Page 34 of The Dare

Why am I not surprised? I feel like he’s got Spidey senses that alert him whenever chicks are discussing his penis.

All six feet and two inches of him comes striding through the diner toward our table. He’s in his black-and-silver Briar Hockey jacket and a pair of dark-blue jeans that hug his long legs. Steely gray eyes sparkle with mischief as he combs one hand through his long blond hair. When his gaze lands on me, the excitement in his full, broad smile does a number on my head. And my pulse.

Oh Lord. Men shouldn’t get to be so pretty.

“Babe, I missed you.” Conor snatches me up from my chair and wraps me in his arms.

He smells so good. I don’t know what kind of products he uses, but he always smells vaguely of the ocean. And coconut. I love coconut.

“What are you doing here?” I whisper.

“Having dinner with my girlfriend,” he says with a sly smirk that suggests he’s up to no good. “She tries to keep me locked up in her bedroom all day,” Conor tells the table, “but I thought it’d be fun to meet her friends.”

For one terrifying moment I think he’s leaning in to kiss me and I lick my lips and inhale slowly, my entire body braced and rigid.

Instead, he presses the lightest touch of his lips to the tip of my nose. In the aftermath, I don’t know whether I’m disappointed or relieved.

“So this happened fast.” Olivia makes room for Conor to pull up a chair and sit between me and her. I don’t miss the way her hungry gaze follows his every movement.

“Did you two know each other before the party?” Lisa asks. Her eyes aren’t as ravenous—probably as to not humiliate her boyfriend any further—but she’s as focused on Conor as Olivia is.

“No, we didn’t,” I answer for him. “We met for the first time that night.”

“She blew my mind.” Conor puts his arm around my shoulders, drawing tiny patterns with his fingertips. “Time is relative.”

Just to fuck with him, I place my hand on his thigh and tell the group, “He’s already trying to convince me to let him move in with me.”

But my fuckery attempt backfires. First off, his thigh is rock hard beneath my palm. Second…well, I can’t think of a second thing right now because my hand is on Conor Edwards’ thigh.

Before I can snatch my hand away, Conor covers my knuckles with one big palm, effectively trapping me there. The warmth of his touch has me fighting a hot shiver.

“Obviously my girl thinks it’s too soon,” he says solemnly. “But I disagree. It’s never too soon to show how committedyou are, right?” He directs this to the boyfriends, who each blurt out clichés in a mad scramble to avoid winding up in the doghouse.

“Yeah, if it’s meant to be, it’s meant to be,” says Cory.

“When you know, you know,” agrees Shep.

Sasha snorts loudly, then takes a sip of her soda.

“Conor loves commitment,” I explain. “He’s been planning his wedding since he was a little boy. Right, babe?”

“Right.” He sharply pinches my thumb, but his expression is all innocence.

“He even has one of those, what do you call it, Con? A love board?”

“It’s just a Pinterest account, babe.” He glances around the table. “How am I gonna know what kind of wedding reception centerpieces I like if I don’t have some options to choose from, amiright?”

Olivia, Lisa and Robin all but rip off their panties and throw them at Conor’s beautiful head. Sasha meanwhile looks like she’s struggling not to laugh.

“You getting married, Con?” a new voice drawls. “What, did my invite get lost in the mail?”

I look over to see a stunning woman in all black sauntering up to the table. She lightly bumps Conor’s shoulder with her hip, a wry smile playing on her full red lips.

This chick is drop-dead gorgeous. Dark hair, dark eyes, those vixen lips. And she’s rocking the kind of perfect body I can only dream of—slender waist, long limbs, and perfectly proportioned breasts.

Immediately I feel self-conscious in my leggings and loose white sweater. I tend to wear oversized shirts that falloff one shoulder, because they hide the curves beneath them but still show off a bit of skin. Bare shoulders are the safe kind of skin. The rest stays hidden.

“Sorry, Bren, you’re not invited,” Conor drawls back. “You’re too much trouble.”

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