Wicked Dare: A Romantic Comedy

by Kira Graham

  “And you knew this?” I snarl, wondering just how I can salvage this because I told Lee just yesterday that I was having sex dreams about Cameron.

  Oh, God—no wonder Mom showed up here this morning and kept calling me an idiot. She likes Cameron. I like Cameron.

  “Of course. How else do you think I knew what your plans were for your hunt?” she asks, grinning when I gasp because that is just wrong.

  I spent weeks with that map and those clues, trying to figure it out, and Lee was helping me.

  “That’s how you knew I was going to the cemetery. I knew you’d never have figured that clue out by yourself. You cheater!”

  “Don’t be a bitch. Even you have to admit that was smart,” she laughs, smirking when I roll my eyes and slump.

  “Okay, fine. It was smart. But it was also wrong. I can’t believe those two old assholes—”

  “Please. Stop pretending you don’t know how bad Mom is. And Lee was so freaking obvious you should have seen it coming,” she snorts. “But I don’t want to talk about that. We were talking about Cam.”

  “And I don’t want to talk about Cameron. He’s off limits, Gia. Okay? We’re just friends,” I say for the millionth time. “Whatever bet you have going with this, stop, accept that you’re going to lose, and move on,” I plead.

  “Bet? Don’t be an asshole, Lu. I would never—fiiiiine,” she mutters, smiling sheepishly. “But to be fair to me, it isn’t about winning; it’s about knowing that you and Cameron are great together. Or you could be. Come on, Lu. Just give it a chance,” she pleads.

  “I can’t,” I huff, shaking my head when she scowls. “And I’m not talking about this anymore. Get out of here and leave me alone. I‘m going to spend the next hour here pretending I’m actually working, and then I’m going upstairs to lie on my heating pad while I pray for death.”

  “You’re impossible.”

  “You’re only just realizing this now?” I ask, smirking when she throws her hands up and groans before she grabs her purse and storms out.

  Leaving me alone with myself. Which is never a good thing.

  Chapter 10

  Louisiana

  I’m having the best dream ever, and I will literally kill someone if it stops before I get to the good part.

  “Ooooh. Uuuum,” I moan, spreading my legs wider and reveling in the way Cameron’s mouth is plastered to my clit, his tongue flicking in a hard rhythm while he sucks strongly and seems to be in the process of trying to eat me alive.

  It’s a wonderful moment when your every sexual dream comes true, and it’s even better when that sex dream feels better than any real-life sex you’ve had, which in my case is hard to beat because I had sex once and that was it.

  “Right there. Right there!” I groan, my fingers scrabbling against his head when a rush of pleasure blooms from deep within and my core explodes, sending stars through my line of sight, tremors through my core and a hot pulse of agonizing bliss to my clit that’s pulsing and throbbing with every suck of his mouth.

  I expect that to be it, for that to be the end, and I’m floating as I close my eyes, more than okay if the dream is done because it’s more than I’ve been able to achieve before. It doesn’t end there, though. Oh, no—and thank God because a grinning Cameron comes up over me and settles between my legs, the feel of him probing my entrance causing little shocks of prolonged pleasure to shudder through me.

  “You ready, Sugar?” he drawls, his words slightly slurred, his face a little blurry even as I nod my head and open myself up to him and smile encouragingly.

  Hell, yeah, I’m ready, big boy, I think. I’ve been ready for this ever since he friended me, which, I gotta tell you guys, sucked. I mean, it’s one thing to tell yourself you can’t have a guy, but when he looks at you and basically agrees, it doesn’t feel good.

  This feels good. This feels perfect as he starts to press inside me, his thickness pushing into and stretching muscle that hasn’t felt this kind of burn in a long time. It doesn’t hurt, though. No; it’s an ache deep inside me that feels like it’s being filled, as if all the emptiness and need I’ve harbored is finally being fulfilled, filled, washed away. And I welcome it.

