Page 32 of The Bully's Dare

“Literally anywhere.”

He opens his mouth to say something, but he’s interrupted by a shout—“Hey!”

Donovan charges down the dock with a scowl. He’s in a stained shirt and jeans with too many rips in them—he’s clearly in the middle of laundry day. He snaps at Jason: “Give me my shirt back.”

Jason takes a couple steps back, but he isn’t retreating—he’s grinning, like a cat playing with the mouse before it strikes. “What…is this shirt yours? I had no idea.”

“Give. It. Back.”

Jason takes off the shirt then and holds it out to Donovan.

“I was only borrowing it, dude,” Jason says, as though they’re friends now. “Chill.”

Donovan’s face is red. He snatches the shirt back.

Ugh. This got ugly quick.

“Hey, Jason,” I say, “next time you want to go through someone’s laundry, I’ve got a pair of panties that are your color.”

Jason winks at me. “Take them off on our date and I’ll consider it.”

I wrinkle my nose at him. “There is no date.”

“We’ll see.”

Jason exits, climbing on board the Healing Touch. I sigh and turn back to Donovan. “Are you okay—?”

But Donovan is already halfway up the dock, his back to me.

13

Jason

It’s two pm on a Tuesday and I’m already buzzed.

I lounge across the picnic table on the lawn, my legs hanging off the edge. The sun warms me and I close my eyes.

Around me, I hear sounds of chatter—Amy and Brett, gossiping about the last episode of Flavor of Love. The boombox beats and clears out any chaos inside my skull.

I’m lazy. Warm. A lion, king of the jungle, sunning himself on Pride fucking Rock.

“Hey, King.”

I squint my eyes open to see Nick coming down the gravel pathway from the shitty laundry room. The locals use it for—well, laundry, I guess. Everyone else uses it as a place to get high.

“Sup?”

“Check this out.”

I peel myself up and hop off the table. I follow Nick into the laundry room and he nods to the corkboard.

They’ve got notices pinned here—reminders of when and where to pay slip fees, someone’s desperate attempt at a pot luck. And something else: a note in girly handwriting that says, For the laundry thief…I think these are yours?

And pinned to the note, a pair of red, lacy women’s panties.

I chuckle. Well played, Kenzi.

“You know what this is?” Nick asks.

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