Page 46 of The Bully's Dare

“You’re not giving them any trouble, are you? If you were…you know how that would look on us.”

“No, sir. No trouble. Just something I ate. All good now.”

A pause. The silence makes my stomach knot. Or maybe it’s the spice. I hold it back either way.

“Should I be concerned?” he asks finally.

“Huh?”

“First, there was the incident with the boat. Then, I have to hear that you’re running around in women’s underwear. Now, this.”

“It was a prank, dad. We were just being idiots.”

A labored sigh on the other end. “You’re nineteen. Not a child. You act like that, people are going to think you are a—”

And then he said a word I’d heard him say a thousand times before. It still felt like knives in my chest every time he said it, though.

“Yes, sir,” I responded, the phrase automatic. “I understand.”

“You understand that everything you do reflects on our family.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good.” There’s a pause. “Come home tonight. Your mother wants you there for dinner more than once an eon.”

Then the call ends. But my nerves won’t untangled.

I hand the phone back to Donovan’s dad. “Thanks.”

“Feel better,” he says in a growl, which sounds more like get out of my office.

My throat thickens and I feel myself wanting to get sick again, but I swallow it back. He walks me down the dock and back to the Healing Touch. Makes sure I have everything I need. I get inside and count to five until I can’t hear his footsteps on the planks anymore. Then I dive to the bathroom and puke until nothing else will come up.

I sleep it off for a couple hours. I’m still feeling a little clammy that evening, but I leave the shelter of the boat and head up the docks.

There’s a family a couple boats down. A kid, maybe six, is sitting with his dad, who’s teaching him how to fish. The kid looks fascinated as his dad globs a mess of bait on the end of the hook. It makes me grin. And feel sad for some reason I can’t place.

Kenzi and Donovan are still hard at work. They’re buffing and polishing one of the yachts at the far end of the marina. Kenzi is bent over. Not for the first time, I notice how nice her ass looks. The curving arch of her foot when she stands on her toes. That small dip where her shoulder meets her neck. I love that spot on women—I love kissing it. She’s got her hair pulled back today and, as though she feels me staring, she rubs the sweat from her neck, right there.

Which is when she turns and I smile. Kenzi lights up.

“Man of the hour!” Kenzi calls out.

My heart swells, but I try to play it cool. “Sup?”

“Grab a sponge, Hotshot,” Donovan says.

There’s an extra sponge and bucket on the dock, so I grab both and climb over the railing to join them.

Kenzi hops over to me and glances around fugitively before she pulls something out of the bikini bra of her swimsuit. “We made you something,” she whispers.

It’s a piece of paper. I unfold it. When I do, there’s no more playing it cool—I can’t help the dumb grin I feel spreading across my face.

It’s a drawing of me (and pretty damn good drawing, too) with flames coming out of my mouth like a dragon. I’ve got a star attached to my chest like a sheriff, only it says: “#1 Hotshot” with a hot pepper drawn on the badge.

“Aw. Thanks, guys. I look like a superhero.”

“We’re like the Three Musketeers!” Kenzi says.

---