rising up, I’m barely able to walk in my tightened jeans, but I manage to make it over there without anyone glaring at the obvious tent in my pants. At this rate, I’m going to bust a button off my britches.

  Damn. I’m halfway in love with this girl.

  Delaney

  Why am I standing in a bathroom stall, you ask?

  Because I want Maverick more than I want air.

  My head spins with heat and pure need. He is a rollercoaster, dangerous and exhilarating; my brain is telling me to jump off and save myself, but my heart yearns to ride it to the end to see if I live or die.

  I hear the door open and the lock slide into place. My heart pounds. The stall I’m in is hot, my skin is hot, and I just might pass out before he—

  The door swings open and it’s him.

  A quivering breath slips out of me.

  I breathe in his masculine scent as he stalks forward and laces his fingers through my hair. His shoulders are broad and taut, as if he’s coiled like a tiger and ready to pounce. I know that feeling well. I’ve been on a tight wire all week, wanting him, worrying about him. For now I lock that away, promising myself I’ll come back to it later.

  He doesn’t speak, just runs his eyes over my face before drifting down to my chest then lingering on my legs. I hold up my purple lace underwear, and he takes them from me with a smoldering look then tucks them in the front pocket of his jeans.

  “Good girl.”

  His eyes come back and capture mine, and I feel weak at the desire I see there. We haven’t even kissed and I feel like I’m going to come apart.

  My breath comes in shallow pants as he places his hands on my shoulders and strokes them down my arms then back up. His fingers drift to the curve of my waist and back up to cup my face. He’s so gentle, and the emotion in his eyes—I gasp at what I see. Is it love burning in his gaze, or is it just passion? I don’t know, but right now I’ll take whatever he gives.

  He kisses me, devouring my mouth with his, nipping at my lips and sighing. One of my hands curls around his neck to pull him closer while the other one plants itself on the hard bulge in his pants. My mouth doesn’t want to let him go, and it feels like it’s the same for him.

  He traces his tongue down my neck to my collarbone, slips his hand under my sweater, and massages my breasts, his fingers tweaking the lace of my demi-bra. I toss my head back and hiss at the pleasure that zips up my spine. He maneuvers my arms out of my sweater and pushes it up around my neck without taking it off. I’m hot with it like that, but I don’t care. All I want is him…this. My nipples strain toward him and I bite my lip when he finally frees them with a snap of the back clasp. He groans as he cups my bare breasts, his expression raw with passion, visceral and primitive. His mouth sucks at a nipple, making me gasp.

  “You’re too beautiful for me,” he says.

  With need and lust rippling through my veins, I try to be careful as I help him take off his t-shirt and sling it over the top of the stall door. Though faint, there are still bruises on his body, and I lean down to kiss each one. A hiss escapes his lips as I trace my fingers over his pink nipples, playing with his skin. My mouth finds them, exploring, tasting him.

  I work my way lower to unbutton his pants and shove them down around his hips. I push at his tight athletic briefs, my fingers stroking over the head of his cock. My mouth follows, tasting him the way I’ve been thinking about all week, and he groans my name.

  While my mouth works him, he reaches his fingers underneath my skirt. He finds me wet and grunts as his finger slides back and forth against my core, teasing me and making me squirm with need. I’m panting around him, feeling like I’m going to come any moment.

  “Do you have protection?” I gasp out. Hurry, hurry is all I can think because it seems like a million years ago that we were together in my bed.

  He gives me a quick nod and tugs a package out of the back pocket of his jeans.

  I watch him slide it over the bulbous head and onto his hard shaft, the veins there long and thick. His eyes look up at me.

  He tugs my neck forward and kisses me, his chest against my breasts. In between kisses he whispers, “You’re everything I’ve ever wanted.”

  In a rush, he has me picked up as if I weigh nothing. My legs wrap around him, my center resting on his abs. I’m soaked and I don’t care that I’m out of control for him.

