Page 3 of Double Dared
“Thank you. Takes work.”
“And you once boasted there’s nobody you couldn’t flirt your way to a date with,” Greg said.
I waved my hand. “Pass. Too easy.”
“Now, bear with me,” he said, his deep voice making the table vibrate. “I hereby challenge you, as the Bel council is my witness, to get a date with…” His finger joined the finger of his other hand to do a little drumroll that went on a tad too long, then swept around the table and pointed at Finn.
“Right,” I said, lifting one eyebrow skeptically.
“No, not him, asshole,” Greg said. “Finn, will you lean to a side, please?”
Finn leaned away from me with exaggerated relief.
I shot him a pained look. “Ouch.”
He shrugged.
“That one,” Greg said.
We all turned to the person several empty tables away from us. Sitting in a corner lit by the three small lamps in the nooks in the wall, with a glass of something brown and a big chunk of ice in the middle of it, a book in his hands, and a black turtleneck elongating his neck, was my target.
And it was a target I knew in passing.
“No chance,” I said. “He just broke up with his girlfriend.”
“That’s dangerously close to bi erasure,” Finn suggested.
“Sue me. I don’t just assume someone is bi until I’m proven otherwise.”
Finn shrugged again, but I felt like he was blaming me for something now.
“So what if he’s straight or freshly heartbroken? You’re the one who said you could flirt with anyone and score a date.”
“Are you scared?” Jason asked, chuckling.
I glared at him. “I’ll go and fucking marry him in a blink, so no, Jason, I’m not scared of picking up a guy at a bar.”
“What’s stopping you, then?” Greg asked.
“Oh, maybe the fact that there’s such a thing as a reasonable expectation of success. You guys don’t take these dares seriously.”
They laughed. It was Finn who offered someadditional context. “Look again. He has a perfect goatee, the softest-looking hands I’ve ever seen, an immaculate sense of style, and, not that I’m looking, but when we walked over to the bar…let’s just say, when he goes to the gym, his priority is the shape of his glutes. You can’t tell me he isn’t at least curious. That’s your opening. Your reasonable expectation of success.”
“Unless you don’t think you’re up to it,” Greg said. “In which case, I just thought of a fun one. It requires a couple rolls of toilet paper.”
I shot him a look that I wished could cut. “Oh, is that it? TP pranks? Fine, I’ll do it. You guys get another round and sit back.” I got up and straightened my sweater a little, then bunched it again. I had never had a passing interest in men, but I’d been the target of their interest in a few clubs when I took up the role of Jason’s wingman. It was a flattering thing to be mooned over by a man who had his shit together. Frankly, I’d wished I had been into them. It would have saved me a great deal of trouble I’d run into otherwise.
Even so, most men realized soon enough that it wasn’t heading anywhere, and I still didn’t know what the giveaway had been. It would be useful knowledge now so I could avoid doing whatever had outed me as straight.
I neared his corner without a clear plan, but I scanned my target in a moment or two. His hair really was perfect, his goatee was trimmed with obsession, and his style was immaculate. “Harrison, right?” Iasked, placing a hand on the back of a chair opposite him.
He didn’t lift his gaze off the page he was reading. “Yes.”
“I noticed you reading, uh…” Crap. I should have noticed what he was reading. “Lord Tennyson?”
“Is that a question?” he asked, voice a soft, deep rumble, eyes still moving over the page.
“No?” Dammit. “No. I’m a fan, myself.”
