Truce or Dare (Sweet Fortuity Book 1) (8 page)

So much had happened in the space of a few days, and it was a lot to take in.

The rain finally let up at around one in the morning, to my relief. It was also when the lights started turning on.

Feeling restless, I got right back out and slipped on my fluffy bunny slippers, before I headed out arms crossed, gazing at the aftermath of the rain.

Trees swayed from the wind. Droplets of water fell from each leaf, like a tear threatening to fall. Just as I was starting to feel the chill, something that felt like a jacket was draped over my shoulders.

"Why are you out here?" came Chase’s voice, low, as if he'd just woken from sleep.

He should’ve been fast asleep at this time.

I shrugged, gazing out.

"You shouldn't be out here alone.”

"What are you going to do, keep me company?" I joked, rubbing my hands and breathing on them to keep me warm.

He disappeared, and thinking he'd finally left me, I nearly jumped when I heard the shuffling behind me. I stared at him as he brought one of the dining table's chairs down right next to mine, scraping on the floor and landing with a hollow thud.

"Yeah, I will," he said simply.

I bit the inside of my cheek. "Go back to sleep, Chase."

Then his gaze landed on my slippers. A smirk forming on his lips, he replied wryly, "I'm touched you want me here so much."

I sat down and pushed my slippers underneath the seat. No need to have him comment on my choice of footwear. "I don't want to interrupt your sleep.”

“You’re not interrupting anything,” he replied.

We both looked out in silence.

I was unable to stop a yawn from escaping. "Chase."

"Yeah."

"Tell me a story."

His voice was deep, a little rough from sleep, and I found that it soothed me. But more so because it was him.

And something about the quality of it warmed my heart, bringing a kind of peace I hadn’t felt in a while, and I felt it deep, all the way to my toes.

It was there, the past, hanging in the air. We just never spoke of it, like that one topic would break our fragile, fledgling relationship.

“There was once a woman. She loved plants and gardening, but one day hid herself from everyone, and stayed in a cave, because she was so scared of the world. When she went out it was winter, and all the plants had died.”

“I don’t like this story.” I tried to stand up, but a hand grabbed mine and pulled me back down, and this time, I landed on what felt like his lap.

Oh my God.

I felt myself blush furiously. He was warm and hard all around me, his hands settling on my arms, rubbing slowly in circles.

“Too bad. It’s not done yet,” he whispered against my ear. I couldn’t help the shiver that passed through me. “So, this woman built a wall around her. She didn’t want to care for plants anymore. Not when they wither anyway,”

“Chase,” I said desperately, and something in my voice must’ve made him pause.

“Aren’t you interested about what happens to the woman?”

“I know what happens to her,” I said softly.

“What happens to her, Sherr?”

It was obvious, wasn’t it?

“The walls close in on her, and she drowns in her misery.”

“Wrong,” he said, and– did he just press his lips against my hair? “Someone else tried to climb it.”

“No one can climb it,” I finally said stubbornly.

The bastard laughed. “I thought I was telling the story.”

“Stories aren’t truths. That’s why they’re different every time you ask someone else.”

“This is my story,” he said, and I felt him smile against me.

Well, he had a point, but I wasn’t going to admit it.

"Sherr…"

"Yes?"

He shook his head as if he found the thought ridiculous. "Nothing.”

I had no idea what he was thinking. But I let it go, and for the second time this week, I was content to just sit with him quietly.

* * *

“
H
oly crap
.”

Haley’s hand was still on the handle of the door, as if she stopped just midway. Her mouth formed an o shape.

Chase stirred next to me. I shot up from the couch, looking around wildly. “What’s wrong?” I asked, panicked and a little bewildered.

I felt the heat of someone behind me, and I realized the cause of Haley’s reaction.

Oh. Shit. Crap. Fuck. Fuck!

“You did not see anything,” I declared. I looked back at Chase, brought a hand up and pushed him away. Then I stopped, because I realized what I just touched.

Brain. Fried.