  His length nudges at my entrance, easing inside until finally he grunts and sheaths himself fully. Neither of us move a muscle for ten seconds, our faces next to each other, my hands hanging on to his shoulders.

  “Fuck.” He closes his eyes and groans as I begin to move on him, grinding my hips and swiveling.

  He turns so I’m pressed against the wall then withdraws and slides back in, the fullness intense, a sensation I quickly adjust to as he begins again. Hard and fast is the pace, and I can’t get enough. Each time he strokes inside me, it’s like it’s happening all over again for the first time.

  “Mav,” I say as he watches me, detailing every nuance of my reaction. I’ll never have enough of this, of him. He’s ruining me.

  I turn my face to him, gasping for air. His lips kiss my shoulder, sucking hard as my body clenches his cock.

  Sensation gathers, growing warm and then hot at the base of my spine. Arching my back, I take all of him as his hands hold my hips, pushing me harder and harder until I break, shattering into a million pieces.

  I breathe out his name and hang on as his cock swells inside me. He crests over the edge and calls my name.

  His mouth finds mine and kisses me, his hands still holding me up as he pushes into me and shudders.

  I feel supple and loose, like a cat that’s just been fed a big bowl of cream and now only wants to bask in the sun.

  Then I’m reminded of where I am: in the restroom of the local Buffalo Bills.

  He slowly lowers me. “I can’t believe we just did that,” I say as I disentangle myself, my feet finding solid ground.

  I’m wobbly as I straighten my clothes, watching out of the corner of my eye as he disposes of the condom then zips his pants up. I hand him his shirt and he finishes getting dressed, watching me with a considering look on his face.

  “What?” I say, turning to him. I know I must look crazy with my hair everywhere.

  “Nothing, just…happy.”

  Emotion clogs my throat. We’re moving so fast, but I can’t stop it. I can’t. I want him. Maybe I love him. My hands shake as I ease past him to open the stall and step out into the sink area where I turn on the faucet and run cold water over my wrists. I don’t know why I do it, just that my Nana used to do it when she got flustered. It seems fitting.

  He grabs my hands and laces our fingers together. “So are we going back to your place or mine?”

  “I thought you said you had to go work out?”

  “I do, but I want to hold you tonight. I want to wake up and you be there.”

  I smile. “Mine.”

  Delaney

  Mav-Man: Did you get the gift I left on your porch?

  Me: You mean the stuffed animal wearing a Jedi outfit? Didn’t know it was from you.

  Mav-Man: Minx. Who else buys you stuffed cats? I’ll make you pay for that remark later.

  Me: Can’t wait. XOXO

  I sip from a glass of red wine as I sit across from Maverick inside Giardina’s Italian Grill, an eatery a few blocks from campus. With dark lighting, a ce
iling strung with ivy, and a collection of art depicting scenes from Venice on the amber-colored walls, it’s quaint and a popular date night place—which is what we’re doing tonight. Saturdays are busy, and I’m glad Maverick called ahead to reserve a table for four. I cross my legs under the table and uncross them, nervous to be meeting his dad and seeing Raven again.

  He taps his fingers on the table, on edge, perhaps because his dad and sister are officially ten minutes late. He keeps staring at his phone, checking the time and seeing if she’s texted him.

  I study him, taking in the chiseled jawline, the straight angles of his nose and forehead. It’s late March and his hair has grown out; he wears it swept back off his face, the ends curling around his ears. A pale blue button-down shirt with the cuffs rolled up is paired with a pair of jeans that sculpt the taut muscles of his thighs. He smells intoxicating, all earthy and spicy from his shower at my place. Even though he looks great semi-dressed up, my favorite look on him is gym shorts, a tank, and a baseball cap pulled low over his eyes.