  I welcome the joining…

  ***

  Cameron

  I come awake with a groan of pain, my mouth dry as bone and my stomach roiling so hard I roll to my feet and bolt towards the bathroom, getting to the toilet just in time as my stomach heaves one last time and expels its contents like a tsunami of burning, acid-riddled poison. I feel clammy, my head is swirling, and my whole body hurts, but when it’s over, when the hurling has finally stopped and I slump over the seat, all I can do is groan, reach over a shaking hand to flush and then slide face-first onto the cold tile on the bathroom floor.

  “Oooooh, God,” I hear, the sound a distant moan before slapping sounds vibrate through the floor and then something slams onto my back, two bony points digging into my spine while retching can be heard.

  I don’t move. I don’t open my eyes. I barely breathe because whatever the hell is going on, I don’t care. I want to die. I think I am dying, and, God help me, if it could just happen a little faster I’d be so grateful to whoever is up there watching me. The sound of hurling finally stops, and somewhere in my addled, poor, uncomprehending mind, I realize that there’s a very small person on my back, puking into the toilet and crying between every heave.

  I just can’t manage to care right now because I don’t think I can do anything but lie here, let the cool tile soothe my heated skin, and somehow get past just how bad I feel.

  “Oh, God, oh, God, make it stop,” the person on my back groans before I hear the toilet flush again and the feel of skin hits my back.

  I’d know that kind of skin anywhere, and any man worth his salt who feels boobs and nipples against his back would turn around and do something to appreciate it. I can’t. I can hardly open one bleary eye when she shifts to the side and slides down beside me.

  “Cameron?” Lu asks, her face close to mine, her front plastered to the tile, her skin so green I swallow for her and just stop a whine from escaping. “Did we have sex last night?”

  “Don’t know. Don’t care right now, Sugar,” I groan, letting my eyes fall closed and blocking my nose when a puff of puke-scented breath reaches my nostrils. “Just wanna die right now.”

  It’s not manly. A real man would shake it off, get up and do something about Lu’s condition and try to make her feel better. I’m not able to, though, because right now I wish someone would help me. I don’t know what the hell happened last night, why it happened, or how—and frankly, I don’t care. I don’t have the strength to care. Even if I did have sex with Lu and we did nasty, dirty things to one another.

  “Me too,” she groans, breathing her funk all over me.

  I’d move away to escape it and the molten heat coming off of her, but I can’t. I can’t do a thing but lie here and try to soak up the cold from the floor.

  “If we did have sex, though, then right on. I may not be capable of moving or thinking right now but my dick hurts,” I mumble, smiling with my eyes closed when I hear a giggle.

  “My vagina hurts too.”

  “It should. I got a whopper, baby,” I joke, groaning out loud when my little attempt at humor causes a shaft of agony to pierce my skull.

  “Can we talk about this later? I know I should care right now, but I can’t manage to find it in me,” Lu admits, one aquamarine eye popping open to meet mine.

  “Fine by me,” I groan, closing my eyes again and letting my head get all swirly with sleep.

  I wake up what must be a while later, still feeling like hell but a little better. When I shift over and slide onto my side, I see Lu lying in the exact same spot she passed out on, and I nearly chuckle when I take her in. She’s on her front, her ass up in the air, her arms folded beneath her breasts, and her face smooshed to the tile, a puddle of drool forming under her cheek. She looks like shit. I’m not going to
be one of those guys who lies and says she looks like heaven and smells just as good. The truth is, she’s still slightly green even in sleep, her hair’s a rat’s nest of auburn curls, and her breath smells like something died in her mouth and has been fermenting there for at least a week.

  What I will say, because I adore her, is that she’s cute when she snuffles, purses her lips and lets off a soft snore.

  I don’t feel great but I’m a little better, and so I rise from the floor, take a minute to wash my face and brush my teeth, and I go into the bedroom to take a look at the scene and try to remember just what the hell happened. I can’t remember shit, and the room looks like a tornado hit it. There are sheets hanging from the bed, a pillow is crammed into a ball at the foot of it while the others lay strewn all over the floor, and then there’s a high heel, dark pink and obvious, sticking of out the drywall in such a comical way I shake my head and decide I don’t want to know how it got there.