I stared, before I managed to get a word out. “Where is your shirt?” I couldn’t stop the hysteria that was rising in my voice.

He yawned, rubbing his eyes. “Fuck if I know. Somewhere. Maybe out on the porch.” He still looked a little dazed from sleep. He turned his head, looking for it.

Haley’s eyes widened. “You did it on the porch?” she gasped.

“No!” Oh my God. Kill me now. I poked his chest, trying hard not to stare. “Why the heck would it be on the porch? It was cold last night.”

Chase didn’t seem concerned. I lifted up the cushion, checking if it was underneath. No dice. I bent down to check underneath the couch, and it wasn’t there either. After a few minutes of looking around, I heard Chase call out, “Found it!”

It turned out it was all the way across the room, draped on the dining table.

Jesus. How the hell did it even land there?

Just then, Haley’s shoulders shook before she threw her head back laughing.

Chase looked at me, a smile transforming his face, blasting the charm on full. “Had a great time,” he drawled. “See you around.”

He jogged down the stairs as I stared after him, speechless.

* * *

H
aley just got
out of the shower, when she gave me a look, her brows raised. She wanted details.

“What on earth happened last night?” There was no mistaking the curiosity in her voice.

I groaned. “Nothing. He just came over when the storm hit, and I didn’t mean to call him but he still came,” I said all in one breath, hardly pausing.

Haley looked at me thoughtfully. “You know what that means, right?”

“I don’t know.” I covered my face with both my hands. “I don’t understand him.”

“Hmm.” Then smiling a little smugly, she asked, “Still think it’s nothing?”

I
just wanted to write
.

With the thought in mind, I set off to a hunt for a good writing spot. I liked the occasional change of environment to get the creativity going.

There was something immensely satisfying with the smell of coffee after a particularly restless night.

I brought my laptop with me to the café. I ordered a cappuccino and sat down on a quiet corner that nestled in between the window and the brick wall.

And just as I was getting engrossed in my chapter, typing furiously, I nearly jumped out of my seat when my name was called.

“Sherr!” Sierra sat next to me, carrying a slice of cheesecake on her plate.

“Oh my God. Don’t do that.” A hand over my chest, I scowled at her.

But she wasn’t paying attention to me. She stabbed her cheesecake with her fork, and she stared at it with her brows furrowed together, giving it her full focus.

“You look like you’re about to perform cake torture,” I couldn’t help but say.

"All food talk," she told me solemnly. "This is telling me I’ll never finish him, but he’s wrong.”

Huh?

“How does a cake talk? And did you just call it a…” I pinched the bridge of my nose. “Never mind.”

“They're mocking me, because I can never make them right,” she told me matter-of-factly.

With the fork in between her lips, she looked over at my screen as I typed. She continued to watch my screen intently, and it became clear I couldn't work like this. I stopped. I shifted away a little, and continued typing. She moved with me. I looked at her with a raised brow, but she remained unfazed. I flipped to my browser.

“Aw, why’d you stop?” she protested, pouting.

Shit, my current tab was an article on how to bury dead bodies from last night. I quickly pushed the lid halfway down to conceal it from her view.

“Taking a bit of a break.” I took a sip from my coffee, grimacing. That would’ve been a conversation I didn’t really want to have.

The bell jingled, signaling a new customer. I looked up and saw Eva, who just entered the shop with her dog, Peaches. She perked up when she saw us both, and beelined towards us. “Sierra! Sherr!” She sat on the other side of me. “Just went to walk Peach.”

I bent down to pat the golden retriever. She licked my hand. Aw.

“Is it true?” she turned to me, excitedly. “You’re really staying?”

I was about to answer when Wes stormed in, carrying an impressive bouquet of roses. He looked like a man who came in with a mission, and he forged on, determined.

We all watched the scene unfold with fascination, my laptop forgotten.

He stopped before the woman behind the counter, waiting as she passed a cup of coffee to a customer. She looked around my age, if a little younger. She was curvy, her dark hair dyed in streaks of purple. I liked her already.

