Rachel Dyken - The Dare

"I think there's some left over in the corner." He pointed to the minibar.

Suddenly ravenous, I stalked over, still half-naked, mind you, and grabbed the small box. Great, so I officially consumed half my body weight of something that I know will most likely give me cancer in five to seven years. Stellar. I threw the box onto the ground. "I'm not so hungry."

"You should be after all that exercise."

"Excuse me?" I whipped around so fast that I had to steady myself with the mini-fridge.

Jace grabbed a shirt and threw it over his toned and tanned body. "Easy, Beth, not what I meant." His eyes twinkled with amusement.

Ha, this was me, amused. I kept my frown firmly in place and even put my hands on my hips to show my disapproval.

With a wink, Jace grabbed the half-empty box, pulled a cookie out, and dangled it in front of my face. "You were hungry. I told you to eat a cookie. You said no."

"So?" I shrugged.

"So, your reason for saying no was because you didn't get a workout in, so I offered to—"

"Pretty sure I know where that story ends." I held up my hand.

"Right."

Jace ate the dangling cookie and then another, making my mouth water. Dirty rotten Clinton-lover!

"But, you turned me down. Said squats are just as good as… you know." He cleared his throat. "So you proceeded to—" He waved the cookie in the air and smirked.

"Please," I bit my lip and closed my eyes. "Please tell me I didn't do a naked workout in order to eat cookies."

"Okay." He ate another cookie and headed toward the bathroom.

I breathed a sigh of relief when I heard the shower turn on.

I was about five seconds away from going into the fetal position when he called out, "You ate five cookies and, according to your extraordinary math, decided that thirty squats per cookie equaled to the caloric intake, though you did keep sputtering some sort of nonsense about how exercise doesn't kill cancer, and then you said a whole bunch of shit and finally passed out after yelling, Die, mutated cells, die." Much laughter followed. "Oh, and you thrust your fist into the air. I think you were trying to be dramatic."

And utter silence.

And I wanted to die.

"That's what you get for waking up in Vegas." A voice sang from the shower.

Great and now he was mockingly singing Katy Perry.

Things could not get worse.

"Guilty?" The FBI agent sighed heavily and reached for his coffee. "You do realize you'll be going to prison."

Grandma shrugged. "Wouldn't be the first time I've gone to the slammer for the greater good."

"The greater good?" the man asked, his eyes narrowing.

"Why yes. I served a few months in a Russian prison after The Cold War. I was a spy and was guilty of poisoning a government official. Then again, they could never prove it. I'd slipped something into his mouth during a heated kiss." She reached into her leopard purse. "Breath mint?"

Jace

"Great, they're going to put Cradle Robber on my tombstone," Beth yelled, interrupting my rendition of Katy Perry as she made her way into the bathroom.

I was trying to lighten the moment until she started having a panic attack in the middle of the bathroom. I was still trying to figure out how long it would take her to realize I was showering, naked, and she was standing there rocking back and forth like someone about to have a nervous breakdown.

"I can't believe I'm thirty and still can't make sound decisions!"

Something I'm guessing it was a shoe slammed against the wall. More cursing. Damn, it was hot when she cursed.

"Why the hell don't I have that drunk text thing? Wait. Does that exist yet? Son of a—" More banging around. And then silence.

To be honest, the silence freaked me out more than the nervous breakdown. Yelling I could deal with. I was a politician for shit's sake. I cut my teeth on people who yelled and bitched every day of their lives. But silence? Kryptonite. Superman was officially going to crash into the moon if Beth didn't pull herself together.

Her eyes were more green than I remembered them. Then again, my memory wasn't so great; it had been over ten years. Ten years, and I still couldn't get those damn eyes out of my head. Instinctively, I reached behind my ear and touched the scar; it may as well be a blazing red sign that read Danger. Last time I had a run-in with Beth, I landed in the hospital.

So we shared a one-night stand. Big deal. People did it all the time.

I mean, I didn't. But people did. They had to, right? Where else would Hollywood get all that shit about one-night stands and waking up in Vegas and the Ashton Kutchers falling in love with the Cameron Diazes?

I closed my eyes against the memories. Damn. It was her stupid dress that had done me in. It had reminded me of prom. It had reminded me of her sweet scent, and after a few drinks, I'd been done for.

"I'm going to die. And then I'll burn in hell," Beth wailed.

Well, at least she was talking again.

I cleared my throat and shook away the past regrets, burying them deep into the part of my brain where boxes sat with cobwebs. "Wait, why are you dying?"

The shower must have muffled my question because Crazy Pants just kept talking.

"No, scratch that. First they'll put She loved her cats very much, cradle-robbing hussy."

I turned off the shower, grabbed a towel, wrapped it around me, and stepped out.

"Still not following." I cringed when she almost slipped on a puddle on the floor of my own making. Whoops.

"Just…" Beth took a few deep breaths, pressing her fingers to her temples. "Help me turn on the shower, and you can leave."

"Not a fan of personal hygiene? Don't know how to turn on a shower? The hot water is this way." I pointed to the right. "Cold this way." I pointed to the left. "Easy as pie."

Beth's stomach grumbled. Her face flushed with red.

"Ah, so the lady doesn't just like cookies, but pie as well?"

"The shower's too fancy," Beth grumbled, changing the subject "Just help me so this nightmare can be over with, and I can go home and drink wine until I die."

