Dare (Finding Love Book 1) (6 page)

I hold my palm to my chest, staring at the door with fear as it slowly closes. I can feel my heart pounding against my chest, and my hands are clammy. Mom had to take Mo to the dentist today, and for some reason she doesn’t think I can stay home alone yet. So Steven took the day off. Those days are the worst. Mo knew that and begged Mom not to take him, insisting to have me go with them. Mo was never afraid of the dentist, not like me, and she knew that. So here I am, in my personal Hell.

“Jennifer! Get me a beer!” Steven bellows from his spot on the couch. He’s in his boxers, a box of cold pizza next to him on the couch.

Scrunching my nose up, I head into the kitchen, walking on tiptoes. He hates noise, and I try everything I can to keep quiet. Pulling open the fridge, I grab a bottle before walking over to the sink and breaking the cap off. A while ago, Steven stood over me until I could figure out how to snap the cap off without using a bottle opener. Says it’s a handy skill to have, and now there are hundreds of little dings in the counter because of that.

On shaky legs, I tread into the living room and hand him the beer. He starts chugging it down and before I can leave the room, he’s calling me back. “I didn’t say you could leave, brat. Get over here and give me a kiss.” He grins, revealing yellow-stained teeth.

I can’t hide the disgust now, and with his eyes closed, he can’t tell anyways. I lean down, ignoring his putrid smell, and peck his cheek. I spring back as he laughs and run from the living room. In record time, I reach the toilet and purge my breakfast. Afterwards, I scrub my teeth four times and wash my trembling lips until they crack and bleed.
Don’t let him get to you. He won’t really hurt you.

“Jen-Jen! Come in here, I need another beer!” he orders, the usual anger back in his voice.

Wincing, I close the door behind me and head back into the kitchen, completing the same process before heading back into the living room. If his shoe wasn’t on the floor, I would have made it to the couch. Instead, I tumble, spilling the brown drink everywhere. Nervously, I stay put on the floor, waiting for it…

“Get up you worthless piece of shit! You can’t do anything right, can you?” he screams over me, his face purple. Before I can rise up, he swings his foot out, connecting with my ribs. Grunting in pain, silent tears roll down my face. “Go to your room!”

Scrambling, I make a beeline for my bedroom.
Please don’t follow. Please...
My wishing gets me nowhere though, and he follows me into my room. I hide in the corner, wishing some more that I could disappear forever. As he removes his thick belt, I close my eyes and wait for the pain I know will come.

Panting, I sit up. I take a few deep breathes and I take stock, noting that I’m sweaty, my head is pounding and my throat is sore. Blinking away the grainy vision, the room slowly comes into focus. I frown, realizing that it isn’t mine.
Where the hell am I?
I try to think back to what I last remember, but it’s hazy. Why can’t I remember anything?

The room I’m in is small and ordinary. With brown walls, a brown carpet, a dresser, and a bed, nothing screams personal. There is nothing else to help pinpoint where I am. No pictures, clothes lying out or books. The blankets are super soft and dark blue, the only color in this room.

I slip the covers off and stand up, smoothing down my wrinkly skirt. Like that, everything comes back to me, and I shiver. The text, the lights flickering, and the panic attack. That was the worst one I’ve had. There is no way he was actually there -
inside
- the library, but how did he know about my skirt? Another thought strikes me, and my teeth dig into my trembling lips. What if he’s been following me? I can’t put it past him; it sounds like something he’d do. I groan. This is not what I need.

Wait…

With wide eyes, I glance around the room. This whole time… so he’s not a student? Before I blacked out, it was Dare’s face I saw. Spotting a basket by the bed, I see a familiar blue jumpsuit. He’s the janitor?

Before I can figure out how to get out of here, the door slowly opens. I frantically look around, but there is nothing to use in defense. Dancing with this guy was one thing, but to be alone in his house - where ever that may be? I stand as far away from the door as I can and wait, panic-stricken.

He peeks inside, looking to the bed in confusion before frowning as his eyes finally land on me. Stiffly, he remains near the door. “You shouldn’t be out of bed.”

