Page 87 of The Dare

“You were right,” I say with a wink.

“Well, obviously.” She pauses. “About what, though?”

“Hey man.” Hunter approaches us cautiously. “Everything okay?”

“It will be.” I pull out the envelope of cash and hand it to him.

Demi narrows her eyes at the handoff. “What’s that?” she demands.

Hunter takes the money, confused. “But why?”

“Answer me, monk,” grumbles Demi, tugging on Hunter’s sleeve. “What’s happening?”

I shrug and answer Hunter. “Don’t need it anymore.”

He appears understandably relieved, though I don’t envy the interrogation he’s about to endure from his girlfriend.

“Go easy on him,” I tell Demi. “He’s a good guy.”

“You want to stay and order a pizza?” Hunter offers. “We’re just chilling tonight.”

“Can’t. I’m late for a dance.”

Leaving Hunter’s place, I call Kai. Already the tightness in my chest has subsided, and my hands are steady as the phone rings.

“You here?” he says.

“I don’t have your money.”

“Don’t fuck with me, bro. I make one phone call—”

“I’m going to tell Max it was my fault.” The resolve in my voice surprises me. And I become more assured of my decision with every word. “I’ll leave your name out of it. For now. But if you call me again, if I so much as feel you sniffing around, I’ll out you in a heartbeat. Don’t try me, Kai. This is your last chance.”

I hang up on him. Then, steeling my nerves, I make another call.

32

TAYLOR

IVIOLENTLY DON’T WANT TO BE HERE.

As in, I’m considering grabbing a steak knife off the nearest table and taking a hostage on my way out a shattered window to make my escape.

Sasha and I have taken up a strategic position near a stack of speakers to deter others from trying to talk to us. She also commandeered some expensive champagne, which is dribbling down our dresses as we drink straight from the bottle while watching Charlotte run around the dance floor chastising sisters for twerking on their dates in front of concerned boomers. We had to leave the DJ booth because alumni kept asking Sasha to play Neil Diamond and ABBA and she threatened to take the next one’s eye out with a fork, so I forced her to take a break.

“You should go dance with Eric,” I tell her, spotting him on the floor. He seems to be having a great time despite the fact that his date’s all but abandoned him to the wolves.

“And miss the chance to judge everyone condescendingly from the corner? Do you not even know me?”

“I mean it. Just because I’m resigned to wallow in self-pity doesn’t mean you have to suffer with me.”

“That’s exactly what it means,” she says. “Or, you could chug the rest of this bottle and get white girl wasted on the dance floor all over some overdressed trust-fund boy.”

“Not in the mood.”

“Oh come on.” Sasha takes another swig of champagne and wipes her mouth with her arm, painting it with lipstick. “We got all dressed up and shaved our legs. The least we can do is have something to regret in the morning.”

Ha. I already have regrets. For example, what the hell I was thinking when I picked out this ridiculous dress? The tight black fabric makes my tits look like two squished hams and every fold and lump is pouring out like toothpaste from a tube. I feel disgusting and I can’t remember why I’d been so excited looking in the mirror and imagining Conor’s face when he saw me.

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