Dare

by Allie Juliette Mousseau

  “Bro, you are so completely out of your league here. Back up and keep going. You do not want to mess with this.”

  He’s suddenly pissing me off. “Why are you saying that?”

  “Josh, that’s not the kind of woman who dates. Single mothers want a mate, someone who is going to be a partner. Jesus, think wolves, Josh. Pack animals.”

  “Are you comparing Sophie to a wolf?”

  “I’m taking an example from science.”

  “I’m taking a shot,” I say and tilt my head back for some Jim Beam from the mini-bar.

  “Female and male wolves form a partnership—they’re both the alphas of the pack. They need each other for their own survival and the survival of the pups.”

  “Get to the point!” I snap.

  “She has a pup, so she needs another alpha.”

  I let that settle in. “When the fuck did you turn into Oprah?”

  “Shut up! I’ve been in a serious relationship for a while now … and Piper has a lot of friends. They talk.”

  Could I be that for her? Have I thought about the big picture beyond the chase? Beyond my dick?

  “If she’s been hurt, she’s not likely to trust again easily,” Oprah continues. “On top of that you’re her pup’s bread and butter. Unless she feels confident enough in her career that she’s sure she can get another job quick, she’s not going to risk that security.”

  Sophie is … I don’t know, Sophie—I want to be near her, spend time with her. I want to talk with her and listen to what she has to say. I want to be friends …

  “She’s got real baggage,” Caleb notes.

  That infuriates me! “Charlie is NOT baggage!”

  “Oh shut up, hothead! I mean it as something you’d have to step in and help carry. Responsibility, Josh. Are you really ready for that?”

  I back down. I get it.

  “You like one-night stands, no strings and no phone numbers.” I wish he would just shut up. “You don’t want to hurt her, right?”

  “I hear you, Oprah,” I bark.

  How can I explain that those things—which I never cared about before—the responsibilities, the real relationship, the partnership … are things that Sophie makes me think about.

  “I know, right? I’m always watching shit like Dr. Phil and Oprah, or I’m reading all the time—books, magazines, anything Piper needs.” Caleb becomes solemn.

  I close my eyes. I’m such a selfish prick that I forgot his pain. “How’s she holding up, man?”

  “Sick of being sick.” Caleb sighs. “The doctor wants to admit her to perform some heavy tests. She won’t do it until after the New Year.”

  “Isn’t that dangerous?” I ask. “Some things should be dealt with quickly or …”

  “Yeah, I know all of that. So does she. It’s too close to Christmas and she doesn’t want horrible news so that everyone can then remember the holiday as the time when Piper was diagnosed with something …” He lets his voice trail off.

  I want to say I’m sorry, but it’s not enough. “She’s in good hands with you, Caleb.”

  “Yeah, she is.” I hear the pride and courage in his voice, and it makes me feel like breaking. “I love you, man,” Caleb says. He’s just like Dad.

  “You too.”

  We hang up, and my mind is full of questions with no cut-and-dried answers. If I screw this up, the consequences could be severe.

  I throw back another shot.

  Chapter Eight

  Sophie

  Wednesday on the plane, Josh asked me to the Friday and Saturday night events. Wednesday on the job he asked questions that made me batten down the hatches and run for the storm cellar. I did better on Thursday; at least I could talk to him again. Of course, it was a perfect conversation about philosophy and music … and who am I trying to kid? I want to know what got him into fighting, and why he doesn’t have a girlfriend, and how he gets along with his family … but my questions aren’t just innocent chit chat. I want to know because … because I care about him.

  Does he care about me? Is that why he asked those things? I rake my fingers through my hair. I have to stop.

  “Mommy, are we going yet?” Charlie is having fun jumping on the very springy hotel bed. “If we don’t go, we could go swimming in the bath tub again.”

  “That was fun.” Last night I put one of my pink sports bras on her and wore my white one. We pulled on shorts and slipped into the massive tub and played mermaids. We laughed so much and it was so much fun—her with her bubbly soda, and me with a couple glasses of Chardonnay. She made me take our photos with my phone.

