The Dare

by Lauren Landish

  Colton leans forward, kissing me firmly. His confidence is heady and addictive, his lips soft and seeking. We certainly have kissed before. I mean, I’ve pretty much tasted most of his body by now, but this kiss somehow feels more intimate than what we did this afternoon. Like he’s silently and generously lending me strength in my moment of doubt and nerves.

  When he pulls back, he’s smiling, satisfaction written in the set of his mouth as he traces the pulse in my neck with his thumb. He tilts his head, and I think he’s coming back for more. Instead, he asks me a question.

  “Have you ever heard of flipism?”

  I’m already mentally kissing him, so it takes me a heartbeat, maybe two, to register what he said. “Is that where you flip people off? Or when someone’s flippant?”

  His lips do that twitching thing, but this time it feels like he’s full-out laughing at me so I push at his chest. “Shut up and just tell me. Don’t make it like some high school vocabulary pop-quiz I didn’t study for. Asshole.”

  He laughs for real at that, holding up both hands to show he meant no disrespect. I huff and dramatically cross my arms anyway, not letting him off the hook that easily.

  But he knows I’m playing and runs his palms down my arms. I relax automatically, letting him have my hands back, and he intertwines our fingers.

  “Flipism is the art of the coin toss. You know how you assign one option to heads and one to tails, but there's that moment when the coin is in the air, and deep inside, you know what you want it to land on. Or sometimes, it takes the coin actually landing and you feel that seed of disappointment or relief in the result. That moment of intuition about what you really want, the revelation of your true preference . . . that’s the foundation of flipism.”

  “That sounds like a lot of really fancy talk for a coin toss.” I laugh at the absurdity, but there’s that tiny little bit of me that likes the ease and lack of responsibility in the decision-making process. Though I don’t think Dad would take ‘I flipped a coin’ as an adult decision-making process. “So you want me to flip a coin about going to London?”

  His eyes cut to the right, toward the big crane of death. “Not exactly. I was thinking you could be the coin. Stand at the top and I think you’ll know. Do you want to stay, not go to London, and keep your life the way it is? Do you want to jump and go to London? See what happens.”

  His eyes come back to mine, deeper thoughts there than I think either of us expected with this whole mess, and certainly some heavy talk for an amusement park where some kid just hurled loudly in the trash can. Not the one by us, thankfully, but the one by the go-karts. Too many circles, I guess.

  I blink, trying to ignore the retches because I’m a sympathy puker, and focus on Colton’s words. “I think if you stand there, if you jump, in that moment in the wind, you will know your preference. And then you just have to follow through, brave girl. Fly, or if you are fluttering away like a hummingbird, choose to be an eagle and soar. Rather American, yeah?”

  He looks pleased at himself for making his pep talk end on a Go-America note. I mean, how are you supposed to be all ‘nah, think I’ll skip’ on that? It’d be downright unpatriotic.

  “This isn’t even about all that.” I gesture, his face encompassing all the stuff he just dropped on me. “I’m just scared because it’s so damn high. Fear of heights is a perfectly reasonable mode of self-preservation.”

  “How about if I go first? I’m going to London. I’m all-in here . . . in more ways than one. I’ll jump as a show of good faith and wait for you right there.” He points at the ground below the crane.

  “You would do that?” I ask, shocked that anyone would be that nice . . . or that suicidal. Even Tiffany wouldn’t do that, not even on a dare. Well, maybe then, but the stakes would have to be major. Something like Louboutins if she jumped.

  Colton waits patiently, giving me the space to decide for myself. I realize this isn’t even the hard decision. I’m just figuring out if I want to stand up on the crane and see what the coin in my belly tells me. At a minimum, I can do that. Jumping? I’ll have to wait and see on that.

  “Okay,” I say, taking the mental plunge. “Let’s do this.”

  Colton grins and runs off to get the tickets before I can change my mind, coming back and taking me by the hand.

  “Okay, I’ll go first, and then you can go.”

  He doesn’t add the ‘if you want to’, but I hear it loud and clear, anyway.