  Once I’ve picked up a bit and I have the bed re-sheeted and pillowed, I go back to the bathroom to get Lu, a smile curling my lips when she doesn’t stir, smashes her drool-slicked cheek to my chest and snores again. So cute, I think, putting her back to bed and covering her with a sheet before I do something gross like perv all over her naked body while she sleeps. That would be wrong, and since we were both obviously very drunk last night, I can’t just assume that we’re together, so I have no right to look at her naked. So, I do the opposite of what I want to and leave the room after I pull on some shorts, my first course of action to grab a bottled water from the fridge and then take the maximum prescribed dosage of the headache pills I got a few months ago when I was having stress headaches.

  “You knoooow,” a voice drawls just as I tip my head back and start to down the water, sputtering and coughing when the pills go down the wrong way and a gasp has the water drowning my lungs.

  I wheeze, fighting to breathe, and nearly pass out when Gia steps into the kitchen, fully dressed, looking like a million bucks and smiling at me like the cat who just got the cream.

  “Gia! Jesus, woman. Are you trying to kill me?” I snarl, slapping my chest to get water out of my lungs while she smirks and gives me a good once-over with a sad shake of her head.

  “You look like shit, Cam,” she laughs, waltzing over to hand me a dish towel and laughing when I burp, the roiling in my stomach returning with the introduction of water.

  “I feel like shit, Georgia,” I say as politely as I can because I’m at a loss here.

  Firstly, Lu warned me that if any of her family ever showed up in my apartment uninvited, I should run for cover, lock myself in a room and call the cops. Secondly, I’m not even awake yet, my brain is fried, and I don’t have the energy for whatever the hell is happening here. All I want is to chill on the couch, wait for this headache to go away, and then I’ll deal with trying to figure out how I ended up naked, in a bed, with Lu.

  “Well, you should. You and Lu had a rip-roarer of a time last night,” she snorts, giggling when I frown and then groan because Connor sidles into the kitchen dressed in jeans, a tee, and a smile that’s so chipper I immediately know something bad has happened and I’m going to suffer for it.

  The man never grins at me this way unless he knows something that’s gonna make me cringe, and with the way Gia’s smiling as well, I just know this is going to be bad.

  “I need coffee before this shit,” I warn, marching over to my machine and making myself a double espresso with a shot of a triple that I mix together and down with a shudder. “Okay. Hit me. What is it? What did I do?”

  I probably don’t want to know, and feeling the way I do means that I was probably so drunk last night it’s bound to be bad. I can’t even remember yesterday, for God’s sakes, and that’s saying a lot because I never get drunk enough not to remember an hour of my waking life, never mind an entire day.

  “What didn’t you do is the question,” Gia laughs, her trilling, shrill amusement cutting through my brain with the gentleness of a sledgehammer.

  “Broooo,” Connor laughs, shaking his head at me and then barking out a laugh when the cat of Satan prances into the kitchen and laps at me.

  I stagger back with a grunt and cover my face, but for once the little demon doesn’t latch his claws onto me and go for broke. He lands on my shoulder and starts to purr, all to the sound of laughter around me and my very own hiss of shock.

  “I don’t know what the hell is happening here,” I groan, gingerly uncovering my face and pulling Jaja to my chest, still not trusting the little shit but unable to put him down because for once he isn’t hurting me.

  He’s purring at me as if he likes me.

  “And you wouldn’t,” Gia laughs, still giggling, still looking at me with that wicked smile and still sharing a look with a grinning Connor that makes my balls shrink because they know something bad, and if they’re enjoying it this much, it’s going to be awful.

  “Don’t tell me,” I huff, making myself another cup of coffee and trying to ignore the roiling in my gut that comes from fear instead of the monumental hangover.

  “Yeeeeah, I think you’re going to want to know this,” Connor laughs, his amusement growing when Peter walks into the kitchen in a pair of jeans, no shirt or shoes, scratching his head and smiling.

  When he spots me, that smile turns into a chuckle and then a full-bellied laugh, and then I’m really groaning because his amusement isn’t ever great. Never. Let’s put it this way; Peter’s the kind of guy who’d take you to the hospital if a shark attacked you but he’d also never stop razzing you about it either or pointing out what a loser you are. It’s why we’re best friends. I just never thought he’d side with Connor on something.