She stood in front of the counter in shock when he presented her with them. She took the bouquet, looking lost, almost as if she didn’t know what to do with it. As if she hadn’t been on the receiving end of it much.

Then Wes murmured something, his voice gentle and teasing. Warily, she nodded once to what he said. Then Wes said something else, leaning closer. And her expression shifted from a guarded one, to anger.

Oh boy. Not a good sign.

Her grip tightened on the bouquet. Then without warning, she whacked him with it, pissed. I winced. The bouquet fell to the ground, red petals scattered over the ground, like droplets of blood.

Wes stood in shock. Not that I blamed him. I don’t think he got that reaction much, if ever, from women. Recovering, he picked up the now-ruined bouquet.

Luckily, it was still pretty early, so there was a smaller audience. That was little consolation. Wes stood at the same spot for a while, then looked up, and saw us. Surprise hit him. I waved, and he came over.

He plopped down on the seat opposite me, dejected, placing the bouquet on the empty seat next to him. We didn't say anything about its pitiful state.

I've never seen him look like this. I'd seen him around with a lot of women throughout the years, but I had a feeling if only he found the right person, it would end his constant search. Maybe this woman was the real deal. I eyed her inconspicuously as she shot the customer a smile. But there was sadness there, and something else… Like she had dark secrets, the kind that burdened her. A part of me was pleased. She was going to make him work for it. No woman gave him a hard time, not that I blamed them, because of the way he looked. Dark hair, a crooked nose that women seemed to love, and a killer smile.

I pushed my laptop lid down the whole way. This whole writing thing wasn’t going to work in the café. Besides, I was curious about what that was about.

With his broad shoulders slumped, he placed both his elbows on the table, with his forehead resting between both his hands. “She won’t talk to me.”

As if sensing his mood, Peaches went over to sit by his feet.

"Hey there, Peach,” he said, giving her fur a stroke.

"What happened?" I asked, curious. He hadn't mentioned anyone recently. And people loved to gossip, so it was a little surprising.

“Hell, I have no fucking clue,” he growled, his temper barely contained.

“Talk us through what you did," Eva urged.

"I met her last week through a mutual friend. I asked her out yesterday.”

“No," I said dryly, feigning disbelief. "You, the serial dater?"

He scowled. "Why does everybody say that? It's not like those women didn't know what they were in for."

"The problem, Wes, is what would make her think she's different from everyone else?" Sierra said.

He looked thoughtful. "She just is," he said simply, and the admission stunned us all into silence. He let out a deep breath. "I don't know what to do."

It was kind of adorable, the way he panicked over a woman. When he hadn’t so much as batted an eyelash at saying ‘no’ to a woman before.

Then as if something had just occurred to him, slowly, he looked up at all us three. "You're all women."

I was going to hit him. Painfully. Never mind that his bouquet suffered a painful beating already.

"Well. Thanks for noticing," I said, sarcasm heavy.

Sierra plastered a smile. "You're about to get another whack from something a lot harder than a bouquet."

He eyed her fork cautiously, and his seat scraped on the ground as he pushed his seat a little further away. "Fuck. That's not what I meant. Just– maybe you could help explain this stuff."

"Going to need a little more info than
stuff
," I told him.

He shrugged. “See, I took her out the other day. I don't understand. It started off perfectly fine, and then by the end, she just… shut off.”

"Shut off?” I frowned.

"She wouldn't say more than a few words. More closed-off somehow."

"Did you say something?"

"I told her she was stunning,” he said, thoughtful. “I really liked her dress.”

Sierra drummed her fingers on the table. “Hmm. Where did you take her?”

“Where else? Anton’s.”

I whistled. It was a nice, classy Italian restaurant, where people usually went to make a statement. You didn’t just bring anyone to Anton’s. You had to be serious about them.

“Did anyone speak to her?” Eva asked. I didn’t miss her and Sierra exchanging a glance.

“No. Maybe. I don’t know,” he snapped.

I bit back a laugh. “Calm down, Wes. You can still fix this.”

