Double Dog Dare You

by Lacey Black

  As soon as his email is complete and sent, I pull up ziplining companies for Gatlinburg and the surrounding areas and am not too surprised by the quantity I find. There are billboards and advertisements everywhere for numerous companies in the area. The one that jumps out is Elevate, rated very high for safety and experience, as well as recipient of an award for Best Zipline in the state of Tennessee.

  I read up on the entire experience, from start to finish, from their website, even watching a few of their posted videos. I’m about to click through the photos when my phone chimes, alerting me to a text message.

  Sabrina: I. Am. Bored.

  Me: Aren’t you supposed to be working?

  Sabrina: Yes, and it’s dead. No one is here.

  Me: I’m sorry. I hope it goes by quickly.

  Me: Hey, can I ask you something?

  Sabrina: YES! Please talk to me!

  Me: Have you ever been ziplining?

  She doesn’t text back. Instead, my phone rings a few seconds later.

  “Hello?”

  “Ziplining? Are you high?”

  I chuckle. “Uhh, no. I’m just curious.”

  Sabrina exhales, and I can almost picture her sitting behind the counter of the small boutique she works at, twirling her hair like she does to give her hand something to do. “Yeah, I went with Rusty, that guy I dated a few years ago. He was all about the thrills. Why? You thinking of going?”

  “Wait, wasn’t he the guy who took you to the dinner show and got a little freaky under the table? And to answer your question, no, not me. The student who won my Inspiration Award chose it as his reward.”

  My friend is already chuckling. “Uh, yeah, that guy. He had…magic hands. So one of your students wants to go? Fun! You’d probably like it, actually.”

  I just can’t see myself doing it. “Really? The thought of dangling from a wire, flying down a mountain doesn’t sound that appealing.”

  Now she’s full-on laughing. “Oh, I was joking. You’d hate it with a passion. It’s something you can’t control.”

  “I don’t need to control everything.”

  Wrong. I do.

  “Riiiiiiiight…”

  “Just because I prefer to have schedules and systems for everything, doesn’t mean I need to control them,” I huff.

  “Hahahahahahaha! Okay, if you say so.”

  “You’re mean,” I retort.

  “Only because I’m honest,” she replies softly. “Listen, Q, I’m not saying it’s all bad. You are who you are, and I love you despite it. Someday, you’ll find a man who loves your checks and balances as much as you do.”

  “What’s wrong with being organized?” I ask, glancing down at my Google calendar with a detailed list of tomorrow’s workload.

  “Absolutely nothing. Honest. Do you want to know what I think?”

  Trying to be annoyed with her, but not really finding the gumption, I ask, “Are you going to tell me anyway?”

  “Yes, I am,” she says brightly. “I think you need someone to offset your organizational skills with a little mess.”

  “That makes no sense.”

  She snorts into the phone. “Oh, but it will. Someday, when the right guy comes along, he’s going to wreck your perfect little pie charts and not use the proper detergent to fabric softener ratio with the laundry.”

  “That sounds horrible! Why would you not make sure you have the right balance? It helps with wrinkle control, as well as freshness.”

  “You’re impossible,” she mumbles. “And I look forward to the day he folds your towels wrong.”

  I huff, wishing I still had a drink. The thought of someone not folding them the right way makes my head spin. “The best way to maximize cabinet space is to fold them in half longways, twice, and then three times, Sabrina. It just makes sense.”

  Now she’s laughing hard. At me. “Oh, believe me, I know exactly how you fold towels. I tried helping that time you were sick. I vividly remember the detailed video you sent me the following morning, requesting me to do it the right way next time.”

  “And there wasn’t a next time,” I remind her, annoyed that I answered this call.

  “Right, because I wasn’t touching your precious towels again.”

  “I just don’t understand someone who folds them all willy-nilly style. There’s no consistency.” She just starts to fold and however they end up, that’s how she puts them in the cabinet. Like a monster.

  “Anyway, I’m not sure why we’re talking about your towels,” she starts.

  “Because you brought them up,” I interrupt.