  The elevator’s slow, and I can’t even look out the wire mesh of the cage as we rise higher into the air. It’s ridiculous. I didn’t have a problem with Colton’s great glass elevator to his penthouse, but the feeling of the breeze lifting the little wisps of hair at the back of my neck has me trembling like an autumn leaf.

  “Hey,” Colton says, pulling me in front of him and wrapping his arms around me. “You’ve got this.” I won’t admit, not to him and not even to myself, that the cocoon of his arms soothes me, making the itchy, twitchy feelings along my spine calm.

  The walkway sways with our footsteps, and I’m gripping the dual metal rails with both hands as the attendant outfits me with my harness. “Hey,” he says, his breath stinking with cheap cigarettes that he probably smokes in between jumps, “It’ll be great. Time of your life.”

  His utterly monotone voice and dry delivery makes it sound like he’s being sarcastic, but I think he just doesn’t care that I’m about to jump out of my skin again. He must do this dozens of times per day. I’m just another body to him. Which makes me think of something else . . .

  “Where’s the safety certificate for this thing? How many days since the last incident?” I picture a dry-erase board with a big, fat zero on it because they’ve probably already lost at least two people today. I’ll be the third, barely an afterthought on the news tonight when they report the Faulty Bungee Massacre at Fun Land story.

  “Are you like, with the feds or something?” the attendant asks, suddenly interested. That feels like an even worse sign.

  “It’ll be fine,” Colton assures both me and the attendant. The guy shrugs and turns to us, the question of who’s up in his eyes. “I’ll go first. Elle, I’ll wait for you on the ground, okay?”

  I nod, my lips dry and my tongue unable to work up any spit to moisten them. Finally, I grunt a sound that I think might mean ‘yes’, and Colton kisses me once more. It’s over too quickly, making it feel like a goodbye. Shit, maybe he’s gonna be victim number three.

  The attendant finishes getting us both into harnesses, cinching us up tight before clicking me onto a round pole. “You’ll wait here. But I’ll keep an eye on you, make sure you’re good.” To Colton, he says, “Let’s fly, man.” Colton’s carabiner attaches to a safety line that runs down to the drop zone.

  He begins doing some kind of safety talk and lists out options for how to fall off the platform. Apparently, backward is easy because you can’t see it coming, but stepping off sideways is a popular option too. “Any questions?” Colton shakes his head. “Three, two, one . . .”

  Colton shouts and swan dives backward out into the darkness. I scream in fright, watching the light on his harness drop for what seems like forever before he reverses, bouncing higher and bringing to me the sound of his laughter. “Fuckin’ right!”

  Colton laughs all the way down as the attendant lowers him to the cushion below, pausing while the ground staff unhooks him. As if the cushion would do a damn bit of good if I’m falling from 125 feet up. The line’s reeled back up, and I get hooked in when suddenly, the radio at the attendant’s hip squawks.

  “Well, will you?”

  It’s Colton’s voice, and I knit my brows together as the attendant holds the radio out. “Will I what?”

  “Will you be flying to London with me?”

  As I stare out into the darkness in front of me, I don’t have an answer, and the attendant shoves the radio back on his belt. For the first time, he seems keenly interested in what’s happening here. “He a good
guy?”

  “Huh?”

  The attendant looks at me like I’m stupid. “The British dude . . . he a good guy or an asshole?”

  A tiny laugh breaks through. “Maybe a little bit of both?”

  The attendant nods sagely. “I can see the appeal of that, plus, you know, London. If I were a chick and a nice guy-slash-asshole asked me to London, I’d go. Long as he’s not a real asshole, just the regular garden variety dumbass type.”

  I’m a bit dumbfounded. The guy barely said a word at first and now he’s offering relationship advice like Cosmopolitan.

  “Come on, you’re up.”

  I face forward, looking out over Fun Land and the bit of town beyond. From up here, I can almost imagine I’m just standing on top of a medium-sized building . . . except for the weight of the harness on my shoulders and around my thighs.

  Do it. Don’t do it. Stay. Go.

  I take a deep breath and close my eyes. I’m going to do this, but I don’t have to look. “Aaaahhh!” I scream, jumping into the possibilities of London and Colton.