  I felt good and was proud that my very best friend was a three-year-old.

  Today Josh would be working with the press, doing interviews and getting ready for the Hard Rock event.

  I checked my phone earlier. He called a few times and he’s left some texts. He also invited us to dinner last night, but I said I was too tired. I’m at a stalemate. I don’t know what to do. It’s all more than complicated, and I can’t seem to understand how to reach the surface for a breath. A crystal ball would be fucking nice. Not knowing what to do sometimes makes you do nothing. That’s where I am.

  His last text is from this morning, asking me if I’d thought about accompanying him to the Hard Rock and reminding me I’d have a great time. But I’m not scared of Josh … I’m scared to death of him! He makes butterflies rush through me at the mere mention of his name. When I see him, my blood pumps so fast and my heart and pulse pound so hard, I’m sure I’m going to drop and have to be rushed to a hospital.

  Josh is real. He’s an honest, maybe even honorable, man. Yes, he has a reputation as a playboy—and I can bet it’s well deserved—but if he ever settles down, he’ll be more than an amazing lover. He’ll give his whole heart away.

  And maybe I’m an idiot romantic in a world full of liars and cheats and people whose hatred will wilt you. Projecting what I want onto what I think I know of Josh North is stupid and dangerous. He’s a fighter for Christ’s sake; he uses those hands for violence.

  He also uses those same hands to save people, I’m reminded.

  And I’m back to being at a stalemate.

  I take a deep breath. It’s very unprofessional and rude to not give a gentleman an answer.

  I’m sorry. I won’t be able to make it this evening to the event, I type in the text box. I struggle with sending it. I struggle with not being able to give him a real reason why. I struggle with the simple fact that I want to go!

  “Mommy, you’re taking forever.”

  “Yes, I know.” I hang my head and press send.

  *****

  I gave Brittani the day off, so it’s just me and Charlie. I help her slip on her warm winter boots with the pink pom-poms, straighten her wristband, and zip her coat. She and Strawberry Shortcake smile up at me. I love being a mom. It’s the most satisfying and important thing I’ve ever done. It’s unconditional love.

  She twines her little fingers between mine and we’re off. We take a ride in a yellow cab to the Denver Children’s Museum.

  Together we paint masterpieces in the art studio, make amazing bubble creations that send Charlie into fits of laughter, dress up like backyard animals and play in the tree fort. After an hour in the play market, we eat a delicious lunch in the museum’s kid-friendly café and then bravely tackle the second half of the museum. After a while, Charlie’s exhausted and needs a nap. I think I need one too.

  We catch another cab back to the hotel. A couple blocks from it, though, a clothing store with displays I can’t seem to resist catches my eye.

  “Please stop here.”

  I pay the driver.

  Charlie whines about leaving the warm cab. I pull her through the boutique, and find what I’m looking for.

  She falls asleep on the dressing room floor while I try on black, faded skinny jeans, black platform heels, a white baggy shirt and a black, faux-leather jacket.

  I study myself in the mirror. I have
n’t dressed up like this in a long time.

  Smiling, I talk to the saleswoman about wanting to wear the clothes out.

  “Do you have a big date tonight?” She’s excited for me as she carefully clips the tags.

  “You could probably say that.” I’m trying to fight the rising effervescence within me.

  A saleswoman stays by the dressing room with Charlie while I go up to the register to pay. Then I put my old clothes in the fashionable bag and sling it over my shoulder so I can carry my sleepy bundle outside to hail another cab.

  *****

  “I have a feeling she might sleep for the night,” I tell Brittani. “Thanks for this.”

  “That’s why I’m here,” she says.

  We have adjoining rooms so there’s more space for Charlie. She’s crashed in the other room at the moment. Brittani’s watching me fix my makeup while she reads from her Kindle.

  “I like the smoky look. You look amazing!” she exclaims.

  “Thanks.” I pull a brush through my hair. “I think I’ll leave it down. I almost never do that.”

