The Dating Dare (Gambling Men Book 2)

by Barbara Dunlop

  “Is that what you want to do?” He looked serious.

  I’d been joking.

  “Nah,” I said, thinking it through. “It would be over so fast, and we wouldn’t meet anyone on the way down.”

  He didn’t answer, and his gaze focused outside the window.

  The rain was increasing, bouncing off the tables and chairs on the patio and streaking through the bands from the streetlights.

  Jamie frowned, and I wondered if he was worried about flagging a cab.

  “Don’t worry,” I said.

  He looked back at me. “About jumping out of a plane? I’ll jump out of a plane if that’s what you want.”

  “I thought you were worried about getting a cab.”

  He looked confused. “Why would I worry about that?”

  “The rain,” I offered.

  “It’s Seattle,” he said. “The system can handle rain.”

  “Then why are you frowning?”

  “I’m not frowning.”

  “You were. You frowned when you looked out the window just now.”

  “Oh, that frown.”

  “Did I say something wrong?” I went over the past couple of minutes inside my head, trying to figure out what it could have been.

  “It wasn’t you. I thought I saw someone out there.”

  I was relieved, but only a little bit. I didn’t want Jamie to feel upset about something I said or about anyone else.

  “Who was it?” I asked, hoping to make it better.

  “It doesn’t matter. It wasn’t them.”

  I knew I shouldn’t press, but I couldn’t help but be curious. “You can talk to me. Remember, we’re going to be honest with each other. You said it was the only way this was going to work.”

  “Fine,” he said. “Sure. Why not.”

  I braced myself, not sure what to expect.

  “I thought I saw Aaron.”

  Okay, that wasn’t at all what I’d expected. “From your office Aaron?”

  “That Aaron.”

  I’d met Aaron a second time on a night Jamie and I went shopping. It was clear he and Jamie didn’t get along particularly well. But I didn’t understand why merely seeing Aaron would annoy Jamie.

  “We’re not that far from O’Neil Nybecker,” I said. “Maybe he was working late.”

  “I wish he was working late. He cut out early today...again.”

  I still wasn’t seeing why Jamie cared. I tried to make a joke. “I take it you don’t have flexible hours?”

  “Not for interns. And not after the stunt he pulled this week.”

  Again, I was curious, but I didn’t know if the incident would be confidential.

  I waited, but Jamie didn’t elaborate.

  The waitress dropped off our milkshakes.

  He was still frowning, and he didn’t take a drink.

  I sipped through the straw, and the milkshake was delicious.

  “Do you want to talk about it?” I asked.

  “I don’t want to bore you.”

  “Go ahead. I’ll tell you if I get bored.”

  Jamie tried his own milkshake.

  “Good, huh?” I prompted.

  “It is.”

  “So?” I wanted to know what had the power to make him frown like that.

  “It sounds minor, but it’s not. In a meeting with one of our biggest clients, where, as an intern, he’s supposed to sit quietly and learn, Aaron pops up with a suggestion.”

  Jamie paused, and I waited.

  I stirred my milkshake with the straw, pretending I wasn’t dying of curiosity.

  “He says,” Jamie finally continued, “and I quote, ‘Take the company public.’” Jamie’s expression told me he was disgusted.

  “And that’s a bad idea?” I was guessing, of course. I didn’t know anything about it.

  “It’s a risky idea,” Jamie said. “Worse, it’s a knee-jerk idea. It’s a gut reaction. We don’t do gut reactions. We do thoughtful and thorough analysis. Even if it was the best idea in the world, even if we’d done the research, you don’t blurt it out in front of the client without a plan. The team had no plan.”

  “Would you ever go with your gut?” I asked. “Make a risky decision based on your instincts?”

  “Never.”

  I’d never do that, either. At least Nat would never do that. I wasn’t sure about Tasha. Tasha just might.

  “What about Jamie?” I asked.

  Jamie looked confused.

  “I get that James is careful, but would Jamie take a flier on something?”

  Jamie’s eyes narrowed and the corners of his mouth went white. “Are you suggesting Jamie should be more like Aaron?”

  I tried to figure out how to call the question back.

  But the waitress appeared with two laden plates.

  “One cheeseburger,” she said, putting a plate down in front of me. “One bacon mushroom.” She set Jamie’s plate down. “Will there be anything else?”

  I shook my head to answer her. I wasn’t hungry anymore. I was feeling a little sick.

  “We’re good,” Jamie said to her. “Thanks.”

  She walked away.

  “I didn’t mean that,” I said.

  “Jamie’s not careless,” he said.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t worry about it. Let’s just eat.”

  But I was worried about it.

  I took a bite of my burger and forced myself to eat some fries. But my heart wasn’t in it.

  Jamie might not be careless. But I was beginning to worry Tasha was.

  * * *

  I didn’t hear from Jamie all week.

  Sophie called to see if I would meet up Friday night. But I was afraid she’d bring Bryce and Ethan along, so I lied and said I had plans with the girls from work.