  For a long time, what seems like a year, at least, nothing happens. I can feel the wind whistling past me and it takes my breath away. I’m just about to scream again in fear as I splatter on the ground like a messy pancake when suddenly, I’m sent flying upward again.

  My eyes pop open, and I’m in the air, my arms and legs waving everywhere as the tension lightens, and suddenly, I’m floating . . . free . . . no weight on my shoulders, nothing but what I’ve done, the courage that brought me here.

  And Colton.

  How did he know I’d do this? How did he know I’d like it? Right now, I feel like I want them to wind me back up to the top so I can do it again. But maybe there’s something just as thrilling half a world away.

  I start laughing, giggling as I drop down again, bobbing up and down like a yo-yo.

  “I’m coming with you!” I scream in between laughs, letting the words buoy me as I’m slowly lowered to the ground where Colton waits for me, grinning proudly.

  “Where to now? We do have such an early morning ahead of us.” Colton thinks he’s being clever and subtle. He’s not in the least.

  “Yeah, you're right. Super early. Guess you’d better take me home.” His disappointment is written all over his face, like a boy who lost the championship game. Okay, maybe not quite that bad, but I’m a damn good trophy.

  Not that he’s lost me in the least.

  “I need to grab the bag Tiffany packed for me and make sure she’s all set before we go to your place.”

  His head whips to me so fast I think he’ll get whiplash. Though if he didn’t from that freefall, I guess he won’t now, either. “What?”

  I repeat slower. “Tiffany. She’s at my apartment. Part of my prep work today was getting her to go over and work her capsule wardrobe magic on my closet. She’s probably got me packed into one tiny suitcase with a list of outfit options, complete with helpful photos, if I know her. And I do. Plus, she’s having some difficulties with her brother, a bit of roommate-itis, so staying at my place for the week and taking care of Sophie will probably be a lifesaver for them both. Just a little break before one of them kills the other one, because I won’t be here to provide snacks and shovels . . . or an alibi.”

  Okay, maybe I didn’t say all of that particularly slow, after all, because Colton is still processing like a lagging computer. I can almost hear the dial-up bing-bong-bing-bong.

  “You didn’t know if you were going, but you already arranged for Miss Young to prepare your things and care for your cat in your absence?”

  I shrug. “Plan for the worst, hope for the best.”

  “Indeed,” he agrees as he pushes the pedal closer to the floor. I snug back in the seat with the increased acceleration and realize I’m going to miss Cammie. God, I hope Tiffany doesn’t crash her. I told her she could drive my car this week, too, which is a bigger lend than either my apartment, my closet, or my cat. Cammie is a notch above it all, and I pray Tiffany doesn’t fuck it up.

  Even though it’s my place, I knock before I go in. Tiffany’s been here all afternoon, and there’s no telling what she’s gotten into, and there are some definite possibilities I don’t want to walk into.

  Like this one.

  “Hey, Tiff,” I start, but she’s screaming.

  “Oh, my God, Elle! Mr. Wolfe! I mean, Colton! I . . . just . . . hang on.” And she ducks under the blanket she was only half-covered with when we came in.

  Before she hid, we could see her as clear as day—a shiny mask in her twisted-up hair, spots of pimple zapper cream on her face, free-titting it in one of my baggy tank tops, and shoveling ice cream into her mouth as she messily cries over some Hallmark movie.

  “Good movie?” he asks dryly, his brow rising in question to me even as he talks to the lump on my couch that is Tiffany.

  She makes some sound of displeasure that’s muffled by the blanket, or maybe her hand. Sophie echoes it, meowing her displeasure at having her catnap interrupted, but then she spies the ice cream precariously sitting on the couch and decides to mosey on over like I won’t notice.

  Fur mom guilt at leaving her for a week stabs at my heart, and I don’t scold her for stealing treats she knows she’s not supposed to have. I go blind and let her enjoy, choosing to devil Tiffany instead.

  “Guess what we did tonight?”

  That’s enough of a dangling carrot. She pops back out, thankfully covered her headlighting nips with the blanket at least. “Fuck like rabbits? How was the BBC?”

