Rachel Dyken - The Dare

"Is he eating it or seducing it?" Beth whispered next to me.

Ten minutes later, Brett closed his eyes and moaned as he then gripped the table with his hand.

"Orgasm via shrimp?" I concluded. "I may never eat again."

What I thought was Brett becoming aroused by shellfish was actually Brett moaning in pain. He teetered off his chair and with a thump fell to the floor.

"Holy shit, Grandma killed him." I mumbled under my breath, pushing my chair away from the table so I could go help him, or maybe just kick him while he was down. Jury was still out.

"I, uh…" Brett burped and reached for his water, "I don't feel so well."

"Are you allergic to shellfish?" Grandma asked, concern lacing her every word.

"No." he pounded his chest and burped again.

"Oh, heavens!" Grandma dropped the knife onto the table and rushed to his side. "I think you are! I think you're going into shock! Hurry! We need to get you to the hospital."

"Seriously?" He gripped the table again. "I do feel kind of hoarse."

Grandma nodded emphatically. "I'll get the manager. We'll have you in the hospital in no time!"

Amused, I watched Grandma lie her ass off as she escorted Brett to the waiting taxi. Paris came out of the bathroom in time to see the fiasco. She'd also failed to look in the mirror. White powder glowed next to her upper lip.

"Not puking, snorting. Classy woman." I took a long sip of my whiskey and watched as the night went to hell in a hand basket.

Paris swatted Brett on the back for ruining their night. Brett, having been exposed to a foreign substance he was now convinced was killing him, started having a full-blown panic attack as they rushed out the doors and into the waiting car.

Grandma waved goodbye and walked back to her station and continued chopping. No explanation. No apology. Nothing.

"So," Beth cleared her throat, "What did you give him?"

"Nothing." Grandma kept chopping.

"Don't lie."

"Grandmas never lie." She pointed the knife in Beth's direction.

I moved out of the way, which earned me a smack on the arm.

"We merely fib, or as I like to call it, frost over the truth."

"Frost over the truth?" I laughed.

"Of course. In one hand I have the truth…" She fanned out a mushroom, and pointed. "In the other hand I have the sauce. I lightly pour the sauce of the mushroom. And voilà!"

"I'm confused," Beth said.

"Can you still see the mushroom?" Grandma asked.

"Yeah."

"But you can see the sauce too."

"So?" Beth pointed at the example. "I see them both, so how is the sauce hiding anything?"

"Cloaking, my dear." Grandma scooped up the mushrooms and sauce and put them on a plate. "By the time you take a bite and discover the truth in the flavors, discover the sauce is just garlic, and the mushrooms are the food of choice, you don't care anymore. Want to know why?"

"Why?"

"Because it tastes good." Grandma winked. "Frosting the truth is just like that. It may seem devious, and it may look like something else entirely, but the minute you learn the truth, you don't care anymore, because it was staring at you," she chopped a piece of meat, "the whole damn time."

Why was she staring at me like she wanted to stab me?

I popped a mushroom in my mouth and was only slightly irritated that it was amazing.

"Now," Grandma chopped up some pork, "why don't you two order a nice bottle of wine while I finish up your main course? How does that sound?"

"Are you going to be putting drugs in our wine?" Beth asked.

"The thought briefly crossed my mind," Grandma admitted. "See? I can be honest. Now, shall we order some wine?"

"What do you say?" I nudged Beth.

She blinked a few times then shrugged. I officially hated myself. How was it possible that earlier today she was blooming into this beautiful bright woman, and now she was closed off? I'd done that to her. I'd made her doubt herself all over again.

"Are you okay?" I asked dumbly, knowing that she wasn't but wanting to hear her speak so I didn't go insane.

"I think I'm just tired." Beth forced a smile.

"Do you want to go back?" I offered.

Her body slumped even more.

Damn it, how was I ruining things even further?

"Tell you what." Desperate, I said the first thing that popped into my mind. After all, she was all about having fun, right? Not being boring anymore? "Let's eat really fast then go dancing."

"Dancing? You?" Beth's smile returned.

Only this time, I figured it was at my expense.

"Just because I'm a politician doesn't mean I can't dance."

"Oh I know that." Beth patted my hand. "I was going to say it's because you're white."

"White guys can't dance?"

"I give you Justin Timberlake." Beth nodded. "He can dance."

"The man's a god." This from Grandma.

"I can dance like Justin Timberlake," I argued.

Grandma laughed.

"Do you mind?" I glared.

She pointed her knife at me and kept chopping with her left hand.

"No, you can't, Jace. You…" She shook her head. "It wouldn't be possible. It would be unfair to humanity to give you that face and body and then the ability to move your hips seductively. Seriously, I'd have words with God."

"I hope you eat your words." I kissed her cheek.

"And if I don't?"

I didn't answer. Instead, I prayed that all the women I'd dated in college hadn't been total liars.

"So let me get this straight. You sear the meat on both sides, and then you add the wine?"

"Yes." Grandma nodded. "It gives it that perfect moist center."

"Interesting."

Someone knocked on the glass.

The FBI agent straightened in his chair and cleared his throat. "So where were we?"

"Somewhere between drugging, dancing, and Justin Timberlake."

"This should be on YouTube."

"Oh, I just love the Tube! And the Facebook! And the Tweets!"

