Double Dog Dare You

by Lacey Black

  I’m gearing up for the final run down the mountain of the evening. The last group took off about ten minutes ago, which means they should be hitting the second platform now. I make sure my harness is secure and glance over at Charlie, giving him a thumbs-up. He releases the brake and lets me push off the platform. “See you at the bottom,” I holler.

  “Later, Rigsby.”

  The initial fall is always the best part.

  I take in my surroundings, enjoying the hell out of the unobstructed view. The sun is dipping low behind the tree line and the air is starting to cool. It’s a beautiful night, a perfect one for Parkway. Tourists will be out in droves tonight, drinking and hanging. It’s been a few weeks since I hit up that scene, so maybe I’ll head into town tonight after my run, find a new friend to entertain.

  When I think of my run, I picture her.

  The woman on the porch.

  The one I dropped off a bottle of tequila to earlier today. I talked myself out of the gift at least a dozen times, yet for some reason, I couldn’t stop myself from writing a note on the bag and setting it in front of her door. She wasn’t home at the time, but I still felt like there were eyes everywhere. Gatlinburg isn’t exactly small, but we still look out for our own.

  When I reach the first landing, I make the adjustments myself, telling the attendant to head on down as soon as I take off. It’s part of our nightly ritual. I always make the final run down the mountain, and as soon as I’m past, the employees shut down their stations and wait for the UTV to pick them up.

  I continue down, loving the freedom that comes with ziplining. It was part of the attraction to the company I work for when I moved here. Rueben was doing his internet cyber security stuff, Mom got a job right away at a bakery, and I was on the hunt for the biggest thrill-ride I could find. Elevate was looking for someone with management experience, but settled when they met me. The only experience I had was jumping out of a plane a few times a year in the Army. But they appreciated my passion and drive, and with some proper training, they ended up making me manager of this outfit.

  I love it.

  As I make the final descent, my mind flips back to the text messages from this morning. The employees are gathering on the ground below me, watching my approach, and I can’t help but wonder if my new texting friend is a fan of thrills. The women I meet in town usually talk a big game about excitement and fun—I mean, most of them are about to embark on some no-strings nookie. The moment I tell them what I do, their eyes light up like firecrackers. There’s just something about my job as a zipline instructor that makes the panties melt away.

  Well, that and my lady-killer grin.

  The moment my feet hit the final platform, my team is beside me and helping me teardown and store my gear. We go through the closing process, piece by piece to ensure the area is secure and safe before everyone clocks out for the day. I head into the office to finish a little paperwork and send some emails, the part of the day I dread the most. I’d much rather be up on the mountain, with the wind in my face and nature all around me. This is the part of the job that gives me hives.

  I notice right away today’s numbers are slightly down compared to yesterday, but that doesn’t faze me. It’s the middle of the week. You never know what the weekdays will bring. All I know is this weekend will be busier than hell. The weather looks absolutely perfect, with light winds and warm temperatures. Perfect for ziplining.

  Jill, the office assistant, helps keep things in here going on a day-to-day basis, but it’s my job to finish. I sign off on a few orders and send them in to corporate, along with the final numbers for today. Just as I’m wrapping it up and logging out of my computer, my phone pings with a text.

  I grab my phone, surprised by the disappointment that sweeps through me when I see my brother’s name. Not that I don’t want to talk to my brother, but I was a little hopeful it would be a certain wrong number texter.

  Rueben: Cricket is working some event on Saturday night. Wanna grab a few drinks at Pork’s?

  Me: Absolutely. He serves the best burgers.

  Rueben: LOL! You’re always hungry. Meet you there at 8.

  Me: Deal.

  I shove my phone into my pocket and lock up the office. There are a few employees hanging around the back lot, so I throw them a wave and climb into my truck. As soon as I do, I retrieve my device once more and send the message I’ve been contemplating all day.

  Me: As much as I like seeing Bestie listed amongst my contacts, how about a name to put with it?

