Double Dare

by Melissa Whittle

  How was it possible that her heart and womanhood could ache at the same time for him? “You’re not mad or irritated?” She pressed a hand to his chest to keep his lips away for another moment.

  He cupped her breasts through the shirt, putting more pressure on her nipples. “Your friends are very important to you. Now kiss me.”

  Her hands fisted on the sweater he had worn and she pulled him to her. She nipped at the tantalizing and pigheaded mouth of his until whistling and comments poured down on them.

  “That’s our cue to stop.” With reluctance Tobias stuffed his hands in his pockets. “I’ll go over the week’s numbers so far. Let you know which one of us won.”

  She shook her head. “Is everything a contest with you?”

  “Gotta get my kicks from somewhere.” He turned and walked away. Without looking at her he added, “Don’t make me wait too long.”

  She turned and pressed her heated face to the cool window. Every time she considered, maybe now she could keep up with him, that now she was prepared to handle how he made her feel, he did something else to let her know it was another big fat lie.

  There was no real difference in the man who had given her the leather jacket and the one who just kissed her moments ago. He still asked the practical questions, made the logical conclusions, shot straight to the heart of any matter without hesitation, all the while pressing her up against a window and kissing her senseless.

  When Emma had explained why she’d been wearing his jacket every day this week—all of her coats and jackets had disappeared—he’d told her to keep it until she didn’t need it anymore. Well, not in those exact words. It’s cold. Shrug. Keep it if you need it. Consistent, dependable, understanding and a million other things on a list that spelled out stuffy, know-it-all, but not quite.

  Tobias was not the fun guy. Instead of―she smiled at the next word that came to mind―ravishing her this morning, he pointed out they needed to get to work. The fun guy would have said screw it and tumbled her on the couch. He would have tried to talk her out of going to be with her friend. The fun guy would be predictable in that what to expect from him was unpredictable. But being with Tobias was the most fun she’d ever had with a man.

  Emma was falling for him, hard, and they weren’t a couple. They weren’t lovers, yet. She had no definition for what they were and that meant they were no strings attached. She couldn’t expect him to be there if she needed him. They’d made no promises to each other implied or directly. He could walk away if suddenly she bored him to death.

  So, that achy, warm feeling that had taken root in her heart for Tobias, well, it just made sense for Emma to lock it down and pretend it didn’t exist. It was stupid to weave fantasies around him. It’s what he told her that second date. Don’t make him out to be the man he wasn’t and would never be. He wasn’t the fun guy and…she really didn’t want that kind of guy anymore, but Tobias definitely wasn’t her Prince Charming.

  Letting her borrow an old, coffee-scented jacket was no grand, sweeping gesture. He probably didn’t want the damn thing anyway. There were probably too many memories attached to it. And that’s the one mainstay for her. Emma still wanted to be swept away. She wanted what her parents had. The love affair you could tell your grandkids. Just imagine the tale with Tobias.

  “Oh, my little sweethearts. Your grandfather and I met when I was doing a dare for my best friend. I was naked. He covered me with his leather jacket and kissed me so thoroughly it felt like I ovulated on the spot. That’s how I knew he was the one.”

  Emma unlocked the door, slid into her car and fought the urge to punch the steering wheel. She’d known from the get go he wasn’t the one. There was no point in being angry or sad about it. She had other things to do anyway. Like buying a pregnancy test and trumpeting around Sasha like the cavalry.

  With the problem settled in her mind, Emma headed to the store, bought three pregnancy tests and one bottle of margarita mix and one big bottle of tequila. She kept the liquor in the car as a courtesy. It would be needed because Sasha would know. Emma had never met someone more in tune with their body. The late period spurned on hope and that little nugget is what had her friend convinced. The liquor would help ease out the truth of why the emotion had colored her friend’s outlook.

  Climbing the apartment’s stairs, Emma took in a breath for fortitude and knocked. Sasha opened the door. Her friend wore a paint-splattered, once-white, ribbed tank top and boxers.

