The Dare

Chapter Six

"I'd rather not make a bet with a convicted felon."

"Convicted?" Grandma gasped. "Bite your tongue! I'm just visiting until this little misunderstanding is over."

"I wouldn't call a white van with no license plates, a ransom note, and enough rufies to put out a gorilla a…" he put up his fingers in air quotes, "misunderstanding."

"Call it whatever you want. But I'm innocent."

"And I'm Charlie Sheen."

"I knew you looked familiar!" Grandma giggled. "Tell me, how's that sexy father of yours?"

Jace

The first thing I thought of when I got on the plane was alcohol. The second? All the sex I wasn't having that the media was convinced I was. Funny, because at this point,if I was engaging in said extra-curriculars with prostitutes, I sure as hell wouldn't be so dumb about it.

The only evidence they had was a scorned ex-girlfriend and Beth showing up at the airport with me. My publicist had sent me a text and said not to worry — as far as everyone's concerned, I've been meaning to take a vacation. All they'd needed to do was explain I was at a wedding and catching up with an old friend. An old friend that I hadn't seen in over ten years and had seduced right out of her bridesmaid dress. Funny, because I doubted anyone but Beth and I really knew that we'd met before. And even then, why was I vain enough to believe that, out of all the guys Beth most likely had had pawning over her in high school, that I'd be the one kiss she'd remembered.

I groaned. The truth was… I had been holding on by a thread already. I'd worked my ass off to get where I was, and it terrified me to think that it could all be taken away. I'd graduated from college early. Completed my masters in less than a year. Studied through endless nights. Spent millions of my trust fund on campaigning, and for what? For people to wait for me to fail? And then throw me out of office onto my face? All because they believed a woman who had… my heart clenched. I could still smell the house.

I'd come home from a meeting in DC.

A fire had been lit in the downstairs, and I could smell a roast and potatoes cooking in the oven.

I'd taken the stairs two at a time. Eager to see Kerry, to hold her in my arms and forget about life for just a few minutes. Really, that's all I ever asked of her. I'd used her to relax and, in return, she'd looked good on my arm.

My time was precious. After dating awhile, we'd joked around that two minutes was like me handing her hundreds of dollars.

To me, time was the most valuable thing we had as humans. I wanted to make the most of every moment.

Maybe I shouldn't have.

Because if I hadn't taken two steps at a time.

If I hadn't come home early.

My life would be different. Granted, I'd be living in ignorance, but still. I wouldn't be carrying around scars, and I wouldn't want to run the other way every time a woman smiled at me.

I cleared my throat and snuck a look at Beth. She was reading People Magazine.

What did I really know about her? Good kisser. Nice ass. And a hell of a laugh. Unless she'd somehow turned into a chain smoker, causing her laugh to sound more like a hack. But that was it. For all I knew, she really had been a prostitute at some point in her life. Maybe she had dirty little secrets just waiting to pop out. Who didn't? Furthermore, how else did she put herself through med school? I didn't say my logic was sound, but I was also under an extreme amount of stress, which is probably why, as the plane took off, I blurted out, "Are you a prostitute?"

Unfortunately, when they seat you at the back of the plane, what they really mean is they're seating you next to all the crying and screaming kids that nobody else wants near first class, where Grandma and everyone else was drinking and laughing.

If I breathed hard enough, I could imagine that the shit I was smelling wasn't from the little kid in front of me, but some sort of —.oh, who was I kidding? I was in hell. And I had five whole hours to wallow.

A few parents turned angry eyes in my direction. I was too tired to care. So what? I'd said prostitute.

"Prostitute?" Beth repeated, louder than I'd initially said it. "And just how did you come to that conclusion Mr. Senator?"

"Okay, if you keep calling me that, I'm going to start calling you cookie monster, and we both know how you feel about that."

"Bastard."

"I'll take it. Anything's better than Mr. Senator."

Beth rolled her eyes and looked back at her magazine.

"Are you going to answer my question, or do you want me to see if the flight attendant has any cookies?"

"Do I look like a prostitute?" Beth snapped.

"Well..." If I said she did, that basically meant I was calling her slutty, and if I said she didn't, I had an inkling she'd take that as me saying she wasn't attractive enough to be one. Maybe I was overthinking things a bit. I tugged at the collar of my shirt,. "No."

"Exactly." Beth's face fell, just enough for me to notice. She turned away and looked down at her magazine but didn't turn the page. Because she wasn't reading or looking, she was hurt. Somehow me insulting her had turned into me hurting her, and I hated hurting people, especially ones who didn't deserve it.

"Look," I closed her magazine and whispered in her hear, "I'm not saying you couldn't be one if you wanted to be. You're sexy, alright? I'm not asking because I'm trying to insult you, and I'm not trying to be a complete asshole. I just need to know about your past. If you have any dirty secrets, if you as much as sneezed on your high school teacher and accidently fell over and exposed your pink underwear to a punk in your class and got a detention for sexual harassment. I need to know these things. Because they won't just attack me, they'll attack you too."

Beth's lower lip trembled.

I was fascinated. I hadn't ever been a lip guy. I was more of a full package type of man. But her lips looked like soft pillows, and I hated myself that I couldn't remember the sensation of my tongue parting them last night.

"Well, no worries on that end, Jace." Beth's voice shook a bit. "In high school my nickname was Boring Beth. I had exactly three friends, including the lab rat that I had to train for my AP psychology class and was a pity date for my senior prom. So, sexual harassment? Prostitution? Selling my body or my wares or whatever you call it? Nothing. Not even a freaking parking ticket. Or a speeding ticket for that matter."

