Page 4 of Double Dared
“Really?” Harrison asked, finally lifting his gaze only to allow me to look into the very image of cold skepticism. I raked through my head for any scrap of information I could recall about Lord Tennyson, but I came up blank.
Harrison’s skepticism hurt even more than Finn’s leaning away.
“Didn’t he writeThe Ode to the Goldfish?”
Harrison’s frown was as fascinated as it was horrified.
I straightened a little to recite it, drew in a deep breath, lifted my chin. I cleared my throat. “O, wet pet.” I paused. “By Ogden Nash.” I inclined my head for the applause that never came.
Half snort, half laugh shook Harrison’s broad shoulders for a second. When you add it all up, I’d say I was doing a pretty good job. “I know a shorter one. It’s calledIn Memory of the Horse David, Who Ate One of My Poems, by James Wright.”
After a moment of silence, I got it, and a laugh leftmy lips easily. “That’s very good.” I pulled the back of the chair a little. “Can I join you?”
Harrison’s gaze swept over my face, and he inclined his head, closing the book over his finger. “Sure.”
I pulled the chair back and sat down, elbows on the wooden table between us, my posture conspiratorial as I leaned in like I had a secret to tell and he was the only man I trusted. “I’ve got a proposition.”
“Is it a dare?” he asked, folding his arms on the table and leaning in, matching my energy.
My heart tripped. I’d already invested effort into this, and he just had to see through my plans. “Does it matter?” I asked.
“No. I’m going to say yes to it.”
The printer ran out of ink, and my script turned into a blank page. I had no idea what to say to this. “I…”
“How about noon tomorrow?” Harrison asked, raising an eyebrow flirtatiously.
Was he…inviting me on a date instead?
I swallowed and nodded. “Noon sounds great. Don’t get drunk and sleep through it.”
Harrison’s eyebrow moved from coquettish to challenging, its arch rising high enough to be considered a public monument. He was too triumphant for my liking. “I’ll see you then. There’s a place on Whitmore Street that makes great coffee. You can’t miss it.”
I nodded, then hesitated for a moment. He knew what this was, right? Or did I just step into a bear trap?I needed to toss my lasso real quick before leaving the table. “Give me your number,” I said, placing my phone on the table.
Harrison’s eyes narrowed for the shortest moment, and then he pushed his phone across the table until they touched. Color rippled across both screens.
“Whoa.”
He chuckled. “Our phones just French-kissed.”
My cheeks heated up under the intensity of his dark gaze. Right. This hadn’t gone how I’d imagined it, but I’d call it a success. “Whitmore Street,” I said. “Noon, tomorrow.”
Harrison nodded, then picked up his book again.
I read my cue expertly, took my phone, and strolled back to the booth, where the guys snickered and pretended they hadn’t been watching. They might as well have been holding a flashing sign throughout.
“So?” Jason asked.
I turned my phone around to show Harrison’s number. “Noon, tomorrow.”
The guys rolled their eyes.
“It’s just too easy,” I said, shrugging as I slipped into the booth and picked up my beer. “Too easy.”
But underneath the confidence I presented to my friends, I wasn’t entirely sure how I felt. Had I even done the dare, or was I just scheduled for an appointment?
I glanced at Harrison over my shoulder. He sat with his back to the corner and his gaze moving over the yellow page of the old poetry collection.