  “You look gorgeous,” he tells me, taking in my demure Peter Pan-collared black dress. The lapels are a stark white with tiny seed pearls I sewed on myself. His hand reaches out and strokes a long finger down my neck, ending at my collar where he tugs me toward him and kisses me lightly on the lips. “I’m with Skye—you should look into fashion when you graduate.”

  I grin. I love how beautiful and talented he thinks I am. “Maybe. I’m not sure what I’ll do after this, maybe grad school.”

  “Where at?” There’s a worry line on his forehead, and I wonder if it’s because he doesn’t want me to go to far from wherever he ends up in the NFL.

  I study the white linen of the tablecloth. “I’m not sure, maybe somewhere back in North Carolina.”

  What I don’t say is I really don’t know because I want to know where he’ll be going next year. I sigh at the prick of fear that rises up at the direction of my thoughts. Maverick is…he’s all I think about. What I felt for Alex doesn’t even compare.

  Just then his phone pings with a text, and he pulls away to glance down at it.

  His face tightens.

  “What’s wrong?” Just a few days ago, a local strip club called about his dad, and Maverick drove to pick him up then took him back to their house, where he spent the rest of the night. He wasn’t able to leave until the nurse showed up for Raven.

  He exhales, his eyes still reading the text. “It’s Raven. Dad hasn’t come home from work yet and isn’t answering his phone. The nurse is ready to go but doesn’t want to leave her alone. She’s gone next door to see if the neighbor is home.” He looks up at me. “He should have been home an hour ago.” He checks his watch.

  “Can you call the garage?”

  He grimaces. “They’re already closed. He’s probably at a bar.” Uncertainty crosses his face and he looks around the room as if searching for answers. He’s told me a lot about growing up with an alcoholic father who rarely had a steady job.

  He looks through his phone and calls a few different numbers to ask if his dad is there, keeping his voice quiet.

  I take his hand. “We can just go to her. That way you won’t be worried and she won’t be upset, and you can figure out what’s going on with your dad later.”

  He looks up. “You don’t mind?”

  “Of course not. She’s your sister.” I pause, seeing from his intensity that this is important to him. “I’ve always wanted a sister, so any sister of yours is a friend of mine,” I assure him.

  “The trip will take an hour if we go get her then come back—and she will want to come back because this is her favorite place. You said earlier you were starving…” He searches my face for a chink in my optimism.

  There isn’t one.

  I smile. “You’ll figure out that I’m pretty easy and laid back. I may be a bit of a nerd, but that doesn’t mean I’m a control freak and have to have everything a certain way.” I gather my purse and jacket off the back of the chair and notice he hasn’t moved yet, a hesitant look on his face. “Is there something else?”

  He stands and takes my arm in a brisk motion, as if he doesn’t want to respond to my question. He lays down more than enough money to cover my glass of wine and gives a nod to the server who brought us our drinks. He explains to her that we have to go but will come back later. A young teen girl who’s obviously a Maverick fan, she tells us they’ll make sure we have a table once we come back.

  “What’s wrong?” I ask as we head to the foyer of the restaurant.

  He exhales. “The thing is…you’ve never seen where I grew up. It’s not much.”

  “You don’t have to apologize for how you grew up. Your humble circumstances made you who you are”—I squeeze his hand—“and you’re one of the most honest, hardworking people I know.”

  “I’m not honest.”

  What? I look at him. “Yes, you are.”

  He doesn’t meet my gaze and I imagine I read remorse on his face, but over what, I can’t imagine.

  “You have stalked me since freshman year…so there’s that.” I give him a soft slap on the shoulder, trying to change his mood.

  He nods and shoots me a brief smile, seeming to come around. “Yeah, and you always dreamed about me even when we weren’t together. You watched me on the field at every home game and wondered what it would be like between us. You may not admit it—because you were seeing Alex—but I know you did.”

  “How on earth do you contain that giant ego of yours? Oh, that’s right—you don’t.”

  He tugs at my hair. “Admit it—you’ve wanted me since the moment I kissed you at the bonfire.”

