The Dare

Chapter Nineteen

"Are you really a chef and licensed therapist?" The agent asked.

"Yes." Grandma nodded enthusiastically. "I'm also a pilot."

"Licensed pilot?"

"Why do you keep saying license? Do I not look intelligent enough to have several talents and hobbies?"

"Why did you feel the need to get all of these… .certifications?"

"Because I know my grandsons. At one point, I figured I'd have to learn how to fight in the MMA arena, but thank heavens that didn't happen." Grandma shifted in her seat. "Besides, a good leader always knows one thing."

"What's that?"

"If you want something done, you sure as hell better do it yourself."

Jace

"If you as much as sneeze in her direction, I will stop at nothing to destroy your pitiful existence from the ground up."

The thing I should have said instead of…

"I love her."

Brett laughed. "Right. You do realize that half the world thinks you're on vacation with a new girlfriend, and the other half's convinced you're with a prostitute."

"Well, clearly, since I love her. She isn't a prostitute. Money doesn't need to exchange hands when you're in a relationship. Not that you would know that." I sneered.

"I'll expose you," Brett threatened. "After all, what type of concerned citizen would I be if I let a state senator get away with illegal prostitution?"

"Expose away. I have no secrets." I seethed feeling my control snapping, "But leave her out of this. Don't you think you've hurt her enough in the past?"

Brett's face pinched. "She told you about high school? That's kind of pathetic if you ask me. I mean, she's what, thirty? And she's upset about something that happened twelve years ago?"

"You're a bastard." I snapped "And by the way, It was me."

"You?"

"At the dance." I puffed out my chest. "Kissing her. It was me, so take your damn accusations and stuff them up your ass before I do it for you. We've been friends for an eternity, and I. love. Her. I. Choose. Her. Mind your own business before I pay a friend of a friend to cut the brakes to your car."

"Are you threatening me?"

"Of course not. We're just joking around. You, of course, are a little drunk after all those shots…" I reached for the drink on the bar and threw it in his face. "…and a little unsteady on your feet after getting in a crazy bar fight." I punched him across the jaw and then grabbed at his shirt again, steadying his body so I could punch him again. "Am I right?"

His face turned a hundred different shades of red before he pushed against my chest.

I took a step back and smirked. "Now, you're going to either apologize or wish you had."

"I'll go ahead and take my chances." Brett cracked his knuckles and took a huge swing in my direction.

I ducked and then punched him in the face.

Hard.

"Bastard!" Brett almost fell over. "You don't even love her! You're just dating. Something doesn't add up here."

"It's serious, and I do..." my voice cracked on the lie, "I do love her."

The minute the words left my lips I felt like I'd betrayed something special between us. As if I'd somehow cheated her out of having that experience because I'd said too soon. But it wasn't as if I would ever say it to her anyway, right?

I took another sip of whiskey and grimaced as the dry liquid burned down my throat. I shouldn't have told Beth that part. I should have kept it locked up inside.

Instead, she looked like I'd just told her I wanted to set fire to Donkey and eat a puppy for dinner.

"Eat, eat!" Grandma instructed loud enough to wake up the dead.

I was surprised I hadn't broken my hand — I'd never hit a guy so hard in my entire life.

"Shrimp?" Grandma asked as Brett took a seat on the opposite side of the table a good few feet away from me.

"Sure." His eyes darted from the plate to the empty seat next to him, "Where's Paris?"

"Bathroom," I said.

While Beth said, "Puking," under her breath.

"Great."

Grandma threw a knife into the air and then chopped some mushrooms in front of us and spread them out like a fan. For being eighty-six, she had quick hands.

I hadn't asked why she was our chef for the same reason I hadn't asked why she was our therapist. She was insane. Therefore, her cooking us dinner? Yeah, it made total sense.

I half-expected her to be our guide today for the excursion and wouldn't have even blinked if she walked into our room and claimed to be the maid. Hell, if she claimed to be president of her own country, I'd just pour myself a glass of scotch and ask which one.

Brett ate a few pieces of shrimp, alternating between licking his fingers and using his tongue to mate with them.

"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.