Wicked Dare: A Romantic Comedy

by Kira Graham

  “Well, now, that isn’t necessarily true,” Dad muses, stopping us all because I was thinking the same thing Gia was. Any way I look at this, it’s over.

  Which sort of sucks, actually. The treasure hunts are so much fun. And I get to dress up weirdly, even if it’s embarrassing. We have the best family album ever thanks to Dad’s quirky conditions for every hunt. This one was themed Zombie Brides, but Gia and I got such a late start after the bakery was inundated with last-minute people, we didn’t have the time to do makeup or mess up the dresses sufficiently. I like the heels, though. They’re hot. Of course not great to run around the city in, obviously.

  “What do you mean? Tell me this is still salvageable,” Simon whines, making us all laugh because he’s so competitive.

  “Stop being a baby about last night. You got disqualified—live with it,” I snarl, keeping in a laugh because Gia and I both know why he was disqualified.

  But to be fair to us, cheating isn’t illegal in the games. It’s just frowned upon. And there’s no law that says you can’t set your brother up for trying to steal information about the games early. So, technically, we played fair. Our version of fair.

  “Chiiildren,” Mom huffs, sitting back down and, thankfully, hiding her gnarly boobs under the table. “Go ahead, Cole.”

  “The game may be salvageable. Maybe. I’m going to have to look into it and think on it for a bit. This was round two for the year, so I have another four months to think on it and decide what can be done, fairly. For the meantime, don’t give up, Lu. Technically, this game is over, complete, if you somehow get that kitten all to yourself, so we’ll have to keep track of this. If that happens…” Dad says softly, to which I say, hell, no.

  “Of course not. I’m never giving up. Ever,” I huff, baring my teeth at Simon and Paul because Simon’s just slavering at the mouth for me to give up.

  Of course he would be. The man’s an asshole, and he hates losing. Well, guess what—so do I. I hate losing, and nothing in my life will ever prove that as much as the year my sister dared me to run the five-k with her. It was brutal. I passed out twice while running, skinned my chin, my left leg wouldn’t run after a while so I was dragging it behind me like a lame horse, and of course I just had to get nauseous at one point, stopping and puking all down my shirt. But I finished. I did it, and it doesn’t matter that I finally made it over the finish line just before midnight. I won. Because the bet wasn’t placing in the run; it was completing it. And I did.

  “This isn’t fair. She should give up the kitten just the same way that Paul had to. She can keep Luke if she wants, but we shouldn’t have her holding up the game. We only do this three times a damn year, Dad!” he huffs, snarling at me. “Laura just got excited about joining in.”

  “No fair! Spouses can’t compete,” I huff.

  “That isn’t true. Spouses most certainly can compete, and they should,” Mom says softly, wincing when I whip her way and snarl.

  “No way! Laura’s too smart. It wouldn’t be fair,” I snarl.

  “That’s bullshit. She should have a chance, and I just got her interested. Come on,” Simon groans to Dad, like the big tit he is.

  “Well, now, Lu, that’s true. Spouses can compete and they should.”

  “She’s just jealous because she’s a hag who’s gonna die alone,” Paul grumbles.

  “Screw you!” I shout, throwing a pancake at his head and hissing when he snatches it midair and shoves it into his mouth, chewing with a cocky smile.

  I could have a boyfriend and get married. I really could. I just don’t want one!

  “Cut it out,” Mom mutters, rising again and eliciting a round of groans as she shuffles to the sink in her slippers and we all notice her nightie tucked into her underwear.

  “Moooom!” Simon and Paul both yell, shooting up and rushing out of the house while the rest of us laugh.

  Okay—I puke in my mouth a little because she’s got a mom ass, but I still laugh because the wicked old bag cackles when the front door slams and gingerly untucks her nightie while throwing a wink at us.

  “You can thank me later. Now, get the hell out of my house, you rabble. Your dad just made me hot with all that game talk,” she trills.

  “Oh, hell, no,” Gia huffs, leaping to her feet and rushing out.