  “The knee socks with red stripes…” Emma nodded. “Nice touch.”

  “I called into work. Expected you this morning.” Sasha stepped back, motioning her inside. Her steps made the plastic covering on the living room floor crinkle. “I was actually up at dawn’s crack.” Sasha must have caught the expression on Emma’s face. “Oh, well now I’m happy you didn’t come by. How was it?”

  “There’s no way I can correct you without turning beet red. So here.” Emma handed over the bag. She looked around for somewhere to sit.

  Sasha took the bag and sighed. “Correct me?” And then her friend grinned. “Oh. Now I know, know I like Tobias. A little kinky foreplay before the true deed is done. He looks the type.”

  Sasha bit her lip, taking in the living room. Everything was covered in plastic. Someone who didn’t know her passion for art would think she was getting ready to commit a crime. A lone stool sat in front of an easel, the natural light at the back of thick material. “Do you see why I come to your house? I’m not fit for company.”

  “You can always move to a bigger place that will allow you to have a living room and a studio.”

  “I’ll go…um, you can open the windows while we wait for the answer.” Sasha turned up her nose at the bag and then sighed. “I think I’m going to hurl first.”

  “Nauseous?”

  “Scared.” Her friend hesitated, but nodded and left the room.

  Emma opened the windows, letting in the air but the smell of paint and some other chemical would probably be forever seeped in the walls. There wasn’t a table, but bar stools in the kitchen propped by the counters. The plastic crinkled again and Emma faced her friend.

  “I’m supposed to go look in two minutes.”

  She nodded. “Let’s solve one problem while we wait. What’s up with you and Abigail?”

  “Sometimes her head is bigger than her heart.”

  Emma crossed her arms. “It’s her strength and weakness, but it doesn’t mean bringing up Greg was tactful.”

  “The truth isn’t always tactful or polite, but it should be the right thing to say when a friend has her head up her ass.” Sasha paced from one end of the room to the other as she talked.

  “Sugar coating shit. I know,” Emma said.

  “Always loved when your dad said it.”

  “He rarely spoke.”

  She sighed. “I miss them. Yeah, I’ve got my own parents, but yours were special.” Cracking her knuckles, she paced the other way. “If I am, will you be ok?”

  The small part of her that had been on edge since Sasha had announced her possible predicament, expanded, and suddenly she could hear the sound of bones rattling. “It’s been seven years.”

  “Seven years ago you lost your baby, your parents and the guy you loved all in one week.”

  Each word hit her solar plexus and the smell of turpentine became too much. “This time it’s not about me. It’s you and what that stick is probably telegraphing right now. Three minutes has passed. Come on.”

  Emma grasped Sasha’s elbow and dragged her to the bathroom. Her friend stopped right at the bathroom door, the test in sight. “You read it. I can’t.”

  Deja vu. Sasha had read her test while Emma tried not to barf, not scared, but nauseous. Taking in a deep breath she entered the bathroom and glanced at the test. Her heart sank.

  Hell.

  “I’m sorry, honey. Not pregnant.”

  “Oh.” The word was more like a release of air. “Well, Brandon would have been a crappy father anyw
ay. And look at me.” Her hands swept over her attire. “I’m covered in paint. My hair is ratty. My apartment? Can you imagine me bringing a newborn to this place? The way it smells…it’s not even a home, but a resting place. A storage.”

  “Stop.” Emma enveloped her friend and held on until the delicate frame began to shake. She whispered no platitudes. Whether or not a baby had existed, Sasha would mourn for what could have been. Emma knew that hurt. One moment filled with life and next feeling as empty as a tomb. There were no words so none were spoken. Eventually, the crying died down.

  “Did you bring liquor?” Sasha asked.

  “In the car, but, uh, let’s head to my house. Get dressed. I’ll get you thoroughly sloshed and you can sleep over.”

  Sasha’s face scrunched up, a new wave of tears filling her eyes. “I wanted to be. I so wanted it.”

  “I know, sweetheart.”

  Sasha nodded. “You do. I’m sorry. How can this compare?”