Tilting my chin up, I shrug. “I shouldn’t even
be
in your bed.”

He nods once, eyes moving over me critically. “Touché, but then again, I’m not the one who passed out.” He sighs and runs his hand through his dark hair before settling back on me. “Okay, you fainted and I had no idea where to take you. You didn’t have a phone with you or a wallet. Tell me if I’m wrong, but I figure you wouldn’t want to have gone to the police station.”

I watch him warily. How does he know that? And no phone? I must have left it on the cart. “No, you’re right. I wouldn’t have liked that.” We stare at each other, his eyes dark and non-expressive, mine full of curiosity and weariness. “Uh, thanks. For helping me out,” I clarify.

He looks away, scratching the back of his head. “No problem. I was there.” He shrugs helplessly.

I nod. “Right. Well, I should probably go home.” I wait for him to step away from the door, but when he doesn’t, I frown. “You’re blocking the doorway.”

Slowly he enters the room; as if afraid he’ll spook me. Damn, how right that is. “I’m afraid I don’t live close to the campus.” He looks around the room, obviously uncomfortable. I inwardly snort.
He’s
uncomfortable? He grunts and turns to me, annoyance in his eyes. “Look, I’ll take you there, sound good?”

Arching my brow in question, I look over his fading blue jeans with holes, his white V-neck shirt and bare feet. For some reason, the look is sexy.
You should be questioning all of this. Why are you still here thinking about accepting a ride?
Because a small part of me -very small - wants to do this. It feels electrifying and new. He clears his throat, and I blush, realizing I’ve been checking him out longer than I should have. “Fine, but that’s all.”

He nods once, firmly, before heading over to his dresser. I stay put; watching on like this isn’t my reality. “Here, you’re going to need these.” He hands me a pair of soft, gray sweatpants.

I stare at them as if they can bite me before looking at Dare. “Why?” I ask.

He sighs deeply, his whole chest moving up then down. “Because, you can’t wear that,” he points to my skirt. “On my motorcycle.”

I gape at him. A motorcycle? He wants to take me home on one of
those?
“Don’t you have a car?” I ask without thinking.

I wince when he narrows his eyes.
So calculating and distant.
“My Convertible happens to be at my other home,” he says sarcastically.

Rolling my eyes, I look away from him. “Okay, sorry. That was rude to ask. I just… I’ve never been on a motorcycle.”

He snorts, and I look up at him, incredulous at his lack of empathy. “Of course you haven’t. You aren’t the type.” I’m about to snap at him that he
doesn’t
know what type of person I am, when he continues. “It isn’t that hard. You’ll be fine. Change and then we’ll go.” He sounds tired now, like the weight of the world lies on his shoulders.

He saved me again so the least I can do is be thankful for this. “Alright, I’ll change. Bathroom?” I ask attentively.

He points across the hall. “Straight ahead.”

I slip past him, gaze ahead of me. It takes everything I have not to peek up at him, my curiosity always getting the best of me, but I prevail this time. After I change into his sweatpants and roll up the pant legs, I cautiously move out into the living room. His apartment is small, just the one bedroom, one bathroom. The kitchen and living room are open.  Like his bedroom, the rest of the rooms are void of personal items, and I can’t help but wonder about that.

Dare is leaning against the counter, a mug of steaming coffee in hand. “Want one?” he offers, though it doesn’t really seem genuine.

“No, thanks. I don’t drink coffee.” He doesn’t ask why, instead he puts his mug down and grabs his keys before throwing me another item. A leather jacket. “It’s almost nine, it’ll be in the eighties today,” I point out, holding the jacket close to me.

He rolls his eyes, and I frown once again at his lack of warm hospitality. If he didn’t want to take care of me, he shouldn’t have taken me to his home. “It gets cold on a motorcycle, trust me.”

I’m about to say that I
don’t
trust him, but stop. The thing is, I do trust him. Otherwise I would have run out of here the first chance I got. No, I stand here in his sweatpants, in his home, waiting for him to take
me
home on a motorcycle, because I trust him. The realization is racking, and I wonder how that can be.