  I’m not far behind, and I’m still running when my phone rings and the words Kitten Thief flash up. Now, there are a couple of ways I can deal with this situation, and I know it. I can ignore him and just keep on trucking with my life because I still have a bakery to run, a family to torment, and I do have a date with this one guy Mom met at the grocery store and pimped me out to.

  So, that’s what I’m gonna do, and I’ll see what this rich boy does when I don’t answer. Should be interesting. I guess. At least he’s hot.

  Too bad I’m going to war with him, because, hot or not, no one messes with my win. No one.

  Chapter 4

  Cameron

  She doesn’t answer her phone for two days. Two entire days, in which I am sorely, sorely regretting ever seeing this freaking cat because the little shit is literally evil. No, I mean it. The thing is insane, it’s sly and vicious, and when it gets its claws in to you, it freaking hurts.

  “Stop laughing at me,” I snarl at Connor, my right hand going to my head where I have a small chunk of hair missing after I had to rip that little demon off of me.

  “I can’t help it. Bro, you look like shit,” Connor sputters, his eyes tearing up while I snarl at him and slump in my chair behind the desk.

  It’s been two days of this hell. Two days in which I’ve tried like hell to get in touch with Louisiana Sugar, been tormented by the damn kitten I stole from her—and I’d give up at this point and just give her the thing but Connor informed me he made a wager, and if I give up, he loses. Which means I lose because that would be quitting. I don’t quit. Ever! No matter what.

  “I look like shit because I haven’t slept. That freaking… it’s evil, Connor,” I whisper, looking around before I whisper the words because I can’t have that demon hearing me.

  Connor busts a gut after a second of silence, and I snarl, falling back with a tired sigh and leaning back so that my body has some sort of support. I need sleep. I need some sleep… I need… a break from that freaking cat, and I can’t have it because Connor made this worse by saying, “I bet you don’t even keep it. I bet you let Mom take care of it.” Which I was going to do. I just can’t have him knowing that.

  “It’s a cat! A small one too.”

  “It’s… evil, Con. It hides away. When I get home it’s nowhere in sight, and then suddenly it’s on me, hissing and screaming and clawing. And biting, dude. Look at my hair!” I yell, pushing back a clump to reveal the dime-sized bald spot.

  I could cry. Hell, I did cry after I got that cat off me and tossed it onto the sofa and then it scurried away and hid again—and you know what I did? I hid in my bedroom. Alone. Hungry. Scared.

  “Damn,” Con snorts, still laughing a little but also horrified at the sight of me.

  I’m covered in scratches all up and down my arms and chest. Only my face has survived it—and only because when Jaja launched himself at me from nowhere, I caught him. I have one scratch from my left temple to my jaw, and that shit hurts, but otherwise it’s all arms and chest. I sleep with my door locked too, dammit. Because I closed my door last night and started to go to sleep, only to feel something staring at me. I cannot explain how that felt in the moment because it was just so… scary.

  I didn’t know what to do for a second as the dread filled me, and then, when I opened my eyes, all I saw was two electric-blue eyes on me before Jaja launched and landed on my bare chest. I still don’t know how he got the door open, dammit, and that scares the shit out of me. So, after I ran out and doubled back, closing the door just in time, I locked it. See if he can open that, the little shit.

  “Yeah,” I mutter, swiping hand through my hair and blowing out a tired sigh. “Now
I can’t sleep. I’m literally afraid to close my eyes, and Mom’s been calling me off the hook with some date she set up for me with ‘a nice little scrap of a cutie,’ ” I whine, the thought of going anywhere while I’m getting over Lulu abhorrent to me.

  “Christ, would you stop saying it like that! You don’t even know her,” Connor laughs, wounding me so deep I grab at my chest.

  “You wound me, man. I felt that connection, here,” I whine, tapping at my chest while he snorts and shakes his head ruefully.

  “You’re telling me you more than like this girl? You just saw her for the first time in your life, man,” he scoffs.

  “I know, but it was like lightning, Bro. She’s just so… great,” I sigh, groaning when the door opens and Peter walks in, his eyes already rolling when he sees me.

