But though it’s something I feel torn about, I can’t tell him that now. Not again, when we’ve had the discussion several times already about how I want to pave my own way, not get by on his last name.

  Knowing I don’t have time to argue, I take a different tact, striking a button I know he refuses to discuss with me. “Yep! So, does this mean you’re gonna finally find a lucky woman to share all this awesome success with?”

  He immediately looks over his shoulder and then coughs before looking back at the camera. “You know what? I should start preparing for that meeting,” Dad says. “Have a great day, kiddo.”

  With a wink, he’s gone and my phone’s screen blank. “Can you believe that, Sophie?” I say, not surprised by my dad’s reaction. He always gets skittish when I press him about finding a partner, and I sometimes use that knowledge to my benefit. “He wants the play by play on my private life, but as soon as I try to get the scoop on his, he turns into Casper and ghosts.”

  Naturally, Sophie doesn’t answer, and I glance at my clock.

  8:05 . . . less than an hour to get ready, pick up and Tiff, and rush to work.

  “Holy shit!” I hiss, cursing Dad for calling me and wasting precious time. “I gotta get ready!”

  I hop over the bed, nearly falling and busting my head on my dresser, and I’m in the shower in a jiffy. I only have time for a quick shave of my legs before I’m toweling off. I decide to use my fallback hairstyle of a slick bun because my condition and blow-dry routine is too time-consuming after Dad used up all of my spare minutes this morning.

  I apply a light layer of makeup, focusing on my lashes and a matte red for my lips, a few spritzes of my woodsy perfume, and then pull on a white dress shirt and a tight black pencil skirt. Red heels complete the look, making the almost-uniform seem chic and stylish.

  “All right, Sophie,” I tell her as I check myself over in the mirror.

  I look pulled together and professional, like Professional Barbie with my blonde locks, big blue eyes, and boobs too big for my frame—thanks for that, Mom. But I know how to use those attributes to my best advantage too. People don’t often expect a brain like mine to be housed in this packaging, and I’m more than happy to let them underestimate me while I mow right over them, kicking ass and taking names.

  “I need you to hold down the fort.” I grab my purse and work keys off the dresser and head for the front door while saying over my shoulder, “Try not to tear down the house while I’m gone, ’kay?”

  She meows . . . but that could be a good or a bad thing.

  It’s all hustle and bustle to get to Tiffany’s apartment with me nearly getting into a fender bender as I burn rubber across town. But she’s nowhere to be seen when I pull up to the curb, which is unusual for her because she’s always outside before I show up.

  I wait a few minutes before rolling down my window and honking the horn while yelling, “Come on, Tiff, we need to go!”

  When Tiffany fails to appear, I grumble angrily as I jump out of my car and walk up the first-floor walk, ready to pound on her door. I only make it a few steps before I hear booming bass and a voice yelling, “Shake your ass! But watch yourself.”

  “What . . . on . . . earth?” I mutter as I walk up and pound on the door. “Tiffany!” I yell over the music, seeing several neighbors peek out from behind their curtains. “You’ve got three seconds to come out or I’m leaving!”

  As if in response, the door swings open, and instead of Tiffany, I see Ace Young, Tiffany’s older brother, standing there in unbuttoned jeans and no shirt, a can of Coors in his hand.

  Once upon a time, he’d been hot, and I’d told Tiffany so during one of his visits to our college dorm. Hell, the first time I saw him sprawled out on her bed, I’d thought she was hooking up with him and was thinking my girl had done good. I’d been delighted to be wrong, even though girl code dictated that he was look-don’t-touch level only.

  But his glory days are gone.

  What the hell is this fool doing, drinking this early in the morning? I think to myself but then decide I don’t want to know as the smell of his beer breath hits me. He looks like a total mess, his once flat as a board stomach now bloated and soft.

  “Elle?” Ace asks, looking absolutely wasted and making me wonder what the hell is going on with him. Last I knew, he’d landed a good job up north and was seeing an awesome girl with wedding bells on the horizon. But a month ago, he mysteriously returned, much to Tiff’s dismay, sullen, tight-lipped, jobless, and very single, to crash on her couch.

