The Dare (2 page)

"I think it's what's best." Jace swore and
grabbed his cell phone. "Just don't go outside. For the love of
God, don't go outside. I'll have to call security. But I need to
take a shower first. Eat a cookie. I know you like those."

"What?" I turned to face him. All of him.
Another point in my life when I should have closed my eyes rather
than ogled.

The only thing covering up his nakedness was
a pair of black boxers. Everything else on his body? Fair game. I
looked hard. Hey, don't judge me. Besides when would I ever get a
chance to see perfection so up-close? I'd never seen a guy with so
many muscles packed tightly around his midsection, or someone whose
arms actually looked bigger than my head. Seemed Mr. Senator had a
slight obsession with physical fitness, not that I minded.

I doubted anyone would mind the rippled six
pack currently facing me in all its model-like glory.

"Beth?" Jace smirked. "You awake or are you
sleepwalking?"

My head snapped up to his amused eyes.
"Awake. Sorry, what was the question?"

"Cookies?" Jace smirked. "You cried into a
box of them last night."

I officially want a do-over. I lose my
virginity to a dirty politician, and I cried into a box of cookies?
Where's the justice, God! The fairness! The
—

"I think there's some left over in the
corner." He pointed to the minibar.

Suddenly ravenous, I stalked over, still
half-naked, mind you, and grabbed the small box. Great, so I
officially consumed half my body weight of something that I know
will most likely give me cancer in five to seven years. Stellar. I
threw the box onto the ground. "I'm not so hungry."

"You should be after all that exercise."

"Excuse me?" I whipped around so fast that I
had to steady myself with the mini-fridge.

Jace grabbed a shirt and threw it over his
toned and tanned body. "Easy, Beth, not what I meant." His eyes
twinkled with amusement.

Ha, this was me, amused. I kept my frown
firmly in place and even put my hands on my hips to show my
disapproval.

With a wink, Jace grabbed the half-empty box,
pulled a cookie out, and dangled it in front of my face. "You were
hungry. I told you to eat a cookie. You said no."

"So?" I shrugged.

"So, your reason for saying no was because
you didn't get a workout in, so I offered to
—"

"Pretty sure I know where that story ends." I
held up my hand.

"Right."

Jace ate the dangling cookie and then
another, making my mouth water. Dirty rotten Clinton-lover!

"But, you turned me down. Said squats are
just as good as… you know." He cleared his throat. "So you
proceeded to
—
" He waved the cookie in the
air and smirked.

"Please," I bit my lip and closed my eyes.
"Please tell me I didn't do a naked workout in order to eat
cookies."

"Okay." He ate another cookie and headed
toward the bathroom.

I breathed a sigh of relief when I heard the
shower turn on.

I was about five seconds away from going into
the fetal position when he called out, "You ate five cookies and,
according to your extraordinary math, decided that thirty squats
per cookie equaled to the caloric intake, though you did keep
sputtering some sort of nonsense about how exercise doesn't kill
cancer, and then you said a whole bunch of shit and finally passed
out after yelling,
Die, mutated cells, die
." Much laughter
followed. "Oh, and you thrust your fist into the air. I think you
were trying to be dramatic."

And utter silence.

And I wanted to die.

"That's what you get for waking up in Vegas."
A voice sang from the shower.

Great and now he was mockingly singing Katy
Perry.

Things could not get worse.

"Guilty?" The FBI agent sighed heavily and
reached for his coffee. "You do realize you'll be going to
prison."

Grandma shrugged. "Wouldn't be the first time
I've gone to the slammer for the greater good."

"The greater good?" the man asked, his eyes
narrowing.

"Why yes. I served a few months in a Russian
prison after The Cold War. I was a spy and was guilty of poisoning
a government official. Then again, they could never prove it. I'd
slipped something into his mouth during a heated kiss." She reached
into her leopard purse. "Breath mint?"

Jace

"Great, they're going to put
Cradle
Robber
on my tombstone," Beth yelled, interrupting my rendition
of Katy Perry as she made her way into the bathroom.

