Dodge twisted it all up into his own weird membership card where drugs and stolen exams could be involved. He was a bad egg, carrying with him a rotting smell I caught the day I met him during frosh week, only now, he’s decayed further.
Unfortunately, he’s a smart little corpse.
Cut to this moment, where he’s having his fun dangling this carrot in our school parking lot. It’s prudent to keep him happy, since there is the chance—slim, but there—that he will tell the wrong person, and any blowback would land directly on me.
Fuck, no matter what I do, he could always tell the wrong person. There’s only one way to end this blackmail cycle before it grows legs.
Dodge smiles through the blood. “I know it’ll break you. That’s why I want you to do it.”
I snarl and grab him by the neck, slamming him against a parked car. “Why do you hate me so much? Huh? What have I done to you?”
Remarkably, the bastard still grins. He says through the barricade of my strangle-hold, “You could lose everything. Locke will hate you. Astor will hate you. It’s perfect, for the sparkling, pristine, All American boy who’s catfishing everyone.”
I scowl and utter my last shot at losing his interest. “You’re a sick fuck. What makes you think I could get hard for some fucking pimple-faced string bean, anyway?”
Dodge shows his teeth, eerily white against the frame of blood. “Nice try.”
“You know what kind of pussy I pull? She’s nothing. You can’t think of something better? My boys could come up with a better dare while high as fuck and drunk off four bottles of whiskey. Why don’t I steal an exam, huh? Break into Coach’s office and spray paint my name across his walls? Throw a game so you can make a ton of cash for your Fentanyl-laced crystals?”
“None of them come close,” Dodge garbles out. “You’re ruined either way. This way, I get to watch. The other way, you’d get to disappear, and that’s no fun for me.”
I lean in, so close I can smell the metallic tang to his blood. “I’m not doing it.”
“Then expect to make the news tomorrow.”
On a roar, I toss his head against the car again. He grunts, something cracks, but I’m past caring.
“Let them know. Let them come for me. At least then, I don’t have to deal with rats like you, looking to make a buck off other people’s nightmares.”
Dodge’s eyes flutter, and I consider that maybe I’m knocking him unconscious.
Like I give a damn.
“You’ll never win,” I say after another rally and launch. His shoulder cracks against the windshield. The car’s alarm goes off. “I’m out. I’ll pack my bags tonight. I’m leaving. You’ve got nothing left to wager, Dodge.”
“Ben? Shit, Ben!”
Stomping feet come up behind me, hands gripping my shoulders to throw me back. I’m in beast mode and ready to maul whoever decided it was a good idea to touch me, but when I see it’s Locke, when I register his face, pale with fear, a palm held out to keep me away from Dodge, I think, So, this is how I’m going to say good-bye to you, brother.
“What the fuck?” Locke says. “What are you doing to him?”
“What he deserves.” I swipe an arm across my mouth, shocked to see the sleeve of my shirt slick with blood. Dodge must’ve gotten in a few hits himself.
“Do you know what this can do?” Locke asks. “Forget him, what about you? Coach finds this out—”
“I’m out anyway.”
Glancing around, I find my duffel in the middle of the parking lot. I sling it over my shoulder and start towards my dented car.
“You’re leaving?” Locke says behind me. “You don’t think I deserve some kind of explanation? Where are you going, Ben?”
“It’s better if you don’t know,” I say over my shoulder. But I falter. I’m annoyed I’m even thinking it, but I say it anyway, “You’ve been a good friend, Locke. I’ll never forget that.”
“Huh?”
Poor guy. Locke’s standing there with the crumpled form of a bloody former teammate on one side, and the supposed best friend on the other who won’t give him any answers. Locke doesn’t know Dodge very well, or what he represents. If I’m honest, Locke doesn’t know me very well, either. But it’s better if he stays away from both of us.
“Ben!” Locke roars, but I don’t slow my steps.