  I hiss, and Colton seems to choke on his own spit. “That’s not what that is! Quit saying that! And no. We went bungee jumping!”

  It’s a bit of a squeal, and my neighbors will probably be glad I’m going to be gone for several days.

  “Bitch! You did not do that without me!” Tiffany’s jaw is set in stone, giving her a sharp, mean edge. I figured she wouldn’t want to do something that crazy, but maybe I was wrong?

  “Sorry, but we did. It was a coin toss thing.” I look to Colton, who’s smiling cautiously. “But we bought the video of the jump, so you can laugh at me screaming like a banshee as many times as you want.”

  She considers my offer. “Forgiven. But first round’s on you next time.”

  I’m getting off easy, so I agree quickly and get out of the line of fire. “I’m gonna grab my bag so we can go, ’kay?”

  Tiffany nods, and I disappear down the short hall to my bedroom. I don’t bother double-checking anything in the suitcase waiting for me. Tiffany will have packed me better than I would myself. But I pause when I hear Tiffany and Colton talking.

  “This is a big deal to her. I know I already did the whole threatening thing, but let me say again . . . don’t hurt her or I will truly kill you.”

  I hug the soft scarf she pulled for me to wear on the plane to my chest. Aww, she is the sweetest and loves me so much.

  “I have no intention of hurting her.” Colton’s promise rings true, warming me from the tips of my hair to my toes, but Tiffany’s not so easy.

  “Not meaning to and doing it are two separate things. I don’t care whether you mean to or not. If you hurt her, I will hurt you. And that’s before Daniel gets ahold of you. She’s got a lot on the line here, and yeah, you do, too. But not like she does. Don’t fuck her over to get ahead of her dad. She deserves better than that.”

  “She deserves everything.”

  I can’t take anymore. I loudly come out of the bedroom, lugging my suitcase to interrupt their Elle-love fest.

  “Ready?” Colton asks. If he had on a tie, he’d be adjusting it nervously, but instead, he clears his throat . . . twice.

  Seems the big, bad Wolfe is afraid of my bestie.

  Good.

  As we leave, Tiffany hugs me and whispers in my ear, “I dare you . . . be reckless with your heart, be bold with your body, and be that badass bitch in the boardroom. Show him what you’ve got, girl. Show them all.”

  �
�I will.”

  And the jitters start up, but they don’t have anything to do with the dare from Tiffany. They have everything to do with the man taking my suitcase in his hand and waiting so patiently for me to say goodbye.

  Chapter 19

  Colton

  The alarm goes off way too early, especially after a night of virtually zero sleep. I’d had too much on my mind and Elle in my arms to get any real rest.

  After grabbing her things, Elle had stayed over and even agreed to sleep in my bed. After I dared her to, of course. I’d figured one thing would lead to another and had been looking forward to finally getting inside her.

  But after the adrenalin of the bungee jump had worn off and she’d asked me approximately seven hundred and thirty-two questions about London, Elle had drifted off into a dead sleep, squashing my hopes for a pre-trip shag as she tossed and turned. Even asleep, she’s active as can be.

  And now, I’m keeping her busy as a beaver—another idiom that made me laugh particularly hard when I’d learned that ‘beaver’ was American slang for pussy. Though it’s not Elle’s fanny I’m occupying. It’s her mind, because I don’t want any last-minute second thoughts.

  “The car’s waiting downstairs. Let’s go.” I don’t ask her if she’s ready on purpose because I don’t think either of us is really ready for this, but it’s happening. “Go, go, go.” I shoo her out the door, promising to buy anything she needs if Tiffany forgot it, but Elle seems certain that won’t be the case.

  The drive is quiet, though I try to ask Elle a few questions. Even work-related inquiries get short, distracted answers. I will the driver to go faster. For the love of the Queen Mother, let us just get to the airport and on the plane. Once that happens, I’ll breathe easier, knowing that Elle won’t back out on me.

  The security line moves quickly, and Elle and I step up to the conveyor belt together. I wiggle my toes in my socks, hating the way being nearly barefoot in public makes me feel vulnerable. I heave Elle’s suitcase onto the belt, and it disappears into the scanner, mine following closely behind.