"Why do you keep putting the in front of those?"

"Out of respect." Grandma's eyebrow rose all the way to her hairline. "You never address the president as president."

The agent paused. "You have me there."

Beth

"Alright, let's see it," I yelled over the bumping music. I was thirty years old, had been drugged by a senile old woman, and I was at a club. Oh, and right, I had been accused of being a prostitute. Cool, I was officially living my own mid-life crisis. At least I had Thor. Then again, this could all be figment of my imagination. I could be tied to a giant computer, Matrix-style, and just making up my own dream world.

Yeah, clearly I hadn't drunk enough at dinner.

I bit down on my lip, letting the pain distract me for a brief moment while my heart stopped slamming against my chest. The last time I'd danced was at prom. No joke. I did not dance. I didn't even dance at my sister's wedding. I drank wine and hid my Kindle under the table, reading when nobody was looking. Which, newsflash: nobody had been looking, until Jace had been sent my way.

He had sauntered. You know what I mean. The saunter, also known as the sensual walk of a man who knows he's been blessed with every human gift known to humanity. Good looks, good teeth, good body. Good Thor, he'd been hot.

I'd dropped my best friend that night.

My Kindle. I'd accidently dropped it onto the floor and gaped as he held out his hand and asked if I wanted to dance. I'd said no; well, actually I'd just shaken my head and sighed, because I'd remembered him, and it was just like a fairytale. Having the prince of my dreams reach out to me, pick me out of a crowd. Yeah, I'd basked. Instead of dancing, we'd shared a few drinks, happily delivered via the Drugging Grandmother Express.

"Come on." Jace licked his lips and pulled me closer as we weaved through the crowd of happy couples.

Being this close to him was so not distracting enough to get my mind off the fact that five days from now I'd be saying goodbye to the one and only guy I was falling hard for.

Stupid Thor.

Stupid blond hair.

Abs! Curse you! I mentally shook my fist.

"Come on." Jace grabbed my hand and steered us through the crowds of people having sex on the dance floor.

I wasn't a dancer. Because dancing was just another way people could make fun of me.

Elle Goulding's "Burn" came on.

My heart thumped against my chest as Jace laughed and pulled me against his chest; the lights turned down as he twirled me around and then tugged my leg up around his waist.

Oh. My.

It was the techno-version of the song, or the club version, so it was faster than what I'd heard on the radio.

Jace released me and started dancing around me.

And I was officially in a dilemma. Either I moved and tried to dance with him, or I stared as his body moved in perfect sync with the music. I'd have words with God later about that. I mean, how is it even possible that a guy that beautiful should have everything?

The song slowed.

Jace tugged me against him.

I wrapped my arms around his neck as his hands moved to my hips, helping me move with the same rhythm he was moving with. I closed my eyes and gave up.

I gave up feeling sad.

I gave up feeling embarrassed.

And danced.

Until the song changed to Jay-Z, and then I was lost all over again. I couldn't get the rhythm right.

Finally, I gave up and tried to pull away from Jace, but he pulled me back against him and whispered, "Nobody puts baby in a corner. Nobody."

I felt my grin stretch to my ears as he twirled me. Yes, twirled me to a rap song and then kept me turned around as he moved his hands against my skin. His body rocked against mine, his abs pressed against my back, his arms wrapped around me from behind. Every movement caused enough friction between us to burn the entire club down.

The song ended too soon.

Sweaty, I stepped away from Jace. "That was... nice."

"Nice?" His nostrils flared as he gripped my shoulders with his hands and licked my lower lip. He tasted like sweat and pure man. Was that my switch? A little licking, and I was ready to wrap my legs around him and yell Thor at the top of my lungs?"

"That was…" I couldn't find words. What were words again? And sentences? Nouns? Verbs? My name?

He slapped me on the backside, so hard it stung, then said, "I'll show you nice."

Two hours later.

And I was officially that girl. The one that walked barefoot back to her room and swayed on her feet from lack of hydration and too many shots.

Jace had been peer-pressure-personified. "Just one more shot. One more dance." But he'd kept smiling and looking so damn hot that I'd just nodded my head and smiled.

When that man got his mind set to something, he didn't give up easily. My night had consisted of him showing me just how nice he could be. From pushing me against a wall and dancing his way up my body to licking a shot off my stomach — something I'll take to my grave because it was both the most embarrassing and erotic thing that's ever happened in my existence — to making out with me next to the bathrooms. Apparently we had a thing for toilets flushing; it was the music of our love or something like that.

I swayed on my feet and felt a little nauseated. But not boring. Definitely not boring. Though I could really use a shower and more nice touching from Jace.

I was most likely going to regret my decisions come morning.

"I know why Grandma or our therapist, who looks scarily a lot like Grandma, made us do that exercise," Jace whispered, once we we'd both taken showers and were lying in bed.

I turned on my side to face him. "Why?"

"Because," he touched my cheek, "I memorized your body. I traced it in my mind, felt it in my hands, and when we danced… it was as if you were a part of me, an extension. Not like we were separate people, but one."

"Like a bond!" I all but shouted.

Jace burst out laughing, and wrapped his arm around my body, tugging me further into his warmth. "Yes, my little science nerd, like a bond."

"A covalent bond." I sighed happily.