  I’m not sure if she’ll reply or if I’m blocked at this point. Maybe I’ll never speak to my mystery texter again, and she’ll never experience a real dick pic. Though, admittedly, I’ve only sent one in my life and it was when I was nineteen and dumb. I prefer my lady friends to experience my cock up close and personal.

  As I start the truck, those familiar bubbles appear, making me grin.

  Bestie: Like Tami with an I?

  Me: Depends, is that your name?

  Bestie: Oh, you wanted my name? You’re going to have to be more specific next time. You just said a name.

  Me: You’re right, I did. But Tami with an I?

  Bestie: You don’t think I could be a Tami with an I?

  Me: I didn’t say that at all, but the last Tami with an I I knew was…friendly.

  Bestie: So she was easy?

  Me: Friendly. *insert winky face emoji*

  Bestie: Same thing.

  I bark out a laugh and back out of the parking spot. When I reach a stop light, I notice the screen light up again. Against my better judgment, I glance at the message.

  Bestie: Maybe you need more classy names in your life like Margaret, Elizabeth, or Monica.

  I snort as I glance up and see the light still red. My fingers fly across the screen.

  Me: Dated a woman named Maggie a few times. She was a yoga instructor and dancer. Very bendy. *insert grinning devil emoji*

  Bestie: *insert eyeroll gif* Of course you did! I probably don’t want to know what kind of dancer either.

  I burst out laughing because she’s right. She probably doesn’t want to know.

  A horn honks behind me, and I realize the light changed to green. I throw my phone on the passenger seat and finish my drive home, all while ignoring the phone that lights up and dings with each reply. The moment I pull into my driveway and park the truck, I reach for the device.

  Bestie: No response?

  Bestie: I must be right, you’re not replying.

  Bestie: Though, I can’t say much for her flavor of dancing, but I can vouch for yoga. Amazing for flexibility and core strength. I go a couple of nights a week.

  Now my vivid imagination is working overtime as I picture my faceless texter bending over and posing in all those crazy yoga positions. I’ve never tried them, but I enjoyed the hell out of watching Maggie give a naked demonstration.

  Over my cock.

  Which is now getting hard at the thought of Bestie doing her own demonstrations.

  I grab my keys and type out a reply.

  Me: Sorry, was being a responsible driver and not texting while driving.

  Bestie: I’m proud of you, Rigsby. Texting while driving is bad.

  I wave at my neighbor up the hill and slip inside my cabin. Fuck, I love this place. Mine’s not quite as big as my brother’s but I don’t need a lot of space. While his sports three bedrooms, I opted for a much smaller scale log cabin. My home is an open floor plan with a spiral staircase that leads to a huge loft with gaming tables I was able to pick up for a steal from a cabin resort that was looking to upgrade. It has a pool table, foosball table, an old Pac-Man arcade game, and a bar. I spend a decent amount of time upstairs, but not nearly as much as I thought I would.

  Downstairs, you’ll find a large kitchen with eat-in dining room, living room with stone fireplace, bathroom, and a single bedroom. I bought it from an older couple, who was moving to an assisted-living community. They struggled with the winter snow an
d ice and didn’t feel safe traveling down the mountain any longer. I came along at the right time and took their little cabin off their hands.

  Speaking of hands, I make a quick adjustment to the contact and fire off a message.

  Me: Just got home.

  Bestie Tami with an I: I’ll let you go get something to eat.

  Me: Workout first, dinner second.

  Bestie Tami with an I: Ewww, workout.

  Me: That’s right, you’re a yoga girl.

  Bestie Tami with an I: I am. *insert smiling face emoji*

  Me: Later, Bestie Tami with an I!

  Bestie Tami with an I: You’re weird. Goodbye.

  I toss my phone on the kitchen counter and slip into my bedroom to change into running clothes. I should probably head to the gym tonight, but quickly nix that idea. It’s been a long day and the last thing I want to do is fight over who’s using the free weights next. Plus, Selena will most likely be there, and I’d rather not deal with her brand of crazy right now.