  “It’s sexy,” she crows from behind her Kindle’s soft glow.

  “Maybe I should put it up?”

  “Stop it! You, your hair and your makeup are perfect. Now go!”

  I breathe through my nose. “Okay.”

  I can’t believe I’m doing this!

  “I’m nervous,” I confess.

  “Yeah, you are. It’s Josh freaking North and a ton of music celebrities.”

  She has a point.

  “And remember, if you see Adam Levine, I do expect you to commit a felony if you have to in order to bring him to me.”

  “Got it. Felony.” I reach into the closet and grab out my big white scarf. “I don’t want to get caught by photographers.”

  Britt indicates the scarf with a nod. “That’ll work.”

  Standing on the edge of oblivion I say, “Wish me luck.”

  “Good luck,” she offers.

  I smile and head out the door.

  *****

  The giant, gleaming, neon guitar lights the front of the modern building, sending the dark scattering. My adrenaline is flowing again as I step out of the cab. I’m a little late, which is probably a good thing, since the photographers have run away to warmer places. I enter with ease, show my I.D. and the guest pass I got from McGee earlier—just in case—and weave myself through the crowd to find Josh.

  I fluff the ends of my hair with my fingers and press my lips together one more time to keep the coat of pink lipstick even.

  I’ve decided that tonight there will be no heaviness. Fun and light, Sophie.

  This is a neutral place, where Josh and I can get to know each other on a different playing field.

  The place is packed, but I catch a glimpse of Silva walking away from the bar. I follow him. My hands are trembling and I rub them together to try and stop it.

  Silva walks right up to him. Josh turns his head to the right. He’s smiling, maybe laughing, and obviously having a good time. It makes me smile bigger. Josh takes the light beer bottle from Silva’s hand, and then turns his head to the left.

  In that instant, in that moment in time, I feel everything—everything I felt, everything I thought, everything I believed I knew—come crashing down.

  A pretty blonde on Josh’s left enjoys having his bare, tattooed, muscled arm over her shoulders protectively, holding her right next to him.

  She plants a lingering kiss on his cheek.

  My blood feels cold. I try to urge myself forward. So what if he has another date?

  Am I so easily replaced? Yes, I am.

  Sophie, was it really even a date? Wasn’t it simply a colleague thing? He asked me to accompany him.

  I can’t think clearly. Damn it! I can’t focus at all.

  The dim lights are disorienting, while the bright neon pierces into my mind.

  The couple moves in sync toward a booth. I duck behind a decorative support beam, and lean against it a little. He sits first then pulls her in next to him so they’re cozied up together. I can only imagine what their unseen hands will be doing!

  I’m an idiot. I’m a fucking idiot! What was I thinking?

  My stomach clenches and my eyes begin to sting.

  Shit! I need to get out of here before someone spots me. I turn and bolt out of the place, pressing through the crowds of people with my head tucked down—just like the proverbial tail between my legs. I should’ve known better!

  *****

  I can’t get outside fast enough. I can’t get into the cab and back to the hotel fast enough.

  The elevator carries me to my floor. I’m nauseous as I unlock the door.

  Oh, fuck. Britt is still awake reading on her Kindle. She turns when she hears the door.

  “What are you doing back already?” she demands. “Did you forget something?”

  “I’m not talking about it!” I only pull off my shoes before Britt grabs me by the shoulders and guides me to sit on the sofa. “I said, I’m not talking about it. I’m tired and I’m going to bed.”

  Softly, kindly she says, “What happened, sweetie?”

  I force it out. “He was with someone.”

  She waits before asking, “And?”

  “And what?” I was stupid for going in the first place.

  “I was under the impression that we had expected him to be with someone else.”

  I wasn’t expecting anything except for Josh not to have been wearing a blonde.

  “Sophie, he’s Josh ‘The Jackhammer’ North. He couldn’t very well attend the event without a date. He has a rep to uphold.”