  And he’s been driving her absolutely crazy ever since.

  “How’s it going?”

  “Hey, Ace, where’s Tiff?” I say loudly over the still bumping music, ignoring his question because I don’t want to get drawn into a conversation. “We’re running late for work.” We’re not really late, but any cushion on the clock is gone and we need to go.

  Ace begins to reply but is shoved aside as a familiar voice growls, “Move!”

  Tiffany, my best friend and partner in crime since freshman year dorms, appears looking frazzled, her dark hair pulled back behind her in a messy ponytail and her dress shirt rumpled and buttoned wrong, leaving one tail long and one short. Never mind the fact that it should be tucked in to begin with.

  With her bright, mischievous eyes and brisk demeanor, some people might think we make an odd couple. Friends are supposed to keep you out of trouble and give you sage advice when you’re about to do something stupid.

  Tiffany’s the exact opposite.

  I was already a small-time daredevil in my own right when we met, but she became my main instigator, always upping the ante on me with the dares.

  She’s become something of a devil on my shoulder.

  The Thelma to my Louise.

  And I love her for it because we’ve had some great times. Some really great times.

  It’s unlike Tiff to come out of the house looking barely put together, though, because she’s also the organization to my chaos, so I know whatever delayed her must have been one hell of a reason.

  I open my mouth to ask her what took her so long, but she brushes past me, rushing toward the car, throwing over her shoulder, “Let’s go. I’ll explain in the car.”

  “Bye, Ace,” I say quickly, turning to rush after Tiffany.

  “See ya, Elle,” Ace replies, watching me through bleary eyes. Behind him somewhere, the music begs me and everyone in the building to ‘show me what you’re working with!’

  Classy AF, Ace. Really.

  Tiffany yells back over her shoulder, “Turn that shit down before my neighbors call the cops!”

  He does at least look chagrined, and before we even close the car doors, the music quiets.

  “What the hell was that all about?” I demand as we pull away from the curb. “Drinking this early in the morning?”

  Tiffany bangs her head against the headrest, her eyes closed. “I’m going to kill him. He was up all night and then commandeered the bathroom for forty-five minutes this morning, doing God knows what, because he sure as hell wasn’t taking a shower.” Her nose crinkles cutely even though she’s talking about Ace’s stale body odor.

  “Jacking off?” I offer.

  Tiffany makes several retching noises. “Ew! But seriously, I don’t know what to do with him. He goes off like he’s going to conquer the world, then comes back a shadow of his former self, refusing to talk about what happened . . . all while making my apartment living room his official man cave.” Tiffany growls, but her fire is dimming, replaced with sadness. “It’s almost as if he met some crazy succubus out there that sucked the life right out of him and replaced him with . . .”

  She loses her voice for a moment, shaking her head. At the worried look in her eyes, I feel a pang of sadness too. I know Ace is in pain, and whatever is going on with him hurts Tiffany too because she loves her brother like I love tacos and cake, which is a lot. Complaining about him to me is her way of dealing with it, and I suspect, her way of coming up with a plan to fix whatever mess he’s in.

  That’s Tiffany’s way of showing love. She’ll fix your shit right up, whether you want her to or not.

  “Maybe you should try getting him some help,” I offer gently. “Looks like whatever’s going on with him, it’s not healthy.”

  “You’re telling me,” Tiffany mutters, “except I’m pretty sure he’d just tell a therapist to fuck off as it is right now.”

  She looks sad and lost in thought as she nibbles her lower lip. “I do worry about him, though, which is why I’m putting up with it . . . for now.”

  I reach out and gently pat her hand. “Everything’s going to be okay, Tiff. He’ll come to his senses eventually.”

  “I hope so,” Tiffany sighs. “I really do. Because if he doesn’t get his shit together soon, I’m going to have to put my foot down.”