  “Yeah, just don’t,” I groan, grabbing my new coffee and then starting some toast and going on a hunt for ginger ale for the moment poor Lu wakes up.

  “So, you don’t want to know that you and Lu finally gave each other friction burns on your pee-pees?” Gia asks, her laughter spurting out when I snarl at her and frown.

  “Don’t talk about my Lu that way,” I grunt, swallowing down bile at the thought of finally, finally having her and not remembering.

  “Shit. Dammit. Shi—”

  “Cussing isn’t going to fix it, man,” Peter laughs, grabbing himself, Gia, and Connor a cup of coffee while I choke down a slice of dry toast and then pour lemonade into a glass, having come up short on the ginger ale.

  “Cussing is going to be all I’m doing if you assholes are going to continue to mess with me,” I warn. “I’m still hungover, I don’t feel good, I’m pissed at myself because my memory is totally shot, and having you people here—what the hell are you all doing here anyway?” I ask just as someone else walks into the kitchen, takes one look at Peter and snarls.

  “This is Kat. You probably won’t remember her, but you met her last night. She’s Lu’s best friend and the—never mind,” Gia snorts, chuckling again while Kat comes closer and holds out her hand.

  “It’s real nice to meet you, Cameron,” she says softly, her blond hair, brown eyes, and general look so girl-next-door and friendly that I smile and shake her hand.

  “Any friend of Lu’s is a friend of mine. Please, help yourself to some coffee and food. I’m just going to go give Lu—”

  “Oh! I wouldn’t do that,” Kat laughs, reaching for the plate of toast and the glass and setting them down on the counter. “Lu wakes up by herself, or else,” she informs me, grinning when I blink.

  “She’s a nightmare if you wake her. Trust me, Cam—you want to let that sleeping monster lie for now,” Gia explains, her lips still twitching until I scowl at them all—well, except Kat; her I like.

  “I’m going to give you idiots one minute to explain what the hell is going on here, and then I’m going to start losing my shit. No offense, Gia; I love ya, but you’re getting on my last freaking nerve with your laughing. And Connor, I swear to God—”

  “You don’t remember?” Kat asks, sidesteppin
g when Peter walks closer, her eyes so hostile the guy grunts and keeps walking, though I notice his mouth is set in a pout.

  “Remember…? I’m going to assume I drank something last night. A lot of something,” I say, keeping my tone even. “I just don’t know when, why, or what—and before anyone laughs again, I’m not okay with that. I can’t even remember what I freaking did yesterday,” I snarl, watching Connor’s brow furrow while Gia’s eyes go wide and she gulps with a worried frown.

  “The whole day?” she asks, sounding so guilty I know, I just know she’s done something.

  And I’m not going to like it.

  “Nothing, Georgia,” I say softly, my jaw grinding. “Wanna tell me why I have zero memory of yesterday?” I ask.

  She shrugs, something I’ve come to understand is Gia’s way of not answering, and when I look at Con he shrugs too, though he can’t keep from grinning while Peter snorts.

  “Anyone here want to tell me what’s going on?” I ask, just for shits and giggles and to give them a chance.

  When no one says anything, I nod once and pick up the toast and the glass. Well, I tried. Don’t say I didn’t try, I think, shaking my head as I make my way into my bedroom and towards the bed where Lu is still fast asleep. Placing the food and juice on the side table, I gently grab her shoulder to shake her awake, my lips twitching when she snuffles and grumbles, slapping my hand away.

  “Go’way, Lukie. Mama’s dying,” she whispers, making me chuckle and shake harder and then harder still because—

  “Fuuuck!” I scream, the sound ear-splittingly high and agonized because Lu’s hand is around my nuts and she’s got a death grip as she peels open one eyelid and stares at me with murder reflected there.

  “I. Said. I’m. Sleeping,” she grumbles, her eyeball bloodshot and mean until she realizes it’s me.

  She releases me with a gasp, and if I were a stronger man, I’d keep my pride and pretend I’m not dying. Instead I crumple to my knees and sob, grabbing my balls, not to stave off the pain—that’s impossible—but to mourn the poor things because Lu’s vicious. And years of rolling out dough has made those hands strong. Inhumanly strong.