"Death by alcoholism. Classy. You'd make a great politician."

Beth's eyes narrowed. "Just the shower, not career advice. I'm perfectly happy curing cancer, thank you."

"How's that working out for you?" I leaned against the doorframe, enjoying this little exchange a little more than I should.

"Wh-what?" Her eyes darted between my bare chest and my mouth.

"Curing cancer."

"I, uh—"

"Wow, I can tell humanity is in good hands. Can't turn on a shower at a fancy hotel and answers uh to my questions."

"Never mind." She sighed irritatingly. "Move out of the way. I'll turn it on myself."

"There's a skill I'd like to see." I chuckled as I watched her step into the shower.

"What?"

"Turning yourself on," I teased.

"Were you this much of a jackass last night, or were my beer goggles just that broken?"

"Beer goggles," I stepped into the shower with her and placed my hand on hers, "give the impression that without alcohol you wouldn't have slept with me."

"So." She breathed, her hand shaking underneath mine.

"So," I slowly turned to the right, stepping out of the way, "alcohol had nothing to do with it."

The hot water poured out of the shower and directly onto Beth and her very white sheet. I had to bite my lip to keep from laughing at her horrified face as the sheet plastered against her naked body.

"Out!" she shouted hysterically.

"Leaving." I held up my hands, still laughing as I exited the shower.

I could have sworn I heard her talking to herself as I grabbed last night's clothes and started dressing. Maybe it was good to get it out of my system.

The whole getting drunk and sleeping with a bridesmaid at my good friend's wedding?

Yeah, I'd never done that before, but maybe I got extra points because I actually knew the bridesmaid before jumping into bed with her? Yes? No?

In my limited experience, one-night stands usually meant awkward mornings where reality set in and you realize you aren't ready for a relationship. This usually involves the guy trying to get out of bed without waking the beast; the beast, upon hearing her mate moving, jolts to attention and latches on without a second thought to the male's inability to feel anything but the sharp talons of the female burying into his skin.

There are almost always tears, followed by yelling; and if the guy is lucky, the girl vacates the premises, screaming obscenities into the air. If the guy lacks any sort of good luck, he usually ended up with a bag of peas pressed firmly against his best friend.

His other best friend.

I let out a chuckle.

Yeah, so that one-night stand? Freaking perfect.

Though I could have sworn Beth was still talking to herself from the bathroom — at least she wasn't screaming or clawing my eyes out. Then again… I winced as I moved my shoulder back and forth, causing a crack to reverberate throughout my body. What the hell had happened last night? Everything was so fuzzy. The only thing I remembered was drinking and then Beth eating cookies. I only remember the cookies because she was so damn beautiful when she was eating them. I sound insane, but it was true. She hadn't mauled them; she'd taken her time with each one. And each time she'd bitten into the cookie, I could have sworn I'd felt that bite all the way down to my toes.

There was always that special something about her, besides her obvious good looks, shiny dark hair, and damn cat eyes. I was drawn to her. I'd been drawn to her since I was seventeen. Shit, I felt like I was seventeen again. My body sure as hell responded like it.

Our brief encounter at prom shouldn't have been brief, which again gave me a clue as to why a one-night stand with her was a bad idea. Our last meeting? Had not ended well. Clearly, the feeling hadn't been mutual. I'd been like a moon-eyed starstruck teenager, and she'd been less than impressed that night. It was good I'd never made it. Seeing her again brought back the old feelings. Damn it! They were supposed to stay locked away. I was twenty-eight now. I was an adult. I was a senator, for shit's sake. I pinched the bridge of my nose. The problem? The details of our hot night together? More than fuzzy.

Which had to be a bad sign.

Then again, I had no hangover whatsoever. Not even a headache.

In fact, other than the sore muscles, I felt fantastic.

Whatever. Shrugging, I went in search of my suitcase. Then paused.

Why the hell didn't I have my suitcase? Details came rushing back. I'd been staying with the Titus family during the wedding, meaning my suitcase was still there, and I was… here? Whose hotel room was I actually in? Because it sure as hell wasn't mine!

I scratched my head then resorted to slapping myself in the face to jolt any sort of memory. But nothing. Still blank. Maybe Beth knew?

Right. That's what every woman wanted to hear: "Hey, you're hot, but I totally don't remember what you look like naked. Even though we woke up that way together. Thanks for a good time? Oh, and PS, whose room are we in?"

May as well put the name Jake Titus across my forehead and do the walk of shame.

I wasn't some billionaire playboy like Jake was. I was responsible. In control. Hell, I was the youngest damn senator Oregon had ever seen.

And that's when reality hit.

In a force so strong my eyes frantically searched for a paper bag.

Holy shit.

It was going to be in the newspapers.

If I couldn't remember being drunk or getting to the damn hotel, that meant I was sloppy about every single thing that happened.

I checked my watch. Six a.m. With a curse, I reached for my cell and winced. Fifteen missed calls.

I never put my phone on vibrate.

Then again, I'd never had a one night stand, kissed a girl whose last name I can't even spell, or done a walk of shame Jake-style. So maybe I was turning over a new leaf. Or maybe Jake's whorishness had left him the minute he said his vows and floated into my consciousness.

Shit. Now I was freaked about being possessed? By what? The need to screw every female within a ten-mile radius?