Rachel Dyken - The Dare

Embarrassed, I looked away. Who spoke to an elderly woman like that? Did she even know what that meant?

"Sweetie," Grandma dug through her purse and pulled out a tube of red lipstick, "I'm already finished with you. You can have all the sex you want. You too, Jake."

The last time my face had felt this red was when I was in the sixth grade and accidently tucked my skirt into my tights.

"Uh, thanks?" Jake answered.

"Besides, I'm finished with you two. My work is done. Now your wives can continue in my footsteps. Actually, that's not true. If I don't see great-grandchildren in a year, I may have to re-evaluate my five-year plan. At any rate. My eyes or the eye of Sauron—"

"Ah, Lord Of The Rings' quotes… of course," Travis interjected and pointed a finger at Jake. "That's what you get for making her watch all the movies after the wedding. You get an eighty-six-year-old woman thinking she has some sort of wizardly magic."

"As I was saying, the Eye is on these two."

Grandma pointed in my direction, and I could have sworn I felt the laser beam from her polished nail.

I stepped behind a very pale Jace, hoping that the whole finger-pointing magic would drain directly into him and leave me the hell alone.

I peeked around him, only to find both Titus brothers giving Jace knowing grins.

"Word of advice." Travis walked up to Jace and slapped him on the shoulder. "Don't drink it if it tastes funny."

"Also," Jake chimed in, "the law doesn't apply to her. So if you call the cops, know it will probably be you behind bars before it will be her."

"She likes Benadryl," Kacey added.

"And she will win." Char nodded.

"This game isn't about skill." Jake put his arm around Char. "It's about knowing when to admit you've failed."

"And failure?" Travis laughed. "To that one?" He pointed to a silent-yet-smiling Grandma. "Isn't an option."

"Best bet." Jake sighed heavily. "Put all your chips on the table."

"And then what?" I asked, curiosity killing me from the inside out.

"Oh that." Travis grinned. "You still lose. But at least by putting it all out there ahead of time, you know what you're losing."

"And what's that?" Jace spoke for the first time since getting his ticket. "A shitload of money?"

"Nah," Jake answered for Travis. "Something a lot more valuable."

"The question," Grandma piped up as she strolled toward security, "is never what you lose. But if you care that you're losing it in the first place."

"I think you've all lost your damn minds," Jace said, his voice hoarse. His panic-stricken eyes found mine as he rubbed the back of his head and cursed.

"I'd rather not make a bet with a convicted felon."

"Convicted?" Grandma gasped. "Bite your tongue! I'm just visiting until this little misunderstanding is over."

"I wouldn't call a white van with no license plates, a ransom note, and enough rufies to put out a gorilla a…" he put up his fingers in air quotes, "misunderstanding."

"Call it whatever you want. But I'm innocent."

"And I'm Charlie Sheen."

"I knew you looked familiar!" Grandma giggled. "Tell me, how's that sexy father of yours?"

Jace

The first thing I thought of when I got on the plane was alcohol. The second? All the sex I wasn't having that the media was convinced I was . Funny, because at this point,if I was engaging in said extra-curriculars with prostitutes, I sure as hell wouldn't be so dumb about it.

The only evidence they had was a scorned ex-girlfriend and Beth showing up at the airport with me. My publicist had sent me a text and said not to worry — as far as everyone's concerned, I've been meaning to take a vacation. All they'd needed to do was explain I was at a wedding and catching up with an old friend. An old friend that I hadn't seen in over ten years and had seduced right out of her bridesmaid dress. Funny, because I doubted anyone but Beth and I really knew that we'd met before. And even then, why was I vain enough to believe that, out of all the guys Beth most likely had had pawning over her in high school, that I'd be the one kiss she'd remembered.

I groaned. The truth was… I had been holding on by a thread already. I'd worked my ass off to get where I was, and it terrified me to think that it could all be taken away. I'd graduated from college early. Completed my masters in less than a year. Studied through endless nights. Spent millions of my trust fund on campaigning, and for what? For people to wait for me to fail? And then throw me out of office onto my face? All because they believed a woman who had… my heart clenched. I could still smell the house.

I'd come home from a meeting in DC.

A fire had been lit in the downstairs, and I could smell a roast and potatoes cooking in the oven.

I'd taken the stairs two at a time. Eager to see Kerry, to hold her in my arms and forget about life for just a few minutes. Really, that's all I ever asked of her. I'd used her to relax and, in return, she'd looked good on my arm.

My time was precious. After dating awhile, we'd joked around that two minutes was like me handing her hundreds of dollars.

To me, time was the most valuable thing we had as humans. I wanted to make the most of every moment.

Maybe I shouldn't have.

Because if I hadn't taken two steps at a time.

If I hadn't come home early.

My life would be different. Granted, I'd be living in ignorance, but still. I wouldn't be carrying around scars, and I wouldn't want to run the other way every time a woman smiled at me.

I cleared my throat and snuck a look at Beth. She was reading People Magazine.

What did I really know about her? Good kisser. Nice ass. And a hell of a laugh. Unless she'd somehow turned into a chain smoker, causing her laugh to sound more like a hack. But that was it. For all I knew, she really had been a prostitute at some point in her life. Maybe she had dirty little secrets just waiting to pop out. Who didn't? Furthermore, how else did she put herself through med school? I didn't say my logic was sound, but I was also under an extreme amount of stress, which is probably why, as the plane took off, I blurted out, "Are you a prostitute?"

Unfortunately, when they seat you at the back of the plane, what they really mean is they're seating you next to all the crying and screaming kids that nobody else wants near first class, where Grandma and everyone else was drinking and laughing.

If I breathed hard enough, I could imagine that the shit I was smelling wasn't from the little kid in front of me, but some sort of —.oh, who was I kidding? I was in hell. And I had five whole hours to wallow.

A few parents turned angry eyes in my direction. I was too tired to care. So what? I'd said prostitute.

"Prostitute?" Beth repeated, louder than I'd initially said it. "And just how did you come to that conclusion Mr. Senator?"

"Okay, if you keep calling me that, I'm going to start calling you cookie monster, and we both know how you feel about that."

"Bastard."

"I'll take it. Anything's better than Mr. Senator."

Beth rolled her eyes and looked back at her magazine.

"Are you going to answer my question, or do you want me to see if the flight attendant has any cookies?"

"Do I look like a prostitute?" Beth snapped.

"Well..." If I said she did, that basically meant I was calling her slutty, and if I said she didn't, I had an inkling she'd take that as me saying she wasn't attractive enough to be one. Maybe I was overthinking things a bit. I tugged at the collar of my shirt,. "No."

"Exactly." Beth's face fell, just enough for me to notice. She turned away and looked down at her magazine but didn't turn the page. Because she wasn't reading or looking, she was hurt. Somehow me insulting her had turned into me hurting her, and I hated hurting people, especially ones who didn't deserve it.