  By Thursday, I couldn’t bring myself to look at my new clothes. After work, I stuffed them to the back of my closet and changed into my oldest and most Nat-like outfit, deciding to garden until I was ready to go to sleep.

  I pulled back my hair and tied it up in a scarf. Then I propped open the patio doors to let in the fresh air and tucked my hands into my floral-print garden gloves.

  There was a knock on my door.

  I ignored it at first, thinking it was probably Sophie. She might be frustrated that I’d turned down her invitation and decided to bring Bryce and Ethan directly to me.

  Wouldn’t she be surprised to have me greet them all like this? Ha. Ethan would be well and truly cured of any lingering desire to date me then.

  The knock sounded again, this time more forcefully.

  Fine.

  If she wanted to surprise me, I would surprise her right back. For better or worse, this was Natasha Remington. I wear old clothes. I garden. I’m plain and boring, and I like it that way.

  It would have been perfect if I already had a cat.

  I went for the door, wrenching it open.

  It was Jamie.

  “Hey, Tasha.” He breezed past me. “I have an idea.”

  I stood with the door wide-open, staring at him.

  He glanced around at the decor but didn’t react. He turned back to me. He didn’t react to my outfit, either.

  “I don’t understand,” I said.

  “That’s because I haven’t told you yet.”

  “Told me what?”

  “My idea. Didn’t I just say I had an idea? That’s why I’m here.”

  “But...”

  “Rock climbing,” he said.

  I didn’t have a response.

  “Wait.” He seemed to notice what I was wearing. “Are you...renovating?”

  That I could answer. “Gardening. What do you mean rock climbing?”

  “Want
some help?”

  I took in his slacks and dress shirt. “You don’t look dressed to get dirty.”

  He glanced down at himself. “I suppose.”

  I closed the door behind me. “What are you saying about rock climbing?”

  “You and me. Instead of jumping out of a plane, we take some training and go climbing. It’ll be exciting and adventurous. And it’ll get us out to meet regular people, not the club or ballroom set.”

  “Have you ever done it before?” I asked.

  “Never. You?”

  I shook my head.

  “I saw a beginners class advertised. It starts on Saturday over near Ballard. We could sign up.”

  I took my gloves off. “Did I miss something?”

  “Miss what?”

  “I thought you were ticked off at me.”

  He looked puzzled. “Why?”

  I really didn’t want to bring it up again. “The argument...last weekend...at the café.”

  “I told you not to worry about that.”

  “You didn’t sound sincere.”

  “Well, I was. Are you that thin-skinned?”

  I felt my back go up. “Excuse me?”

  “Do you want me to apologize for disagreeing with you?”

  “No.” I tossed the gloves down. “And I’m not thin-skinned. But you were clearly annoyed with me, and then you didn’t call.”

  “Should I have called?”

  “You’re missing my point.”

  He moved a little closer. “I’m sorry. What’s your point?”

  “You got mad, and then you went silent, and I didn’t know what to think.”

  “You’re forgetting the ‘don’t worry about it’ that came in between those two things.”

  “You can’t just toss something off like that and expect it to land. I thought our project was over. I thought you were giving up.”

  “Are you giving up?”

  “No.” Well, I was. At least, I had been. But I didn’t want to.

  He gently took my hands. “I’m not giving up.”

  I felt his touch all the way up my arms and into my chest.

  I had an overpowering urge to lean forward, to press my chest against his and to wrap my arms around him. I wanted to hug him. I wanted to kiss him. I wanted to... Oh, boy.

  I swallowed.

  “So, what do you say?” he asked.

  Yes! I almost shouted.

  “Shall we learn how to rock climb?” he asked.

  “Yes,” I said out loud. “Let’s learn how to rock climb.”

  He hugged me.

  He pulled me against his chest and wrapped his strong arms around me and hugged me to him.

  My body sighed. It sang. I hugged him back, leaned my cheek against his chest, closed my eyes and absorbed the heat and the energy pulsing from him into me.

  Time seemed to stop.

  I felt his breath on my hair.

  His chest expanded with a deep breath. Then his arms pulled more tightly around me.

  I pretended it was attraction.

  I let myself fantasize that he liked the feel of me, the scent of me, that he wanted to taste my lips the way I was dying to taste his.

  Too soon, he drew back.

  He turned away and cleared his throat.

  I was mortified to think he could tell how I felt.

  Had I hugged him too tight? The way my body had gone boneless and molded to his had to be a dead giveaway. He was embarrassed. He probably pitied me.

  I pitied myself.

  I had to get over this infatuation.

  “Is there a website or something?” I asked, trying desperately to sound normal. “Where we sign up?”

  His shoulders were tense, and he didn’t turn. “I’ll take care of it.”

  “I don’t mind—”

  “I’ll take care of it.”

  “Okay.” I waited for him to look at me, but he didn’t.

  “Uh, Jamie?”

  “Yes.”

  I so didn’t want to have this conversation, but I wouldn’t be able to stand another two days of guessing his mood. I’d just done that, and it was awful.

  “Is everything okay?” I asked, bracing myself.

  “You bet.” He turned then, and he smiled. He looked almost normal. “I’m glad you’re willing to give it a try.”