  “Please tell me you aren’t still on this thing,” he mumbles, slapping hands with Connor who’s still laughing at me and shaking his head.

  “This isn’t a thing. I like her, and I’m going to date her,” I tell them, meaning it.

  Okay, so my conviction isn’t just about liking her. She sent me a text this morning telling me that she wants her cat back and that I need to get lost. That’s like handing me a challenge on a silver platter, man. It’s like telling me I can’t accomplish something—and for me, that just won’t do. I climbed a freaking mountain with my foot in a boot after I broke it, guys. I don’t give up. And with this challenge thrown out, I’m even more determined to get to know this woman. So much so that I had Peter get me everything he can on her.

  “Says the same man who hates dating. And that’s a quote,” Connor laughs, reminding me of my opinion one Christmas after Mom invited someone she thought was perfect for me.

  “I said I hate dating, yes. I didn’t say that I can’t woo a woman, get her to fall for me, and then finally give Mom that hoard of grandkids she’s been after,” I say, chuckling when they both go still and gape at me.

  “No freaking way!”

  “Way,” I say, grinning. “That’s my baby mama, folks. Like Dad said when we were kids, I knew it when I saw her.”

  “That story’s bullshit,” Connor grunts, growling at me when I smirk because I know where this is going.

  “Bro, your shit doesn’t count. You’ve been in love no less than seventeen times and you’re only thirty,” I point out.

  “Can I help it if I’m a feelings kinda guy?” he grumbles, blushing bright red when Pete and I both chuckle.

  “I don’t think so, but it’s your enthusiasm that’s a bit of a problem, man. You let these women walk all over you,” Peter huffs, saying something I’ve said before.

  “And this is better?” Connor scoffs, waving at me. “He’s in love in moments.”

  “Not love,” I scoff, laughing at the way he frowns. “But definitely in lust—and I really like her.”

  “You don’t know her!” Peter grunts.

  “Oh, but I do,” I drawl, smirking while they groan. “Miss Louisiana Sugar is a twenty-four-year-old old woman who started a bakery three years ago and has had nothing but success. She works six days a week, owns the building where her bakery is located and lives in the apartment above it. She has no children, and her financials are run-of-the-mill average—but for a small blip when she submitted a tax return and declared the population of the US as her dependants because they’re using her taxes on strangers,” I huff, a grin splitting my face before I laugh outright.

  “That’s it? That’s what you know?” Connor asks, sounding disgusted.

  “Uh, no,” Peter groans, closing his eyes.

  “Pete, here, went around and talked to a few old ladies in Lu’s neighborhood, and you’ll never guess what was happening the morning we found them in the lobby,” I drawl, watching Connor narrow his eyes at me suspiciously because I’m bursting with glee.

  “I don’t even know how they got in here,” he huffs.

  “I don’t care! They have a family treasure hunt!” I yell, throwing my hands up and laughing while he frowns.

  “Ooookay? So what?”

  “So… the kitten was the prize, man,” I tell him, tickled so pink by this I can hardly stand it. “The kitten was the prize because three times a year they all participate in some hunt, and whoever finds the prize wins for that year. They’ve been at it for twelve years, according to the old lady—”

  “Twelve years,” Peter confirms, sounding stunned and a little awed. “And here’s the kicker. The rules are simple. Whoever finds and collects a second prize, wins.”

  “What?” Connor asks, looking confused.

  “That’s the win. To get the second prize and you win. That’s the thing…”

  “And then what? What are the prizes? Is there money involved? Cars? A company?”

  “Then nothing! Then it’s over and the victor is announced. The prizes aren’t about value; they’re a symbol of the win,” I shrug, a little bewildered by that one myself—but hey, who am I to judge a family’s games?

  “Nothing? You’re telling me they have a treasure hunt three times a year, that the prize is some piece of junk, or a kitten, and then if one of them gets a second… whatever the prize is that time, it’s over? That’s it? No money? No resale clauses? No scoreboard?” he asks.