Being a good guy, Locke won’t leave Dodge. He needs to grab help, maybe take him to a hospital.
Perhaps that’ll be where Dodge spills the beans. To the doctor, or a nurse, or some other medical professional. They’ll make a few calls. Police will get involved. Then I’ll get a phone call, probably from my handler, saying, “jig is up, Ben. We gotta move you.”
Well. That’s the nice version.
Either way, my dreams will be crushed. Everything I’ve worked for, gone. That whoosh of smoke that should’ve killed me as a kid will return, this time snuffing out my efforts, my luck, my fantasies of making a new name for myself.
If I thought screwing Astor would keep everything in place, I still wouldn’t do it. Astor doesn’t deserve that kind of treatment or require that kind of scar when she realizes why I slept with her. If she’d even allow it, that is. Jury’s still out on how she feels about me.
But I prefer the memories of making her smile, of drawing out her laughs and getting lucky brushes of her soft skin on the pads of my fingers. I’ll take those flashbacks with me, instead of seducing her in order to preserve this fictitious life I’ve crafted.
I should’ve known better.
The butt of my jeans vibrates, and I wonder if it’s my handler, if Dodge has put out some sort of mass email laying me out for all to see. If he’s capable of being that premeditative.
I pull my phone out, expecting the worst, but instead, it’s Astor.
Can you come by? I need to talk to you.
Wha?
That simple request has me debating everything. I should start my car and get on the road to disappearing forever, without looking back. But that’s the complete opposite of what I want to do.
Two years. I’d gotten comfortable in this life and I seriously didn’t want to leave it. Leave Astor this way. She deserves more…maybe not the full explanation, because I could never do that, but at the very least, a goodbye.
Yeah. That’s what I’ll do. I have time. Dodge is knocked out pretty good and may want to spend a few moments weighing his options before he sings like a canary. Even if I don’t have it, I’ll make the time.
Sure, I text back, and pocket my phone.
Expression grim, I duck in to my car and drive over to Astor’s place, but Locke’s confused, betrayed expression won’t leave my rearview until I turn the corner out of the lot.
2
Astor
This one? Or….this one?
I hold both questionable items up against the light, wondering if purple is more Ben’s color, or black.
Isn’t black too common? All the girls in movies wear black lingerie. It seems the go-to for seduction.
What if I want to be different?
What if…
What if all Ben sees is black lace? He might be bored. Could be less inclined to consider me, or, dear God, he could laugh. Cackle right in my face and then go running to my brother that his cute twin sister just tried to fuck him with department store underwear.
Ugh, shake yourself out of it, Hayes.
Ben isn’t like that. I wouldn’t be standing here butt-naked in my dorm room, ensuring my roommate was gone for an all-night study session, figuring out brand new lingerie options, if he were. He’s not mean, or cruel. He wouldn’t make me feel like less of a woman or like a moron for thinking he wants this as much as I do.
Because I know he does. I’ve sensed it. For so long, I’ve known about it, but haven’t figured out what to do until now. He’s my brother’s best friend. They’re practically brothers at this point, which…wouldn’t that make me…
No. Stop ruining this for yourself.
Ben gets me. Hangs out with me without Locke being present. None of Locke’s other friends do that. He even bought me a birthday present this year, a cute football-themed rubber duck, because during a weak moment I told him about my predilection for collecting rubber duckies. They’re all lined up on a shelf at my childhood home in New York, faithfully dusted by my mom and dutifully ignored by my dad.
Ben acted like it was nothing, just a stupid, cheap birthday token for turning twenty, because it’s not like it’s twenty-one where you’d deserve a duck covered in glitter and LED lights, he’d said, making me laugh again. But I didn’t take that duck home to New York that Thanksgiving to add to my collection. Instead, I kept it here, near my bedside lamp, so every time I turned off the light to sleep, I could be reminded of Ben.
Oh, fuck, I’d better get rid of that before he comes here.