I was trying to lighten the moment until she
started having a panic attack in the middle of the bathroom. I was
still trying to figure out how long it would take her to realize I
was showering, naked, and she was standing there rocking back and
forth like someone about to have a nervous breakdown.

"I can't believe I'm thirty and still can't
make sound decisions!"

Something I'm guessing it was a shoe slammed
against the wall. More cursing. Damn, it was hot when she
cursed.

"Why the hell don't I have that drunk text
thing? Wait. Does that exist yet? Son of a
—
" More banging around. And then silence.

To be honest, the silence freaked me out more
than the nervous breakdown. Yelling I could deal with. I was a
politician for shit's sake. I cut my teeth on people who yelled and
bitched every day of their lives. But silence? Kryptonite. Superman
was officially going to crash into the moon if Beth didn't pull
herself together.

Her eyes were more green than I remembered
them. Then again, my memory wasn't so great; it had been over ten
years. Ten years, and I still couldn't get those damn eyes out of
my head. Instinctively, I reached behind my ear and touched the
scar; it may as well be a blazing red sign that read
Danger.
Last time I had a run-in with Beth, I landed in the hospital.

So we shared a one-night stand. Big deal.
People did it all the time.

I mean, I didn't. But
people
did. They
had to, right? Where else would Hollywood get all that shit about
one-night stands and waking up in Vegas and the Ashton Kutchers
falling in love with the Cameron Diazes?

I closed my eyes against the memories. Damn.
It was her stupid dress that had done me in. It had reminded me of
prom. It had reminded me of her sweet scent, and after a few
drinks, I'd been done for.

"I'm going to die. And then I'll burn in
hell," Beth wailed.

Well, at least she was talking again.

I cleared my throat and shook away the past
regrets, burying them deep into the part of my brain where boxes
sat with cobwebs. "Wait, why are you dying?"

The shower must have muffled my question
because Crazy Pants just kept talking.

"No, scratch that. First they'll put
She
loved her cats very much, cradle-robbing hussy.
"

I turned off the shower, grabbed a towel,
wrapped it around me, and stepped out.

"Still not following." I cringed when she
almost slipped on a puddle on the floor of my own making.
Whoops.

"Just…" Beth took a few deep breaths,
pressing her fingers to her temples. "Help me turn on the shower,
and you can leave."

"Not a fan of personal hygiene? Don't know
how to turn on a shower? The hot water is this way." I pointed to
the right. "Cold this way." I pointed to the left. "Easy as
pie."

Beth's stomach grumbled. Her face flushed
with red.

"Ah, so the lady doesn't just like cookies,
but pie as well?"

"The shower's too fancy," Beth grumbled,
changing the subject "Just help me so this nightmare can be over
with, and I can go home and drink wine until I die."

"Death by alcoholism. Classy. You'd make a
great politician."

Beth's eyes narrowed. "Just the shower, not
career advice. I'm perfectly happy curing cancer, thank you."

"How's that working out for you?" I leaned
against the doorframe, enjoying this little exchange a little more
than I should.

"Wh-what?" Her eyes darted between my bare
chest and my mouth.

"Curing cancer."

"I, uh
—
"

"Wow, I can tell humanity is in good hands.
Can't turn on a shower at a fancy hotel and answers
uh
to my
questions."

"Never mind." She sighed irritatingly. "Move
out of the way. I'll turn it on myself."

"There's a skill I'd like to see." I chuckled
as I watched her step into the shower.

"What?"

"Turning yourself on," I teased.

"Were you this much of a jackass last night,
or were my beer goggles just that broken?"

"Beer goggles," I stepped into the shower
with her and placed my hand on hers, "give the impression that
without alcohol you wouldn't have slept with me."

"So." She breathed, her hand shaking
underneath mine.

"So," I slowly turned to the right, stepping
out of the way, "alcohol had nothing to do with it."

The hot water poured out of the shower and
directly onto Beth and her very white sheet. I had to bite my lip
to keep from laughing at her horrified face as the sheet plastered
against her naked body.

"Out!" she shouted hysterically.

"Leaving." I held up my hands, still laughing
as I exited the shower.