  After changing into a pair of thin shorts, tank top, and my favorite running shoes, I head out to do a little stretching before my run. When my feet hit the pavement, I consider my options. Usually, I switch up my route every time, but tonight, I’m not sure I can. I’m being pulled in the direction of a certain blonde’s house. She wasn’t there when I dropped off the tequila earlier, and I might be a little hopeful she’ll be there tonight.

  Probably stupid, but I’ve never been accused of being a smart man when it comes to the opposite sex.

  I zigzag through the streets, my body already soaked with sweat as I approach the familiar street. My breathing is even as I stride toward the cute little house along the roadway. My eyes are searching without actually looking; it’s a technique I’ve perfected when out at the bar. A way to check out a woman without blatantly staring. I keep my pace steady, even though I’d like to slow down. I don’t want to pass it too quickly, but there’s really no reason for me to stop.

  I’m not that guy.

  Even if I did deliver a bottle of liquor to her doorstep earlier in the day.

  Just as I’m right in front of her short walkway, I catch movement in my peripheral vision, followed by the sound of a screened door slamming. “Funny meeting you here again.”

  I stop, unable to help myself, and turn to face the woman. Her hair is up in a bun that reminds me of a schoolteacher back in the day. Of course, Mrs. Hutchinson was a million years old, and this woman is anything but. I’d say she’s right around my own age, actually. Her eyes are bright, and her lips hold a smile as she steps to the edge of the porch and into the light.

  Before I’m able to formulate a reply, she adds, “I suppose you’re the one I should thank for the gift?” She holds up a tumbler with what I assume is the tequila.

  Placing my hands on my hips, I suck in a deep breath of oxygen. “I felt bad you spilled yours.”

  She grins. It makes my cock twitch in my shorts. “Well, it wasn’t necessary, but since you bought a much better brand than my friend, I’ll accept your gift.” She lifts the glass to her lips and takes a sip.

  Lucky fucking glass.

  “I’ve had the cheap shit before and that’s no way to drink on a Tuesday night. Or Wednesday night, for that matter,” I tell her, taking a step forward, but maintaining my place off her property.

  “I’m not much of a drinker any night of the week, actually. Last night was a rare instance. It would be my luck that I spilled what little I had left.”

  “Well, then luck must be on your side that I happened to run by in your time of need,” I reply with a grin, flirting a little bit.

  She snorts an unlady-like noise. “Time of need, huh?”

  “Most definitely. I’m all about providing services to damsels in distress.” I go ahead and throw her my lady-killer grin, just to prove the point.

  The woman barks out a laugh. “Oh, I’m most certain you are.” She clears her throat. “Beautiful night for a run,” she adds, glancing up at the early night sky.

  “The best,” I confirm, but instead of following her gaze, I keep my eyes locked on her. She’s stunning. The blonde beauty is wearing a black tank top and little red shorts. And her feet? I almost groan when I realize they’re bare again. I have no clue what’s going on with me, but I have this crazy urge to do dirty things to those feet.

  “How far do you run?” she asks, leaning against the porch for support, her glass placed on the railing.

  “Five to seven miles, depending on the route,” I confirm. My eyes are drawn to her slender fingers as she slides one along the rim of the glass.

  “That’s five to seven miles farther than I’d want to run,” she replies with a giggle.

  Fuck.

  It takes everything I have to suppress my groan. I can tell my dick is getting hard, and there’s nothing I can do to stop it. If I’m not careful, she’s liable to see real quick-like how she affects me.

  I shoot her a smile and slightly turn my body to help camouflage my growing erection. “It’s not something I particularly enjoyed until the military. Then, it was beat into my head every day, and now, it’s just part of my daily routine.”

  “What branch?” she asks, seeming intrigued.

  “Army. Twelve years and three tours,” I tell her, wishing she’d invite me to join her on the porch.

  Her eyes light up with something. Respect, maybe? “Wow, thank you for your service.”

  I just nod, never really knowing what to say when someone says that to me. Since it’s clear she’s not going to invite me to join her, I decide this is the perfect out for me. “Well, I should probably get back to my run and leave you to your drink.”

  She watches me for a few long seconds before replying, “Thank you again for the bottle.”