I grab the duck off the nightstand. I can’t question myself. Not anymore. I’ve already sent the text, Ben’s on his way, freshly showered because I timed it to be after his game (which I made sure he won, texting Locke about it first), and I can’t back out now. This is a now or never kind of moment, because finals are coming up, and then Christmas break. If this goes sour, we could easily go our separate ways, and I’d have a good few weeks to recover before having to face him again, and that, to me, seems like the perfect amount of time to squander any remaining mortification.
Ben’s a nice guy. I have to remember that. He’s been nothing but kind, and there’s no reason to believe he’d flip a coin and turn into a monster.
He sleeps around. A lot. The last thing he wants to deal with is some amateur who’s only done like, three blow jobs and one quickie in high school her entire life. This could be the worst decision I’ve ever made—
Damn it, me, stop trying to ruin everything.
A light tap at my dorm room door sends a squeak up my throat, exactly like that freaking duck I got caught in the desk drawer as I fumbled it shut.
I know the Hayes charm has to be in here somewhere. Everyone in my family has it, especially my brother, and I grapple for that hidden talent as I take a deep breath, settle on the purple, and say, “Just a minute!” as I make my naked self a little less naked.
Not by much, though.
Eesh.
I do a quick straighten and tuck in front of the floor-length mirror I somehow fit between my bed and the closet on my side of the room, frown at how my pelvis sticks out and how flat my boobs are despite this bra company’s promise to take you two cups up!
“Let’s do this,” I say to my reflection, and try not to cringe. I turn to the door. “Ben? That you?”
“Yeah,” comes the muffled reply.
I spend a few precious seconds smoothing down my hair and rallying all the self-worth I possess into opening this door with confidence. I decided that doing the subtle approach with Ben would be stupid. We’d been doing this dance for almost two years, and I figured it was time to up the ante. I just didn’t contemplate how this move would churn my stomach, turn my kneecaps into jelly, and generally light my body on fire. My heart pounds so hard I’m surprised it’s leaving room to breathe.
Okay. One, two…
Now or never.
“Oh, hey,” I say when I open the door and lean on the jam. My arm slips, I stumble, but I recover enough to smile.
Then quickly lose it.
“Holy shit,” Ben says, in the exact moment I say, “What happened to you?”
His eyes are wide, but mine are wider as I take in the blood splatter on his cheek, his blackening eye. Ben’s shirt seems all twisted, his athletic shorts dusted with dirt. He looks like he just stepped off from a particularly bad tackle on the field.
“Are you okay?” I ask.
A wolf whistle pierces through my target focus, and I’ve completely forgotten I’m wearing the sexiest lingerie I’ve ever dared to don in my young life, but I don’t care. All I notice is that Ben’s hurt.
“Jesus—get inside,” he says and attempts to cover me with his arms.
He does a pretty good job, considering they’re the size of two separate barrels, but he’s pushing me back in aggressively, like he’s embarrassed.
“I can move my own legs, thank you,” I say, pushing him off. “What happened to you?”
“Me? What…” He gestures up and down my body. “What are you doing?”
I cross my arms, suddenly self-conscious of my non-existent chest. “You first.”
“I just finished a game. Got tackled pretty good.”
He’s lying. His throat bobs the way it does when he’s uncomfortable, and he begins to pace. But, realizing the limited square footage and how close it brings him to me, he backs off immediately and freezes in place.
“That’s not what happened,” I say. I’m trying to pretend that his reaction to my body isn’t gutting my stomach.
He runs a hand through his hair. “It’s…it’s nothing, Astor. Can I get you like a—a robe or something?”
Ben’s stuttering, which he never does, but I don’t think it’s because I’m turning him on. I’m making him uncomfortable. I’m at the most pivotal point in approaching a boy I like and I’m making him want to sprint in the other direction.
I’m going to throw up.