I could have sworn I heard her talking to
herself as I grabbed last night's clothes and started dressing.
Maybe it was good to get it out of my system.

The whole getting drunk and sleeping with a
bridesmaid at my good friend's wedding?

Yeah, I'd never done that before, but maybe I
got extra points because I actually knew the bridesmaid before
jumping into bed with her? Yes? No?

In my limited experience, one-night stands
usually meant awkward mornings where reality set in and you realize
you aren't ready for a relationship. This usually involves the guy
trying to get out of bed without waking the beast; the beast, upon
hearing her mate moving, jolts to attention and latches on without
a second thought to the male's inability to feel anything but the
sharp talons of the female burying into his skin.

There are almost always tears, followed by
yelling; and if the guy is lucky, the girl vacates the premises,
screaming obscenities into the air. If the guy lacks any sort of
good luck, he usually ended up with a bag of peas pressed firmly
against his best friend.

His
other
best friend.

I let out a chuckle.

Yeah, so that one-night stand? Freaking
perfect.

Though I could have sworn Beth was still
talking to herself from the bathroom
—
at
least she wasn't screaming or clawing my eyes out. Then again… I
winced as I moved my shoulder back and forth, causing a crack to
reverberate throughout my body. What the hell had happened last
night? Everything was so fuzzy. The only thing I remembered was
drinking and then Beth eating cookies. I only remember the cookies
because she was so damn beautiful when she was eating them. I sound
insane, but it was true. She hadn't mauled them; she'd taken her
time with each one. And each time she'd bitten into the cookie, I
could have sworn I'd felt that bite all the way down to my
toes.

There was always that special
something
about her, besides her obvious good looks, shiny
dark hair, and damn cat eyes. I was drawn to her. I'd been drawn to
her since I was seventeen. Shit, I felt like I was seventeen again.
My body sure as hell responded like it.

Our brief encounter at prom shouldn't have
been brief, which again gave me a clue as to why a one-night stand
with her was a bad idea. Our last meeting? Had not ended well.
Clearly, the feeling hadn't been mutual. I'd been like a moon-eyed
starstruck teenager, and she'd been less than impressed that night.
It was good I'd never made it. Seeing her again brought back the
old feelings. Damn it! They were supposed to stay locked away. I
was twenty-eight now. I was an adult. I was a senator, for shit's
sake. I pinched the bridge of my nose. The problem? The details of
our hot night together? More than fuzzy.

Which had to be a bad sign.

Then again, I had no hangover whatsoever. Not
even a headache.

In fact, other than the sore muscles, I felt
fantastic.

Whatever. Shrugging, I went in search of my
suitcase. Then paused.

Why the hell didn't I have my suitcase?
Details came rushing back. I'd been staying with the Titus family
during the wedding, meaning my suitcase was still there, and I was…
here? Whose hotel room was I actually in? Because it sure as hell
wasn't mine!

I scratched my head then resorted to slapping
myself in the face to jolt any sort of memory. But nothing. Still
blank. Maybe Beth knew?

Right. That's what every woman wanted to
hear:
"Hey, you're hot, but I totally don't remember what you
look like naked. Even though we woke up that way together. Thanks
for a good time? Oh, and PS, whose room are we in?"

May as well put the name
Jake Titus
across my forehead and do the walk of shame.

I wasn't some billionaire playboy like Jake
was. I was responsible. In control. Hell, I was the youngest damn
senator Oregon had ever seen.

And that's when reality hit.

In a force so strong my eyes frantically
searched for a paper bag.

Holy shit.

It was going to be in the newspapers.

If I couldn't remember being drunk or getting
to the damn hotel, that meant I was sloppy about every single thing
that happened.

I checked my watch. Six a.m. With a curse, I
reached for my cell and winced. Fifteen missed calls.

I never put my phone on vibrate.

Then again, I'd never had a one night stand,
kissed a girl whose last name I can't even spell, or done a walk of
shame Jake-style. So maybe I was turning over a new leaf. Or maybe
Jake's whorishness had left him the minute he said his vows and
floated into my consciousness.