  And that’s one thing I love about Tiffany. She might be a shit-stirring, grade-A professional instigator who likes to play around, but when it comes to serious issues, she can show a surprisingly level of maturity.

  “Anyway,” Tiff says, waving a hand and wiping at her eye in one flourish while appearing to simultaneously brighten up, “did you get your usual call from Daddy this morning?”

  “Tiff!” I protest, glaring daggers at the nickname she’s adopted for my dad. Tiffany has disturbingly let me know that she has a crush on my dad.

  I let her know just as certainly that he is off limits because it gives me the heebie-jeebies whenever I think about it. I love my dad and I want him to find a woman who’s a perfect fit for him. Grown up, professional, a woman who can be his equal.

  And while I love her to death, Tiffany is none of those things.

  “What?” Tiff asks innocently as I keep glaring at her.

  “Stop calling him that! Maybe Ace isn’t the only one who needs a therapy appointment.” I throw my voice into a caricature of my professional tone. “Daddy issues . . . right this way, please.”

  “I’m just playing. Chill.”

  “Yes, I did talk to him this morning . . . and no, he didn’t ask about you.”

  “Whatever.” Tiffany laughs, knowing not to press my buttons any further on the issue.

  Everything’s good until we get off the freeway and run smack dab into traffic.

  “Ugh!” Tiffany groans as we watch four cars get through the intersection ahead before stopping. “It’s like everyone and their grandma is in the way!”

  “What do you want me to do?” I ask, drumming my fingers on the steering wheel. “There’s a garbage truck ahead, you know.”

  “So?” Tiffany asks.

  “What the hell does that mean?”

  Tiffany grins, pointing to the oncoming lane which is currently empty. “Pop it.”

  I look over at her grinning face, her perfectly white model’s smile tweaked into that little tilt that I know way too well. “Are you nuts? Intersections like this, you know the cops—”

  “Just skip ahead. I dare ya.”

  The words hang in the air, and Tiffany’s grin widens as I turn my attention back to the road, my hand resting on the gear shift. “Fine . . . on the green.”

  Up ahead, the light goes green and I floor it, throwing my Camaro into first while jerking my steering wheel to the left. Adrenaline rushes through me, filling my blood as we rocket through the intersection and beyond. Up ahead, I see the problem—a city sewer repair truck—but I’m committed now.

  “Elle, there’s—” Tiffany yells, but I see it. A flagman, traffic . . . oncoming traffic.

  I push it a little harder, shooting the gap and jerking my wheel back to the right just in time to avoid getting my bumper clipped by a soccer mom in an oversized SUV. “Yes!”

  I don’t let up, making a quick right and then a left a block later to try and not be followed by the cops before I merge back onto the main road and slow down like everything’s normal. “That was fun.” I pat the dashboard of my baby. “Good girl, Cammie.”

  Next to me, Tiffany looks like she’s ready to lose her breakfast, and I’m betting she only had coffee. Wiping the sweat off her brow, she gasps. “Damn, girl. That was close.”

  I grin like I just did something amazing. It really wasn’t even that close. It was definitely a bitch move to make, and those folks had every right to honk at me, but it wasn’t nearly as dangerous as Tiffany’s making it out to be.

  Dare done.

  And that adrenalin wears off, leaving me buzzed and fizzy inside, ready to tackle another day.

  Read the rest of The Dare here!

  About the Author

  Big Fat Fake Series:

  My Big Fat Fake Wedding || My Big Fat Fake Engagement || My Big Fat Fake Honeymoon

  Standalones:

  Drop Dead Gorgeous || The Dare || The Blind Date

  Bennett Boys Ranch:

  Buck Wild || Riding Hard || Racing Hearts

  The Tannen Boys:

  Rough Love || Rough Edge || Rough Country

  Dirty Fairy Tales:

  Beauty and the Billionaire || Not So Prince Charming || Happily Never After

  Get Dirty:

  Dirty Talk || Dirty Laundry || Dirty Deeds || Dirty Secrets

 

 

  Lauren Landish, The Truth

 

 

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