“I’m fine,” I say through the insane nausea clogging my throat. But to avoid any further humiliation, I sift through my bed sheets until I find my sleep shirt and toss it on.
“Okay, uh…” Ben’s looking in any direction but me. “What exactly was your text about?”
“I think that’s pretty obvious, don’t you?”
My voice cracks, and I hate it for such betrayal, but there’s nothing I can do about it now. Nor can I control the tears going hot in my eyes.
Finally, Ben looks at me. “Shit, Astor. I…”
“It’s fine, really.” I wave him off. “Message received. This was a stupid idea, anyway.”
“What—I mean, what made you decide now? Why tonight, of all nights?”
I’m not sure what he means by that. “Because we’ve been doing this back-and-forth for ages. I keep getting hot and cold signals from you, and I’m never sure what to do with them. And I like control. I wanted answers, and I figured this was the best way to go about it.”
His attention skates down my legs before meeting my eyes again. “Astor, you have no idea…”
“And now I know,” I say, steadier now. “Which is great. We can go our separate ways without any more confusion. No further questions about whether or not you like me—”
“Fuck.”
I startle at the sudden, lethal curse.
After a brief, molten stare, Ben prowls forward, hooks my neck, and takes my mouth for his own.
I mumble some kind of surprise—I think I do—but the heat of his lips, the silk and slide of them, turn every stiffened muscle of mine into supple, moldable clay, and I fold into his arms. One of his hands slides around my waist and pulls me closer, firmer, so there’s no question of how he feels.
And I can feel him. The hard ridge through his jeans, heating my abdomen despite the clothing in between, demanding my attention. Ben has me in a war, between his tongue and his dick, and I can’t decide which one I want to submit to first.
I move my lips in tandem with his, exploring with my tongue, grazing against his teeth and feeling his groans vibrate through my throat. I can’t believe it—can’t fathom that my dreams are coming true, that Ben actually wants me. He trails
his hands down my body, my too-thin, weirdly tall, skeletal frame, and he’s touching it like it’s art. He grips my flat butt, squeezes like it’s as ripe as a peach, then lifts me so my legs wrap around his waist and I can pilfer his mouth further.
I want all of him. I want to memorize everything about his body that’s somehow in my hands, mine to control, mine to pleasure and savor and challenge.
He wants me. Ben Donahue wants me.
Ben peels our lips apart, his hot breath replacing the heat of his mouth. With viper reflexes, he grips my jaw between his thumb and forefinger and says, “This is how I want you to remember me. You’ll look back on this night, and you’ll remember how I stroked you, sucked on your clit, made you moan, made you mine. I want you to use that mind of yours to recall all of it. Every detail. I know you can.”
I want to say, huh? but his words hold way too much meaning for such a neanderthal response. He’s telling me something, or trying to, and I can’t decipher what it is. There’s an urgency in his stare, eerie and unsettling, because he never looks at me this way. Sure, he’s been impressed, even stunned by my wit sometimes, but he’s never held my chin like this, made me look upon him with such sobriety that it’s a wonder I still feel drunk on lust.
“Say yes, Astor.”
I swallow, but the grip he’s maintaining on my jaw is anything but frightening. “Yes.”
He won’t stop searching. “You mean it?”
“Yes. Yes, Ben. I’ve been wanting this forever. Wanting you for longer than that. I’m going to remember how I made you groan, how you begged for more, how I rode your dick so hard and wet and made you come.”
I don’t know how to do any of that and I blush so hard when I say it, but with his gaze going from earnest to dark with promise, I feel I’ve hit the nail on the head and gotten rid of whatever fear is driving him forward.
He quirks his lip. I know he likes challenges, dares even more so. Locke’s slipped up a few times and told me the messed up things he and his friends do just to pass the time. And I understand, in order to appeal to Ben, I have to be just as confident, just as up for anything, as he is. If it means saying words and pretending skills I possess none of, I figure that’s the least I can do to snag his interest.
Daring You Page 2