The Dare (The Bet 3)

Or possibly my eyes? But, in my opinion, they were really the only thing I had going for me. Dark lashes fanned the emerald green of my eyes, giving them an almost exotic look.

But that was it. No, seriously. It was all I had. My body was normal, not too big, not too small. And I officially sounded like Goldilocks from The Three Bears.

"Was he mean to you?" Char squeezed my hand. She'd always been the type to fight first, ask questions later.

I loved her for it.

"Nah," I lied. "He was a perfect gentleman. Not too bad for a senator."

"Senator my ass," Char hissed. "He's slimy, that one."

"I thought you liked him?" I argued.

"Liked." Char sniffled. "Past tense. I liked him before he stole you away from the wedding reception. I liked him before I found out you were plastered against his naked chest for hours on end. And I liked him before he started staring at your ass as if it held secrets to national security."

"He was staring at my ass?" I asked in a much-too-hopeful voice. Bad Beth. Very bad.

"Not the time, Beth." Char's eyes narrowed. "Remember what happened with Brett? And Steve? And John?"

"Stop naming men from my past before I kill myself," I muttered.

Kacey didn't say anything. She watched our exchange with interest, her mouth turned upward in a smile as she looked between Jace and me.

"He is cute," she finally said.

Um, actually he was a god. No really, ask Marvel Comics.

"Kace…" Char warned. "Cute is for puppies. Not politicians."

"Let's go!" Grandma shouted above the boys fighting and the girls laughing next to me.

"Go get 'em, tiger." Char pinched my butt. "Make him work for it."

"Work for it?" I asked innocently. I had a sneaking suspicion she didn't mean actual work, as in giving him math formulas and solving for Z. But something way harder, like actually trying to be sexy.

Char's answer was to nudge Kacey and laugh. Was I missing something? Shrugging, I summed it up to being overly exhausted and tugged my purse over my arm. Dinner. One dinner. And then I was going to find some Hawaiian man in a loin cloth to rub coconut oil all over me and say big words like electromagnetic and ionic… bummer. I was my own ionic bond. No matter how many times I'd wished I could stick to something, it hadn't happened.

Crap. I had no charge. I so wanted to charge. I needed a charge.

"You okay?" Jace asked, once we fell into step behind Grandma.

"Do I have a charge?"

"Huh?"

"A charge," I repeated.

"Like a card?"

"Like a bond."

"I think I'm confused."

I sighed heavily. "Ionic bonds. They're formed when charged particles stick together. I think I'm chargeless."

Jace's face lit up with humor. "Chargeless, huh? Is that your professional opinion?"

"I'm going to the ladies' room! Damn wine!" Grandma yelled and stomped off, leaving Jace and in the very romantic spot people like to call the wall between the ladies' and men's restrooms. Toilet flushing was our romantic music, and the smell of Mexican food floated through the air.