  “Some reputation—being a man-whore.” I feel like punching the wall.

  “He is, it’s true,” Britt agrees. “But he’s more than that. And besides, if he’d shown up alone, the press and his fans would’ve had a field day. They would’ve started pressing him to see if he’d gotten stiffed and they would’ve printed all kinds of shit in the magazines. They’ve done it before.”

  Being McGee’s niece, she would know. I hadn’t thought of it that way.

  She continues, “Josh is always in the news and the papers. He’s always under heavy scrutiny—from local city news to national headlines. Wait a minute.” Her expression changes and her eyes grow wide. “You like him.”

  “I don’t,” I protest. I have to hide my face, so I open the blinds and turn a chair so I can sit and look out at the city’s lights. They sparkle so beautifully they almost look like stars.

  “It makes sense,” Britt says from behind me. “You know, he just may like you too.”

  This discussion may now be the worst part of my night. At least before, I was humiliated all by myself.

  “You should have gone all the way in, like you were supposed to. You’re his employee. It wasn’t an official date.”

  “Thanks for the reminder, Britt.” I’m miserable, and I’m wounded and I’m stupid, and I can’t figure out which feels worst.

  “If you had gone into the party like a normal person—”

  “Be careful, I can still fire you.”

  “You would have seen for sure what his reaction would’ve been,” she surmises. “He could’ve dropped her like a sack of spiders. You don’t know.”

  Or he could’ve kissed her and felt her up, and taken her home right in front of me. I shake my head dejectedly. “I’m no good at poker, Britt.”

  She’s quiet for a bit. Her arm reaches down from behind me, offering me a glass of juice. I can smell the alcohol she’s mixed in with the OJ.

  “Thanks.” I take it and sip at it.

  “I know we’ve only been working together for a short time, but I’d like to consider you a friend,” she explains.

  I close my eyes as the warmth of the alcohol pours into my system. I think about Ayana, whom I’ve known since I moved to Williston a year ago. I love her to bits, but I still keep her at arm’s length—it’s easier to leave and disappear that way.

/>   “Thanks, Britt. I do appreciate your advice, even if it doesn’t seem like it.”

  We sit in relative silence for a little while. I flip the TV on, but neither Britt nor I are really watching. It’s an infomercial for some cooking gadget that’s supposed to make life so much easier. If only it could transform more than just my kitchen.

  Britt keeps giving me these appraising looks, like she’s trying to figure out how to convince me to head back to the party, but she doesn’t push.

  My phone bleeps with an incoming text.

  “‘Hey, scrapper, missed you at the party,’” Britt reads. “He calls you scrapper, that’s so cute.”

  “Delightful. How about you don’t read my text messages.”

  “I bet he’s back in his room!” she says like she’s struck oil. “Go talk to him.”

  “No way!”

  She sighs in disgust.

  “If he’s not alone I’m going to look stupid.”

  “If he’s not alone and he bothered to take the time to text you, it means you’re a hell of a lot more on his mind than she is.”

  She has a point. And the invite still stands for tomorrow night’s party. I look at my watch—it already is technically tomorrow.

  Do the thing you fear the most.

  I swallow everything in my glass, stand up decidedly and slip back on my shoes.

  Britt watches me cautiously.

  “I’ll be right back,” I announce and sweep out into the hallway before I lose my nerve.

  If I overthink or stall, I won’t do it. And even though I’m tempted to listen at his door, I don’t. I just knock and brace myself for a giggling blonde in a towel to answer the door. When that happens, I’ll be businesslike, ask to see him, and ...

  “Hi.” Josh stands in the doorway with a towel wrapped around his waist. Wisps of steam rise from his skin where water droplets bead then break and stream into the crevices of his muscles.

  I tear my eyes from him to look past him. I don’t see her. She’s probably in the bathroom.

  “Wow, you look incredible.” He draws out the last word of his statement. By the time I get my gaze back to his, I see he’s eating me up with his eyes from my head to my feet. “Never seen you dressed like that before. Looks good on you.”