  “You’re welcome. Let me know if you need anything else. I usually run this route two to three times a week,” I tell her with a smile.

  When she returns it, it feels like lightning striking through my veins. “Good to know, kind sir.” She gives me a little wave of those delicate fingers, and like the dog I am, all I can think about is how amazing they’d look wrapped around my cock. “Safe running.”

  I toss her a wave in reply and take off down the street, feeling her eyes on me the entire way. Before I reach the end of the block, I can’t help but turn around, jogging in place. The beauty is standing right where I left her, watching me. Her head is leaning against the porch post, her glass poised almost to her lips. I swear I see a smile over the glass, but I can’t be certain from this distance. All I know is she is still there, those bright blue eyes observing my every move.

  Throwing another wave, I turn back around and continue on my way, a wide grin on my face as I go.

  Chapter Four

  Quinn

  I finish off my little amount of tequila, feeling pretty damn good. My body has the start of a nice buzz, even though it’s not something I normally welcome. I don’t usually enjoy the feel alcohol has on me. The impairment isn’t welcome. But with this smooth tequila, it’s not so bad. Of course, it could also do with the buzz the stranger gave me as well.

  I almost missed him. I was literally walking out the door when he was running by. The moment I saw him, my breath caught in my throat and a shiver swept through my blood. He has a body made for running…and for something else too. Something that makes me tingle between my legs. I could feel his eyes on me the entire time he stood at the edge of the roadway, an appreciative glance that didn’t feel demeaning or dirty. It was like he was savoring me with his eyes, slowly and delicately.

  The invitation was on the tip of my tongue to ask him to join me. Why? I have no clue. I don’t know this man from Adam, but do you know what? I wanted to. I wanted to ask him to my porch, to share the swing and a drink of tequila. Only then, I’m sure it wouldn’t have ended with a leisurely drink on my porch. The way his eyes devoured me, I’m sure it would have moved right into the bedroom, and I would have gone willingly.

&n
bsp; But that’s not my MO. I don’t sleep with men I don’t know, despite how incredibly gorgeous they are in the moonlight. I have a strict five-date rule, and I’m not about to break said rule for a hottie with sparkling eyes and a cocky grin. Even if that hottie has stubble on his jaw that would no doubt cause the most delicious burn against my thighs.

  He’s not my type, however. With his charismatic boyish charm and his devilish good looks, he’s the one to promise an epic, memorable night of sex but will leave before first light, trailing broken hearts as he swaggers away. He’s most definitely the kind you take home for the night, not home to Mama. This man screams Mr. Good Time for Now, while I’m looking for Mr. Forever.

  Two very different men.

  I slip back into my house and set my glass in the sink. I’m not exactly sure why I had the drink, let alone finished it. As I told Mr. Tall, Dark, and Devastatingly Handsome, I’m not a drinker. Last night was a rare instance, and when I found the bottle on my porch earlier, I felt like I owed it to him to try out the liquor. I mean, he did spend money on it, right? Why just slip it into the cabinet above the fridge, only to pull it out on special occasions?

  Now, the little bit I had in the glass is gone and I can feel the warmth spreading through my veins. I’m certain that’s from the booze. Well, maybe seventy-five percent from the alcohol and twenty-five from the man. Fine, most likely fifty-fifty, but no more than that.

  I grab my bag and pull out everything I need to review before tomorrow night’s board meeting. You know, all the stuff I didn’t complete last night. There are a few reports and some teacher requests for me to submit, but not too much. I go over the statement I prepared earlier regarding Seth James, a young man who was caught smoking in the restroom during lunch. Even though I had to place a call to his parents, I didn’t suspend him, as expected. I gave him the punishment of three after-school detentions, as well as a community service project of his choice. I could tell he wasn’t happy at all, but he didn’t balk. At least not with his parents sitting beside him.

  My final piece of work for the evening is to type the congratulatory email to Logan Hendershot for the Student Inspiration Award. In the email, I attach the form his parents will need to sign off on for the reward he has chosen. Ziplining. A shiver of nerves sweeps through me.