  “This time it’s not about me. It’s you. Go get dressed. I’m starting to feel a serious need for a margarita.”

  Sasha nodded again and disappeared in the room next the bathroom. Emma leaned against the wall, trying to stave off the memories. Hastily, she put up bricks around them. Those bricks allowed her to be able to keep her hands steady when at the time all she wanted to do was cry and sleep and mourn.

  Unlike Tobias, she hadn’t lived in that abyss. She’d poured cement into that nothingness and hid it away. She’d drowned it in butter, smothered it with flour and sugared it until the sour regret stopped puckering her mouth. Tonight she’d shore up those damn cracks with compassion, loyalty and liquor.

  When Sasha came out of the room, Emma convinced herself it was the right thing to do. Her friend hadn’t bothered to change her shirt just thrown on sweats and combat boots.

  “I know I look pitiful, but I get a week of feeling sorry for myself. Any longer is annoying.”

  “Come on, let’s be normal and drown our sorrows over salted-rimmed glasses,” Emma said.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Emma sipped on the first margarita she’d made hours ago. That burst of need to be normal had dissipated on the drive home. Sasha was on her third and the sniffling had stopped. At the end of the glass, Emma had every intention of pouring her friend into one of the guest’s rooms.

  Sasha trailed a finger over the glass, picking up every grain of salt and then licked it off. “What’s that noise?”

  Emma raised her brows. “When did you become a lightweight?”

  Sasha rolled her eyes, but drained her glass. “Please,” she said with disdain. “Shh.”

  Emma listened for the phantom sound and then heard it. “Don’t look so smug.”

  “I’m half sloshed. Can’t help it.”

  Emma rose from the table and went to the door. Someone had been knocking. Nerves fluttered in her stomach before she realized Tobias wouldn’t knock. Tobias wouldn’t even show up, because he knew how much she loved her friends. He’d sit around his house wanting her like nothing else, but would wait.

  She opened the door and muttered, “Merchant men.” Raising her voice she said, “Hey, Josh.”

  He whirled into the house. “He’s been grinding beans. I can’t take it. You don’t know what he’s like when he’s brewing coffee. But I told him I was coming here, because, you know, he worries.”

  She opened her mouth to say something, but he was already coming into the living room and on a roll. “What did you do? I know you don’t feel comfortable talking to me about my brother, but he’s blending coffee.” He said the last part with strong emphasis, hands in his pockets looking dour and a little surly that she screwed up his night.

  Again she opened her mouth to speak, but once again he beat her to it. “Whatever it is you have to fix it, because I got out in time. It wouldn’t be long before he asked me to start tasting some of it. I’ve got classes tomorrow. I’ll be up for three days if I try some of that stuff. It’s crack in a cup. What did you do?”

  It was the most the boy had ever said, and it amazed her he wasn’t out of breath by the end. “I didn’t do anything,” she said.

  He gave her a look of disbelief with midnight eyes. She stifled the laugh. “What?” he demanded.

  “Nothing.”

  He wore a deadpan expression, and added with a long sigh. “Can I stay here for the night?”

  She blanked her face of any laughter. “He’s brewing coffee, of course you can.”

  He shrugged It’s cool. Apparently, the long-winded speech was over, but then he spied the kitchen. “Ah, I’m sorry. I didn’t know. I could—”

  “No.” Emma followed his gaze. Sasha was at the sink, pouring the contents of both glasses down the drain. “It’s fine.”

  And then she was hit with an idea. One so selfish she shook her head at first. Her friend needed her. There had been tears and that signaled a crisis. You didn’t abandon a friend when you entered a red zone. You stuck around in case of another emergency. It’s what friends did.

  But the selfish thought took hold when Sasha came out the kitchen and said, “I’m heading to bed.” She nodded to Josh and went up the stairs.

  “I have to get up early tomorrow for classes. Will you still need me to clean up after my classes, right?”

  “Yeah,” she heard herself say, but her mind was already on the single selfish act. “When does he usually blend coffee?”