Not wanting to think about
that
revelation right now, I slide on the jacket and follow him out the door. He’s on the third floor, and luckily there's an elevator. It’s quiet as we go down, and I tap my fingers against my thighs, trying to ward off the awkwardness. “This is a nice elevator.” Mortification sweeps through me.
Ugh! The elevator is nice? What is wrong with you?

Dare snorts, his posture rigid and eyes narrow. I squint up at him, hugely curious. Though this guy seems to be everywhere -especially when I need him - I know nothing but his name. I know I should stay away from this man, I shouldn’t dig and try to get to know him. He screams ‘non commitment.’ Not that that’s what I’m looking for right now, but someday I hope to have someone. Being alone isn’t for me.

“Why are you staring at me?” he asks, breaking me out of my trance.

I clear my throat. “I didn’t realize I was. Just lost in my thoughts.” A few seconds later I ask, “Is your name really Dare?”

He chuckles humorlessly and turns to me. “That’s been bothering you, hasn’t it?” He leans down, getting close to me, and my heart stutters. “If it weren’t my real name, I wouldn’t tell you. Know why?”

Swallowing over the lump in my throat, I shake my head, eyes wide. “No. Why?” I ask hoarsely.

His eyes slowly move down, pin-pointing directly on my lips as I lick them. “Because that would mean you’re close to me, and I don’t let people in. I won’t let
you
in, Jennifer. So I won’t answer yes or no. I’ll let you think on it, let it push into your thoughts late at night and drive you crazy because you’re thinking about me.”

My body is against the elevator wall, the metal pole digging into my back. It’s hot in here now, and my breath hitches as his chest moves inches away from my own. “You want me to think about you at night?”

His eyes darken, and his lips part before pulling into a smirk. “I bet you already think about me at night.” He leans in farther, his hot breath warming my skin as he whispers into my ear. “And you won’t stop. Because you want me.”

The elevator doors slowly part, and he steps back, looking as if nothing just happened. I, on the other hand, have to calm my racing heart and smooth my hair. He has me so disoriented that I nearly trip as I take my first step out of the elevator. The amount of control this man has over me is frightening but also stimulating. I
like
it, and that’s what’s freaking me out. I can’t have him - he just said he doesn’t let people in - and I’m not ready for something like that. So hot and demanding. All consuming.

By the time we reach his bike, I’ve become calmer and realize this is all there will ever be. I won’t see him around, and if I do, I’ll ignore him. Perfect plan. His bike is big, though I don’t know what type of bike it is, I know the enigma of Harley Davidson is something to be proud of. He hands me the helmet, and I put it on, fumbling with the buckle. He knocks my hands out of the way and clips it together, his warm fingers leaving behind a trail of heat.

He swings his leg over the bike, sitting down gracefully, a familiarity that he has. In his jeans, leather boots and white shirt, he’s a living piece of art.

Following his lead, I have to stand on the tips of my toes to slide on. I grab onto the sides of the seat, my thighs clinging to the leather. “I’m ready,” I tell him anxiously. He shakes his head and reaches back. Before I can stop him, his hand grabs my waist and pulls me down. My chest rests against his hard back, my legs open and laying alongside his.
Sweet torment.

“Hold on tight!” he warns just before he moves away from the curb. I squeal and automatically wrap my arms around his waist in a death grip.

It isn’t until I'm halfway home that I start to relax. One by one, my muscles calm and my grip around him eases. Looking around, I watch as the world speeds by, a blur of lights and people. The wind whips around me, and I’m glad he made me wear pants and a jacket. Gingerly, I hold my hand out, smiling at the feel of freedom this ride gives me. Who knew I would like something like this? Something so dangerous and fast.

Maybe I’m not weak like I always thought. Maybe I’m just finding my own way in this world now, attempting new things and for once doing what
I
want to do. It feels so free, and I can only hope the feeling doesn’t go away.