Page 43 of The Dare

“Taylor, I want—”

“No.” I stop him, holding my hand out to keep some air between us. I can’t think straight when he’s in my bubble. “Me first.”

“Okay then.” Shrugging, he takes a seat on the small loveseat while I gather my nerves.

“I was shitty to you the other night,” I say ruefully. “And I’m sorry. You were right—I was embarrassed. I don’t like attention—good or bad. So having a room full of people staring at me is like the fucking worst. But you only did that silly lap dance because you thought you were saving me from a much worse fate, and I didn’t thank you or at least give you some credit for trying. That wasn’t fair. And then with the…” Somehow I don’t think I can say “kiss” out loud without moaning, “…the outside stuff, I panicked. That wasn’t your fault.”

“Well, except for when I started in with the fashion advice,” he points out with a self-deprecating smile.

“Yeah, no, that one was all you, jerkface. You shoulda known better.”

“Trust me, I know. I already got an earful from both Demi and Summer. Friends’ girlfriends,” he clarifies when he notices my blank look.

“You talked to your friends’ girlfriends about our fight?” For some reason, I’m oddly touched.

“Yeah.” He shrugs adorably. “Needed someone to tell me where I fucked up. Apparently the clothing critique was a crime against your womanhood.”

I snort.

Conor holds up his hands in surrender. “And it wasn’t even what I meant to say. My brain just short circuited after…” Mimicking me a little, he winks and says, “the outside stuff, and I lost all control of my better judgment or the part that stops me from making an ass of myself.” He flashes that cheeky smile that never fails to make my heart race. “Forgive me?”

“You’re forgiven.” I pause. “Forgive me for bitching out on you?”

“You’re forgiven.” Tentatively, he stands, inching toward me. He towers over me with his athletic frame. “So. Friends again?”

“Friends.”

Conor pulls me in for a hug and it’s like I never left his arms. I don’t know if I want it to stop. I don’t know how he does it, makes me feel so comfortable with just a hug or a smile.

“Want a ride to campus with me? I’ve got class in an hour. We can grab some coffee?”

“Sounds good.” I sit on his bed as he gets dressed and comes in and out of his bathroom gathering his stuff. “I was wondering something.”

“Yeah?” He stops in the doorway with his toothbrush in his mouth.

“Would you want to hang out this weekend? Maybe come shopping with me in Boston?”

Conor holds up one finger and disappears. A few seconds later, he returns wiping his mouth with a washcloth. “I can’t, babe. I’ve got a semi-final game in Buffalo.”

“Oh, shit, right. I knew that. No biggie. Some other—”

“Take my Jeep.” Conor tosses the washcloth in his laundry hamper.

“What?”

“Yeah, come to my game,” he says, his eyes lighting up. “You drive down to Buffalo in my Jeep and I’ll ask Coach for permission to skip out on the bus ride back. We can stay an extra night and go shopping, hang out, whatever.”

“Are you sure? I feel like that’s a big ask.”

He aims his crooked smirk at me. Pulling out the heavy artillery, I see. “If we win, I want you there to celebrate with us. If we lose, you can get me drunk and help me feel better.”

“Oh yeah? I don’t know if I’m prepared for the kind of ego stroking that would require.”

He laughs at the innuendo. It feels good being able to joke around again. All we have to do is pretend that foolish kiss never happened, and everything can just go back to the way it was before.

That is, if we both ignore the implications of spending a weekend out of town together.

“So it’s a plan?” he asks.

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