“I doubt that,” Dare parries. “You seem rather brilliant yourself.”
“Not smart enough to stay away from you,” I answer without thinking about it. Dare almost rears his head back.
“Where did that come from?” he stares at me, his eyes wide.
I honestly don’t know.
“I guess I’m just frustrated with your ‘wait and see’ mentality,” I mumble. Dare cocks his head.
“Patience isn’t a virtue of yours?”
I shake my head. “Unfortunately, no.”
“But good things come to those who wait,” Dare points out.
“I’m not ketchup,” I thrust back. He looks at me in confusion.
“That was an old ketchup slogan a few years ago.”
He shakes his head. “Americans. You do love your condiments.”
I hear a car crunching in the gravel of the drive, and I glance around Dare to see my father pulling the hearse around.
“Ugh. There’s a funeral today. You might want to vacate the place, if you don’t want to be surrounded by tears.”
Dare looks unconcerned as he takes a slug of coffee.
“Want to give me a tour of Astoria?” he asks casually, standing up and stretching. I’m distracted once again by the flat ribbon of his abdomen that shows as his shirt lifts up. He catches me looking and grins. “My abs will be coming too,” he adds arrogantly.
I roll my eyes.
“Are you trying to bribe me?”
His dark eyes meet mine. “I’ll do whatever it takes. I’ll go shirtless if you want.”
My heart couldn’t take that.
It’s suddenly hard to swallow and I need a distraction. And I need to get away from the impending funeral.
“Okay,” I agree. “Let’s go. But only if you drive. With a shirt on.”
“Done,” he says triumphantly.
Only I’m the triumphant one a few minutes later as I wrap my arms around his waist and we glide down the mountain. The front of my body is pressed to his back, and we fit like perfectly placed puzzle pieces.
I take him to my favorite coffee shop first, where we sit outside and sip at espresso for a bit. We’re sitting in the shade and the morning breeze is actually chilly, so when Dare notices my shiver, he lays his arm around the back of my chair and I snuggle into his arm.
I want to stay like this for the rest of the day, or perhaps even forever, but within twenty minutes, Dare stares down at me.
“What next, tour guide?”
I sigh.
“You’re a punishing task-master.”
But with my arms wrapped around him again on the back of his bike, I can hardly call it punishment.
“I want to see where you went to school,” he calls back to me over the wind. So I direct him to Astoria High. He pulls up in front, and I only wish that my old classmates were here to witness Calla Price riding on the back of Dare DuBray’s motorcycle. Victory would be mine, because he’s leaps and bounds sexier than any of them could ever dream of being.