  “I know! But that’s the point. Just the win,” I shrug, still grinning because this is so unlike my own family, it’s hilarious.

  We fight for stuff and the win. The stuff is the win. But these people, they don’t seem to care about stuff, which brings me to the second reason I like Lu. She doesn’t give a damn about money. I like that—

  “Wait, wait, wait. That doesn’t make any sense. They don’t get anything?” he asks.

  “They get to have the win in a family who apparently waited almost twelve years for this day,” Peter points out, scowling when we both scoff.

  Like that’s a prize.

  “And then what?”

  “Then nothing. It ends. Whether everyone has a win or not. Word on the street is…” Peter deadpans, knowing full well he got this information off the neighbor lady, a little old woman at least a hundred and one from the looks of her. “They play for the purity of the game. For the adventure. For the opportunity to screw each other over. Louisiana once snuck into her sister’s apartment while she was sleeping, put hair-removal cream on her eyebrows, self-tan in tropic orange on her face, and squeezed a bottle of green semi-permanent color into her hair. According to Doris, she looked like a nightmare and couldn’t leave her apartment for three days while she soaked in a bath and tried to rinse the green out. Then there’s the dad. They say he’s the worst because he actually sets up the games.”

  “Wait. If he competes, how does he set them up?” Connor asks, and now I laugh because this is the best part.

  “They proxy!” I yell, sounding so delighted I must be a picture, but I don’t care.

  I’ve gotten a copy of the rules and regulations of this game, and it’s brilliant. Pure, sheer genius. It’s like a neverending event that trumps all other games, and if I wasn’t invested in my own games, I’d love this one because the point is so simple. You win. That’s it. You simply win, and that makes you the best. They don’t want stuff; they don’t care about getting yachts and cars and making the most money. They do it for the game—and that is so freaking pure, man.

  Pure.

  And, no shit, my girl won it. Technically. Which to the Sugars doesn’t count because here’s the kicker: cheating is encouraged. They kill one another with that shit, and it’s not only allowed but they score family points for cheating. Those prizes are a whole other story entirely, though, and mostly revolve around humiliation and humbling one another. Four months ago, her bother Simon had to wear pastel-colored skinny jeans for a month because Georgia cemented his door shut and the only way he could get out to compete was to string sheets together and climb out of his apartment window. She called it “Stoned,” which her dad declared genius, and so her prize was for her brother, a construction wor
ker, to wear skinny jeans a size too tight, to work every day. And she bought them in every pastel color that exists. Pink, salmon, baby blue, yellow. According to everyone it was hilarious, especially considering his anniversary came up and his wife went nuts over his clothing choices.

  “So, that’s it then? They win two hunts and get to razz one another?” Connor asks, obviously confused by the point of it.

  “Yep. That’s the game. And Lu is winning. Or she would have,” I drawl, watching Connor frown before he gasps.

  “No!”

  “Yep. I, my friends, stole her win, and, according to her neighbor, this is a stalemate. There’s only a few ways she can break it—and those ways include killing me, convincing me to hand the cat over, or…” I drawl, smirking now because I like this next part the most, “spouses are allowed to compete, and with a two-man team, she wins.”

  “You can’t be serious,” Connor huffs, his eyes blinking as he tries to figure out what this is.

  I can’t say I blame him. When Peter first told me, I didn’t believe it. Firstly, I can’t believe I’ve found a woman who enjoys competing as much as I do. Seriously. I can barely get a woman to play poker, never mind find one who is completely immersed in a family treasure hunt that is about winning, only, and doing the worst things you can to get there. That’s like finding a nugget of gold just lying on the ground after you’ve been mining for gold dust for years.

  “I am so serious.”

  “And that cat is this hunt’s prize?” Connor asks, looking at me as if he can’t understand it.

  “It was,” I confirm, smiling with a sense of anticipatory glee because this is so fun.

  It’s new, exciting, and don’t get me wrong; I love the Dares—but this… this is new and something I need to participate in.

  “So… what are you going for exactly? To marry this girl?” Connor scoffs, his bark of laughter petering out when I grin right back.