  “My thought is this. You listening?” She pauses dramatically, for effect, I’m sure. “Go ziplining. It’ll be good for you.”

  “You’re crazy,” I scoff. “I’m not even sure why we’re friends.” Even though I really do. She might not meet me eye to eye on everything, but she’s the one person who is always in my corner, even when times are hard.

  She giggles now, the sound of a bell chiming in the background. “We’re friends because of my solid, sage advice. Listen, I gotta go. We actually have a customer. Think about it, ‘kay?”

  “Fine,” I grumble. “I’ll think about it. Now, go. Work.”

  “Love you,” she replies, blowing kisses into the phone before hanging up.

  I exhale and set my phone down. I met Sabrina in high school. We were as different as night and day, and I’m not even really sure how we became friends. Well, that’s not true. I remember the day she walked into my calculus class and sat behind me. She asked to borrow a pencil and hasn’t let me alone since. We started hanging out after school, me working on my homework and her dreaming about boys, and before I knew it, we were as close as siblings.

  As different as them too.

  But I can’t imagine my life without her in it.

  Just as I’m getting ready to power down my laptop, I notice an email in my inbox. It’s a response to Logan’s letter of congratulations from his parents. I click on it, smiling when I read their boastful reply. They attached the release form, which relieves the school and me, as administrator, from any liability, and included a note about his birthday. It’s Saturday, and they wondered if it was possible to do his reward then.

  I blink at the screen.

  Three days.

  They agree to bring him to the site and sign any permission forms that need signatures. Basically, I’d just need to be there to meet them and take photographs. I head to Groupon and search for availability on ziplining, pleased to find a deal for Elevate. I fill out all of my personal details and pay, which then sends me to a reservation page for the company. Several dates and times are blacked out already, but I’m grateful to find a spot available for two o’clock this Saturday. I click the time and accept, receiving their confirmation screen a few seconds later.

  There. Done.

  I reply to the Hendershot’s email with the good news about Saturday afternoon at two, hoping it fits with their schedule. Their acknowledgement is almost instant. They agree to meet me at Elevate by two o’clock for Logan’s ziplining adventure.

  Sighing, I log off and power down my computer. As I make my way to the kitchen, I set my phone on the counter and grab a bottle of water, taking a hearty drink. I really should eat some food to soak up the alcohol in my stomach. As I make a quick ham and cheese sandwich, I keep glancing at my phone, as if it’s taunting me. When I’m halfway through my dinner, I finally walk over and grab it.

  Me: Have you ever been ziplining?

  Rigsby: What kinda question is that?

  Me: A serious one?

  Rigsby: We live in the mountains, Bestie. Who hasn’t been ziplining?

  Me: Uhhh, me?

  Rigsby: Why do you keep answering my questions with a question?

  Me: In all fairness, I was the one who asked the original question.

  Rigsby: I’ll give you that. Are you serious about never ziplining?

  I return to my sandwich and take a bite before typing my
reply.

  Me: Yes, I’m serious. I might be taking someone this weekend though.

  Rigsby: What does that mean? You’re going?

  Me: No, one of my students earned it as a reward. I’m taking him Saturday afternoon.

  Rigsby: I hope you’re taking him to Elevate. They have the highest safety rating in the area. Plus, I can vouch for the staff. They’re topnotch.

  Me: That’s where I have a reservation.

  Rigsby: Good deal. What time?

  Me: Two

  He doesn’t reply right away, so I take the opportunity to finish my sandwich. Paired with a bottle of water, I don’t feel the effects of the tequila any longer. However, now that I’m relaxed, exhaustion starts to settle in. My body is tired, my mind even more so. This is one of the times I wish I had a hot tub or Jacuzzi for relaxation, but even though they’re crazy popular in the area, especially amongst tourist cabins, I’ve never really felt the need to own one.

  A bath with lavender bubble bath will suffice.

  Me: I’m off to relax. Night.

  He replies right away.

  Rigsby: Do you own a dog, Bestie Tami with an I?

  Me: That’s random.

  Rigsby: I’ve been thinking of getting a dog.

  Me: What kind?