  “Nope.”

  “You have.”

  “Okay, fine. I can’t deny a few fantasies,” I murmur. “There’s this one in particular where you’re in a Han Solo outfit in my front yard holding an eighties-style boom box, trying to woo me.”

  “Do I have a light saber?”

  I grin, waggling my eyebrows. “Oh, yeah, a big one.”

  He laughs, and I lean my head on his shoulder as we walk out the door, aware that several pairs of eyes are watching us. A few die-hard fans even have their phones out and are snapping pics. A young boy, around eight years old, has been sitting in the waiting areas with his family and comes running up, yelling Maverick’s name. He hands him a napkin to scrawl an autograph on and he graciously does so before folding it back into the kid’s shirt pocket.

  Just as we’re almost to his truck, Maverick’s phone rings and he looks down at it, sees who’s calling, and stops.

  “Is it your dad?”

  He shakes his head, his face hardening “No, but I need to take this.” He hands me the keys. “Go ahead and get in. I’ll be there in a second.”

  I glance at the ringing phone in his hand and the scowl on his face.

  “Ryker?” I press.

  “No. Just wait for me please.” His words are curt, and my body stiffens. I want to ask him what the hell is going on, but he’s barely noticing because the phone has all his attention. I watch as he stalks away from me to take the call, going several feet before he answers, his voice hushed.

  What is he hiding from me?

  I get in the truck, but I turn around to watch him as he paces back and forth, his body language tense as he listens intently to whoever is speaking.

  Why is he being evasive? Maybe it’s Raven. Maybe it has something to do with the bruises he had or the fact that he’s always busy. I chew on my lip as worry settles in my gut. Am I putting my trust in someone who’s only going to let me down? What if these sweet moments with him are just stolen bits of paradise that will crumble at any moment?

  What if…he breaks my heart?

  Maverick

  On Monday, I wake up tired and worn out in my dorm room. After working out in the ring at Carson’s for two hours last night, I ended up going out to the trailer to make Raven dinner and then hung around while she took a bath and went to bed.

 
Dad was there, and I’m still angry with him for being a no-show at the dinner where I’d planned for him to meet Delaney. I don’t know why I thought it was a good idea for us all to have dinner. I guess there’s just a small part of me that’s still optimistic that he will be a regular dad. Turned out, he went to a bar after work for a few drinks and lost track of time. Figures. Delaney and I ended up picking Raven up then having dinner with her at Giardina’s, and by the time we brought her home, Dad was already in bed passed out—further proof that Pineview is a great idea.

  After showering, I come out of the bathroom and Muffin is sitting on the couch in her underwear and one of Ryker’s shirts. A cursory glance around the room tells me his door’s shut, and I figure he’s still sleeping.

  She darts her eyes at me rather furtively as she puts something behind her back, and I study her more intently. Maybe it was her phone. Whatever. There’s not much to steal here, so I ignore it, and I don’t want to ask her too many questions because she might get the idea that I’m interested in her.

  I mutter out a greeting as I walk past, keeping my eyes averted from her legs, which she’s propped up on the coffee table. She’s a sly girl with an agenda, and I’m disappointed Ryker is still into her. To me, it’s clear she still wants Alex if the way she chased him at the baseball party is anything to go by.

  I make my way to the kitchenette to make a protein drink before class.

  “So, you’re with Delaney now?” she asks, her nasally voice echoing in the room.

  I give her a short nod. “We’re dating.”

  Her lips turn down, her distaste obvious. “I don’t know what everyone sees in her. First Alex, and now you—she must be amazing in bed.”

  My nose flares. Everything she says rubs me the wrong way, and I’m pretty sure the feeling is mutual. “I don’t talk about my private life.”

  A laugh comes out of her. “Oh, you’d be surprised what I know about your private life.”

  I freeze, my eyes on her face, trying to read the smarmy expression there. “Is that supposed to mean something?”