He narrowed his eyes, his gaze accusing. “You think this is funny?”

“I’ve never seen you like this,” I admitted.

“I’m thinking she’s heard about your charms from other women,” Eva said sympathetically, placing a hand over his shoulder.

Instead of being relieved, he looked horrified. “I can’t change my past. What the fuck do I do? And why did she reject the flowers?”

Sierra shrugged. “Maybe it reminded her of something.”

“Ask her,” I suggested.

He only looked more perplexed. His gaze shifted to the flowers, and a sad look crossed over his face. “Why would she not say if she didn’t like it?”

“Because she probably does. Just bad memories,” I guessed.

Eva concurred.

“She might’ve liked it? Why the hell would she hit me with it?”

I had a feeling this conversation was going to go around in circles.

“Just keep trying. If it affected her enough to act that way, she cares,” I said.

He let out a deep breath. “I’m going to come back later, see if she needs a ride.”

“Good idea,” Eva said brightly. Abruptly, she stood up. “I’m gonna get coffee. Want some?”

* * *

J
ust as I
left Abe’s, hugging my laptop to my chest, it started to rain. Heavily.

Running for cover, I tried to make it to the nearest clothing store. I waited a couple of minutes, and when it became apparent the rain wasn’t letting up, I decided to just make a run for it. I heard a car pull over behind me.

“Hop in. You’re gonna get soaked.” That smooth, commanding voice stopped me in my tracks.

Chase.

I didn’t pause to consider the offer. I didn’t want to risk my laptop getting wet. It was in a thick case, but I worried that it might seep in. It would be foolish to reject the offer and get myself soaking wet for no reason.

“Thank you.”

“Didn’t see the news?”

“No.”

The car ride remained silent.

It’s not that I didn’t want to talk to him, or I was incapable of small talk. But I just didn’t know what to say to him now that it was just us again. I just… My mind blanked whenever he was around. It was something that hadn’t really changed. Only this time, it was more amplified after everything that happened recently.

“You’re fidgeting.”

I stopped picking at my clothes. Even now, he read me so well that it was a little disconcerting. I was perfectly content to look out the window for the duration of the drive when that my stomach decided to rumble.

“You haven’t eaten yet.” He didn’t phrase it like a question.

I continued looking out the window, watching mindlessly as the shops rolled by, under the dark, gloomy weather.

“I’m fine. Oh! This is where they sold the peanut-butter cookies. And the– hey, this isn’t the way home,” I protested when he turned at the wrong corner.

A corner of his lip tugged up. “I’m aware.”

Jesus. He was a hardheaded ass.

I didn’t want to eat something out, I wanted to go home and maybe finish those leftover fish and chips and snuggle under the covers. But no, he decided to drive me to–

“Anton’s?” I blurted out. This went from simple quieting of my stomach’s rumbling to date territory. “How about we order take-out instead,” I chickened out.

He smirked, went out, and opened my door for me. He made a grand gesture out in exaggeration. I rolled my eyes.

* * *

“
R
elax
.” He seemed to enjoy my discomfort. “This isn’t a date.”

Why did he say that? I just managed to get the idea out of my head. We were led to a table at the far end. He sat across from me. A candle was lit in every table, and it created an atmosphere that was intimate.

His thumb traced underneath my eye, and his expression turned dark. “It’s eating at you, isn’t it?”

I turned my face away, suddenly unable to look at him. It was the last thing I expected him to say. He'd noticed. Nobody else did.

“She never stopped talking about you.”

I stopped swirling my water around my glass and finally looked up. Gem. He was talking about her.

“Really?”

I wanted to hear more about her. In a way, it gave me comfort. He understood that, and I appreciated it. Most people didn’t know how to approach me and decided talking about her was some kind of taboo subject.

He began talking about her, how she talked about me, how she'd arrange to send something for my birthday, even contemplated coming over.

"How come she never did?" I found myself asking.

"She was dissuaded by people, saying she shouldn't be traveling alone."

I held my fist closed so tightly, my nails dug in. "I should've visited."