  I take a seat on one of the stools at my counter and try to picture myself as a dog owner. As a child, I wanted a dog, but we lived in town, in a small apartment complex with two other families, us being on the top floor. I remember begging my parents for a dog when I was about eight, swearing I would take care of it every day. Of course, my child idea of taking care of it and the reality of caring for a dog were two totally different things. We settled on a cat because it didn’t require multiple trips outside a day from the third-floor apartment with no elevator, and while I was perfectly content with Miss Kitty, the desire to get a puppy has never gone away. I just ignored it as an adult, convincing myself I was too busy with work to properly train one.

  Maybe someday.

  Rigsby: Something that likes to be outside, enjoying nature with me.

  Me: Oh that’s right, that running garbage you mentioned.

  Rigsby: LOL Yes, that garbage. I’d love to take my dog with me. But he’d have to be something big and manly, like a Lab or a Shepherd.

  Me: Oh! A chocolate Lab! They’re so cute. That was one of the pups I had picked out when I was younger.

  Rigsby: A good choice too. Labs love the outdoors.

  Me: I’m not too much of an outdoorsman though. I’d probably be better off with something like a cockapoo or a morkie.

  Rigsby: *insert shocked face emoji* WTF is that????????

  I giggle as I type out my reply.

  Me: A cocker spaniel poodle mix and a terrier maltese mix. My friend’s parents have a morkie and it’s so stinking cute!! *insert heart-shaped eyes face emoji*

  Rigsby: Those sound like little ankle biters. Nothing manly about those, Bestie. I’m disappointed.

  Me: Why?

  Rigsby: It means we’ll never settle on a dog together. *insert winky face emoji*

  My heart gallops and suddenly stops beating altogether in my chest. Together?

  Rigsby: I should let you get back to your relaxing. I’m going to search local pet shelters for a manly dog to adopt.

  Me: Aww, good luck!

  Rigsby: By the way, are you relaxing in a hot tub? I’m trying to visualize right now, you know, maybe naked? A bottle of wine? *insert grinning devil emoji*

  I bark out a laugh and shake my head. Men.

  Me: No hot tub for me.

  Rigsby: Damn. I guess I’ll just picture you in a bathtub instead. Naked. Lots of bubbles.

  Me: You’re incorrigible.

  Rigsby: I’m a dude. Guaranteed that I’m thinking of someone naked twenty-four seven, Bestie.

  Me: Good to know, I guess.

  Rigsby: Well, I’ve got one, just so you know. It’s available anytime you want to relax. Swimsuit optional. *insert winky face emoji*

  Me: Of course you do…

  Shaking my head, I can almost picture him now, sitting back in his hot tub with half a dozen women. He’s definitely a player, a man who could probably charm the panties right off a nun with little to no effort. Rigsby is a natural flirt and probably reaps the benefits of it nightly.

  Before I can talk myself out of it, I go ahead and send my own flirty farewell message.

  Me: I’m off to my bath.

  Me: Naked.

  Me: With bubbles…

  Then I quickly exit the texting app, plug my phone into the charger on the counter, and head off to the bathroom with a grin on my face, ignoring the insistent chimes of his replies.

  Chapter Five

  Royce

  “How’s my favorite oldest son?” my mom asks, when she sees me standing at the counter at Sweet Treats Bakery.

  “No need to throw in the word oldest. I know I’m your favorite, regardless of birth order,” I tease.

  She gives me a warm smile and shakes her head but doesn’t rebuff my claim. There’s no use. She knows I won’t listen to it anyway. “This is a pleasant surprise,” she says, as she wipes her wet hands on a towel and comes to the counter.

  “Rueben called and is bored, so he’s meeting me,” I tell her, noticing Vivian, a woman a few years younger than me, staring at me with one of those grins. The one that says she’s definitely interested in a little no-strings fun if I’d give her the slightest inkling I was willing. And not that I’m not willing, but I refuse to sleep with my mom’s coworkers, despite how hot they are. That’s a whole kettle of fish I’m not interested in getting into. Like sleeping with my own employees.

  Not happening.