  “When he’s frustrated, which isn’t often. But he gets a little crazy, and I figured I’d come here. No matter how good, there’s only so much coffee you can drink in a day.”

  He went upstairs next, leaving her alone with the selfish thought, and it wasn’t long before she called a taxi service. Tobias did worry. He also lectured. Although it was annoying, it came from a good place and only a few things shut him up. The car came twenty minutes later, and Emma left her house to be Emmaline for a little while. Selfish, but today she was done being good, sweet Emma.

  *****

  When Tobias answered the door, Emma tsked. “I was wrong to call you Couch.” She paused, thought for a moment. “You always wear black. Head to toe. Like you’re about to do a little breaking and entering.” He blinked and she grinned. “So, B and E, what are you doing at this time of night?”

  Emma pushed past him. He stepped back with ease. At least Josh hadn’t completely lied. She had to keep her legs stiff because his house smelled like heaven. The aroma reminded her of him and of this morning. Her reaction, visceral and stark, cut quickly at the heart of the matter—she wanted him more than anything she could ever remember craving. Getting a hold of herself, she toed off her shoes and dress socks at the door.

  He asked in a wary tone, “Lucky, what are you doing here?”

  Emma handed him the leather jacket, and he took it without question. She moved right along to the stairs, letting this heady feeling of doing something for herself, doing something so outside herself, propel the moment into something more.

  “Well, whenever I’m in a frenzy, I wish there’s someone there to taste what I’m making. It’s so damn lonely.” In a nonchalant manner, as if she did this every day in front of him, she unbuttoned her shirt. “I don’t begrudge the results. Late Night was created when one of those frenzied bake-athons hit me.” She let the shirt drop onto the first stair. “But if there was someone I could talk to maybe I wouldn’t have an off night. Like the one where I called you a pigheaded bastard.”

  He gripped the jacket, but followed her up the stairs like a man. She smiled, because that took it to twice in his life where he forgot what he should do and did something primitive.

  “A pigheaded, tasteless bastard,” he said. “You also called me passionless.”

  Halfway up the stairs, she unhooked the slacks she’d worn and let them slid down to the steps. “I did. I can only take back the passionless part.” He was bearing down on her so she hurried up the stairs, reaching behind to unlatch the black-lace bra. “So what had you in a fr
enzy, B and E?”

  “Lucky,” he growled, moving faster now. The jacket was still clutched in his hand. “What happened to your friend?”

  Like before, she ached for him in her heart and much, much lower. “She’s sad, but it’ll be easy for her to deal with the outcome.”

  He paused, and she could see his ears perked up on something in her tone she didn’t know had been there. She wiggled out of her underwear. Tomorrow she’d deal with the cracks in the cement.

  “Your brother came over and told me you were in this state. You know, the bleeding heart in me…bled.” A grin whipped over his face, and she laughed. “I’ve come to care for you a great deal. I consider you a friend.”

  “You do?”

  “Absolutely. We have inside jokes. I can depend on you to call me on my B.S.” A smile pulled at her lips. “Even when I feel exposed you make me feel better. With that said, you were in a crisis and I think I know why. So, I’ve come over to comfort you.”

  “You are a good friend.” He stood so still Emma was sure if she touched him he’d shatter.

  “I am. That’s how we met isn’t it? Me being the good friend. Selfless. Me wanting the other person to be happy.” She cupped her breasts and then moved her hands down to her hips. “How about we replay that night?”

  From the top stair, he tossed her the jacket. She slipped her arms into the soft, comfortable leather. Just like before, but this time in her best Marilyn Monroe voice she said, “Kiss me.”

  His mouth twitched and those midnight eyes didn’t have to undress her. “Are you crazy? This is crazy.”

  “No, stupid as hell.”

  It was, Emma acknowledged to herself, because she was on the very brink of falling for him with or without her earlier rationalizations. She wrapped herself deeper into the supple leather and pushed back the lapels to place her hands on her hips once again. She said the next line with all sincerity. “But what’s a woman to do?”