What? How was that even possible? She was freaking gorgeous, and even in high school I'd been intimidated.

I shifted uncomfortably and tried to open my mouth to speak, but she kept talking. Was she talking about the same girl I danced with all those years ago?

"In college I made out with two guys. One was a McDonalds' employee. He smelled like fries. I hate fries."

Mental note: She hates fries. Who the hell hates fries?

"The other had a preference for garlic. He said it kept the vampires away. As you can see, I only dated nerds because, news flash, I am a nerd. I'm a chemist. I like safe. I like white walls. I drink wine and watch Netflix on the weekends, and I already have my eye on two cats to at the shelter. I may as well settle into spinsterhood early. Now can we please stop having this discussion? It was embarrassing enough waking up without no memory of my first time with a guy let alone…"

I tried not to react. My loud inhale mixed with a gasp probably didn't do well to shield my shock.

"Just forget it." Beth opened the magazine.

"Beth, look," I licked my lips, "I didn't know. I mean, I didn't..." Well shit. How in the hell was I going to get out of this one? Or make it better. I did the only thing I could think of doing or maybe it was for lack of thinking that I pulled the magazine out of her hands and pressed my mouth against hers.

Again, let's revisit the situation. Being under severe amounts of stress can cause a person to make bad choices. Clearly. Because kissing her was probably the worst idea I'd had in the last hour. But she'd looked sad, and she'd basically just told me that she'd given me her virginity, and then her green eyes had gotten all glossy with tears, and I'd panicked. Yes, I, Jace Brevik, US senator, panicked in the face of a woman almost crying.

Her lips were just as soft as I remembered. I coaxed them open and moaned as her tongue shyly touched mine.

"Are you married?" a squeaky voice asked.

I pulled back and glanced up. A girl who looked to be about eight was hanging over the seat in front of us, staring. Her pigtails bobbed on the side of her head as the plane hit a bump of turbulence.

"No," I said, eyes narrowing, body still pounding with lust. I was kissing a complete stranger. Kind of. Well, not really. Damn it.

"My mommy says that boys and girls should only kiss when they're married."

"You're mommy's living under a rock," I grumbled.

"No, she's right here." The girl pulled back and then shrugged. "She's sleeping. Sometimes she puts special juice in my cup so she can sleep on the planes."

"I want special juice," Beth said under her breath.

The girl giggled but still didn't turn back around. And I was left to wonder how a soccer mom had been able to sneak alcohol by security. Why hadn't I thought of that?

The girl kept staring.

To be honest, it was freaking me out. Don't get me wrong. I liked kids. I patted their heads and kissed their cheeks during photo-ops, but in my mind there was nothing freakier than a horror movie with a little girl in it. It gave me the creeps.

And this little girl looked exactly like one who could star in her own horror movie.

Clearing my throat, I tried to look away, because the longer she stared the more I was convince she was going to take the plane down with her. In a moment of clarity, I reached into my pocket and pulled out a piece of wrapped candy and held it out to her. "Want some candy?"

"Stranger danger, nine-one-one, stranger danger, nine-one-one!" the girl started wailing.

"Just a guess," Beth said, an amused smile plastered across her pretty face. "But I'm gonna bet her mommy also told her anyone who offered candy was living in an unmarked van down by the river."

Within seconds, mama bear turned around and glared at both me and Beth. I held up the candy like a white flag, hoping the woman wouldn't slap me, or worse assume I was really going to take her daughter. Masking tape her mouth? Possibly. Kidnap? Hell no.

"You give my daughter candy?" she asked in a gruff voice.

"I was trying to be nice." I gave her my best politician smile.

"Be nice to someone else. We're all full here, and if you offer her candy again, I'm voting Republican next term."

"Nice." Beth chuckled once the woman turned around.

"What?"

"She knew you! Yay! Another vote in your favor." She held up her hand for a high five. I glared.

And that was it.

Note to self: Life isn't like the movies, and Beth isn't like any other girl I've ever met.

I'd just had my tongue in her mouth, and we weren't sitting there having a conversation about what it meant for our new relationship. She wasn't doodling my name on her magazine. There were no birds chirping above her head, and no, Celine Dion did not start playing randomly throughout the plane. Instead, she was acting like she had amnesia.

She was acting like she didn't care that I'd just kissed her.

What did it mean? Why the hell had I kissed her? Did that mean we were sharing a room? Was I dating? I didn't date! I tugged at the collar of my shirt again and gasped for more air.

Holy shit.

Not only was I following in Jake's footsteps.

But I'd turned into a woman.

I half-expected birds to start chirping around my head as cheerleaders danced down the aisle with tampons.

Because for the next hour all I could think about was not putting my arm on the armrest for fear that it would brush against hers and she'd think I was doing it on purpose.

And then I was too nervous to drink soda, because then I'd have to piss, and I'd walk by her, and she'd see that I was sweating.

I was losing my cool.

And my entire career was based on the very principle that I could be cool in any situation.

Except this one.

The one that got away was officially sitting next to me on a five hour flight — and was immune to me. Like a damn antibiotic. Shit. I was a disease.

I groaned and put my head in my hands, leaning on the small tray.

My second hour in hell ended with the little girl in front of us turning around again and asking if I had gas. And that when she has gas, she moans too.

Side note: I was never reproducing.