The Dare (The Bet 3)

She looked at my hand like I'd just offered her pot.

"Just one dance," I urged. Why did I care?

"Sure," she stood, "just one dance."

I hadn't known that my one good deed would come back to bite me in the ass. How could I know that, even then? Grandma's watchful eyes were on me like the damn Lord of the Rings Eye of Sauron.

"Damn Grandma," I said aloud. I'd done my good deed for the year; I was ready to be finished with the entire Titus family and their insane shenanigans. The sooner I left, the easier it will be to walk away. Sound logic, I was aware.

"If you keep talking to me like I'm a child, you'll have a reason to call me sunshine because I'll be putting my foot where the sun don't shine, got it?"

"Are you always this pleasant in the mornings?" I stepped away from the beast. Yes, we were back to name calling. "Or is that reserved especially for me?"

"Just you," she stomped over to her discarded bridesmaid dress and snatched it off the chair, "and politicians I don't vote for."

"You didn't vote for me?" It was out of my mouth before I could stop it. Deflated, I waited for her answer.

"Nope." Beth grinned, seemingly enjoying my shock. "Then again, I don't live in Oregon."

Idiot. Last words said. Gauntlet fallen. Game set. I watched her disappear yet again into the bathroom.

Chapter Three

"Ma'am, with all due respect. You've committed a federal crime. I don't believe a breath mint is going to solve that problem, and for the last time, no. Your dog may not serve as a character witness."

"It's because he's French, isn't it?" Grandma nodded knowingly.

Beth

I needed a paper bag and a do-over Back-to-the-Future-style. I leaned against the door and took a few deep breaths before opening my eyes.

Jace.

It had to be Jace. Out of every damn single man at the wedding, my ovaries had decided to jump into his pants? Really? Was I that desperate? It didn't make sense! I spent the better part of my shower trying to figure out the equation with logic.

Was it because he saved me before? Was I still holding onto the one that got away? To be fair, had he not run away like a scared child, I probably would have run myself. It terrified me, made me feel things that an eighteen year old shouldn't. I spent the better part of my freshman year of college thinking about that kiss. Thinking about the way his lips felt against mine and wondering what would have happened had he stayed instead of run.

But he'd left, and I never saw him again.

It wasn't until a year later that I realized he hadn't even gone to my school.

I self-consciously tucked my hair behind my ear. Did he even recognize me?

Know who I was?

Why couldn't I have done something normal? Any other guy I could have forgotten — not him.

My eyes burned, my body hurt, I was starving my ass off, and I looked like I'd just gotten run over by a chicken truck. Taking a deep soothing breath, I focused on the previous night.

We were both at the wedding.

We both drank.

Did he remember anything? Or was I the only cookie-eating loser who had blacked out partway through our night of fun?

I would not freak out. I couldn't freak out. Ha, Ha, I was officially losing my damn mind. Calling my sister was out of the question. Not only would she be massively disappointed in me, but she was supposed to be packing for her honeymoon.

Stepping away from the door, I placed the dress gently on the toilet and stared at it.