  I was willing to give a whole lot of things a try right now.

  But I couldn’t tell him that.

  Instead, I fought the lingering hum of attraction. I wished mind over matter worked better than it did. But it didn’t. Despite logic, reason and my honest-to-goodness best efforts, I couldn’t shake the desire to hurl myself into his arms.

  “I’m glad you thought of it,” I managed to say.

  “The class starts at nine on Saturday. Can I pick you up at eight?”

  “Yes. Sure. I’ll be ready. Is there anything I need to bring?”

  “There’s a list of suggested attire on the website. I’ll send you the link.”

  “Good. That sounds good.” I felt like we were making small talk.

  “See you Saturday.” He headed for the door.

  I stepped out of the way.

  When the door closed behind him, I blew out a breath.

  I knew I had to get gardening. I had to do something normal. But my feet didn’t want to move.

  My phone pinged with a text.

  It was Jamie, and my heart lurched ridiculously at the sight of his name.

  He was sending the link to the climbing website.

  I felt like a foolish teenager mooning over that cute boy in math class.

  I was way too old for this.

  * * *

  I took a vacation day on Friday.

  I didn’t really need the day off, and Nat would never take a sudden, random day off work on a lark. But it felt like something Tasha would do. So I did it. And I was glad.

  I was a little restless, but I was still glad.

  I sat staring at my gray cinder block walls. I’d lived here three years now, and they were the same color as when I’d first moved in. I’d hung two pictures on them, both in the spots where a previous tenant had drilled a hook.

  They were watercolor portraits of four young girls—in one they were smiling, in the other they were thoughtful. Sophie had bought them for me as a housewarming present. She said they reminded her of the four of us: Layla, Brooklyn, her and me.

  It was obvious that Brooklyn was the pretty, pink-cheeked blonde. Layla was the intent girl with auburn hair. I was the short brunette with glasses, always the glasses. That was me, always shorter, always a little mousier than the rest.

  Sophie had been right. The paintings did look like a peaceful, rather angelic version of the four of us.

  I wondered for a minute if actual photos might be even better. I thought I’d like to look at the real us instead of the paintings.

  Maybe that was what I would do.

  Something Jamie had said was ticking through my mind today.

  It had been innocent enough.

  I didn’t think he meant it as a criticism.

  But when he walked into my apartment last night, he’d asked if I was renovating. He clearly thought my apartment needed renovating.

  It shouldn’t have been a huge surprise to me. Pretty much everyone who knew me had advised renovating at one point or another.

  But back then, they’d suggested it to Nat. Nobody had suggested it to Tasha before. I was thinking this morning that Tasha might like to renovate.

  Not that Tasha had the slightest idea of where to start.

  But painting the walls seemed reasonable. With the right color of paint, you could make a huge difference without spending a lot of money.

  I had hundred
s of photos on my computer. I liked some of them a lot.

  If I painted the wall, say, a nice cream or pale gold.

  “Shut up, Nat,” I said out loud.

  Tasha, Tasha, Tasha, I thought inside my head. What color do you like?

  It occurred to me to ask Jamie. After all, we’d agreed that he would trust my judgment and I would trust his. But after last night, I felt really weird about contacting him.

  Then again, how better to make the first contact after our awkwardness than over something an innocuous as paint color? It was probably the perfect question: bland, lightweight, easy to answer.

  I picked up my phone to type the text.

  I’m painting my walls. What color should I use? Tasha.

  Before I could talk myself out of it, I hit Send.

  His text came back.

  Your apartment?

  I wasn’t sure what other walls he thought I might be talking about.

  Yes.

  Shouldn’t you be at work?

  “Reasonable question,” I muttered to myself as I typed.

  I took a vacation day.

  And you decided to paint?

  Tasha is impulsive.

  He sent a smiley face.

  I’ll have to come by and take a look.

  The smiley face was nice. I felt like we’d made it past the awkwardness. But the rest was disappointing.

  I’d hoped he’d tell me mauve or burgundy or blue. I was all set to head out to buy paint, brushes and a drop sheet. I didn’t want to sit here for the rest of the day and think about redecorating. I wanted to get started.

  I told myself I could clear the decks. Painting was messy. I’d have to move the furniture to the middle of the room. I should roll up the rugs. If I was moving the furniture, I’d definitely need to vacuum underneath.

  There was plenty I could do to get going.

  I rose from the sofa, cleaned up the few breakfast dishes and changed into some old jeans and a battered sweatshirt.

  The rugs were easy. I rolled them up and made a pile.

  I decided I’d need about five feet in front of each wall. That meant moving one sofa up against the coffee table. It wouldn’t be usable while I painted, but I wasn’t planning on entertaining or anything.

  I discovered I was right. Beneath the sofa there was quite an accumulation of dust and grit. I plugged in the vacuum and went to work. As it sucked up the debris, I studied the floor. It was in worse shape than the walls, all scratched and scuffed by about fifty years of students. If you looked closely, you could see the pattern of the desk rows, the little round dents from the desk legs and the worn paths where students trod in between.