  I throw Vivian a wink and a grin and return my attention to my mom. It’s more flirtatious than an invitation, but I’m not sure she knows the difference. Mom glances over her shoulder and just shakes her head.

  “What?”

  She sighs. “Oh, nothing, Royce Daniel Rigsby. Nothing at all.”

  “Why are you middle naming me?”

  “When are you going to settle down with a nice woman?” she huffs, crossing her arms over her chest and giving me a glare that means all business.

  “Vivian’s not nice?” I ask, knowing I’m prodding the bull. If I’m not careful, I’ll get the horns in the form of a lecture from Jackie Rigsby.

  Mom’s gaze is pointed. “Don’t sass me, Royce. You know what I mean. I’d like grandkids someday before I get too old to enjoy them.”

  Now it’s my turn to roll my eyes. “You’re fifty-eight. Hardly too old to enjoy grandkids,” I argue. “Besides, I’m not the one getting married, Mom. Why don’t you bug Rueben with your desire for grandkids?”

  Just then the bell on the door chimes behind me. “You don’t think I haven’t mentioned it to him too? At least he’s getting married,” she says, her face softening with a smile as she looks over my shoulder. “To a wonderful young woman.”

  “I’m pretty sure that means I’m her favorite,” my brother whispers in my ear, earning an elbow to the gut.

  “That’s not at all what she said before you walked in.” I shrug and glance up at the menu.

  Sweet Treats is a bakery first and foremost, but lately has added panini sandwiches and homemade side salads to the menu. Mom is usually in back, taking care of baking fresh breads, cookies, pies, and even cakes. It’s also where I indulge in my cream cheese bars obsession. Ever since I was a little boy and Mom baked her first pan of strawberry cream cheese bars, I’ve been hooked.

  “It’s always the rotten sibling that continually draws the attention to the fact he’s the favorite one,” Rueben replies, pulling out his wallet.

  “Put that away,” Mom says, waving her hand dismissively.

  “We don’t come here so you can buy us food,” he states, which is the truth. We come here because the food is excellent, service quick, and we get to see Mom.

  “It’s Rueben’s turn to buy. Take his money,” I
tell her.

  Mom just shakes her head and grabs a pen. “What would you boys like?”

  “I’ll have the turkey ranch panini with a side of coleslaw and a blueberry smoothie,” I tell her, stepping aside so my brother can add his.

  “I’ll have the same but with a mango smoothie and also a chicken salad croissant with pasta salad and an iced chai tea with vanilla.”

  “Jesus, good thing you’re buying if you’re eating that much,” I tease.

  “Cricket is joining us.” Just the mention of his fiancée’s name brings a smile to his face. I’ve never been jealous of my brother, but there’s something in the contentment and happiness I see on his face that causes a little bubble of something to rise in my chest.

  Pushing it aside and refusing to dissect it, I say, “Of course she is. You can’t go anywhere with your girlfriend.”

  “Fiancée, asshole. Get it right.”

  “Go sit down, both of you,” Mom says as the door opens, and a small group of customers come in. “Maria’s in back. I’ll see if I can sit with you for a few minutes.”

  “Don’t forget to collect his money!” I holler to her back as she slips through the swinging doors that lead to the massive kitchen.

  “Hey, Royce,” Vivian’s singsong voice fills the room as she steps up to the vacant counter to collect the next group’s orders.

  “Hi, Viv,” I reply politely.

  Before I can slip away to join my brother, she asks, “Busy day today?” She pops her gum and juts out her hip in an attempt to look seductive.

  “Not really. I’m off today,” I confirm.

  She leans forward so the group at the counter can’t hear and presses her arms into her chest, causing her tits to protrude from her bakery V-neck shirt. “I really wish I was off today.” She adds a wink, just for good measure.

  I chuckle at her innuendo and give her one of my cocky grins.

  Just as I start to reply something teetering on dirty, my brother hollers, “Royce, get over here,” saving me from probably making Viv an offer I can’t take back.

  “Bye, Viv,” I reply, turning and heading toward my brother, noticing her instant pout before I completely turn my back on her.