The Dare

“Thank you,” she breathes the moment we’re alone.

“No problem. Mind if I make myself comfortable?”

“Um, yeah. I mean, no. I don’t mind. Sit if you want. Or—wow, okay, you’re lying down.”

I grin at her visible nervousness. It’s cute. While I stretch out my six-foot-two frame amid the stuffed animals and decorative pillows on the bed, she remains the startled rabbit plastered against the door and breathing heavily.

“Gotta be honest,” I tell her, entwining my hands behind my head, “I’ve never seen a girl so unhappy to be locked in a bedroom with me.”

This has the desired effect of loosening her shoulders and even eliciting a shy smile. “I have no doubt.”

“I’m Conor, by the way.”

She rolls her eyes. “Yeah, I know.”

“What’s the eyeroll for?” I ask, playing wounded.

“No, sorry, I didn’t mean anything by it. Just, I know who you are. You’re, like, campus famous.”

The more I watch her, hands braced at her sides against the door, one knee bent, dirty-blonde hair a little messy and draped over one shoulder, I can’t help picturing myself holding her arms above her head while I explore her body with my mouth. She’s got very kissable skin.

“Taylor Marsh,” she blurts out, and I realize I don’t know how long we were silent until then.

I scoot to the far side of the bed and put a pillow beside me as a divider. “Come on. If we’re going to be in here awhile, let’s at least make friends.”

Taylor laughs out a breath and with it she releases a bit more tension. She’s got a nice smile. Bright, warm. It takes a bit more coaxing, however, to get her on the bed.

“This isn’t like a move,” she tells me, lining up stuffed animal guards to patrol the pillow wall between us. “I’m not some sort of weirdo who tricks men into getting in bed with her and then mauls them.”

“Sure.” I nod with mock seriousness. “But a little mauling would be okay.”