Page 10 of The Dare

I crack a smile. “Or, second, I’d have to kill you for discovering my secret.”

“Or,or, hear me out: you take me on as your muscle and handsome sidekick and we hit the road as soldiers of fortune.”

“Hmm.” I pretend to study him, deliberating. “Tempting offer, comrade.”

“But first we should probably strip search each other to check for wires. You know, to establish trust.”

He’s adorable in an insatiable puppy sort of way.

“Yeah, no.” “You’re no fun.”

I can’t get a read on this guy. He’s sweet, charming, funny—all those sneaky qualities of men that trick us into believing we can turn them into something civilized. But at the same time bold, raw, and completely unpretentious in a way almost no one in college ever is. All of us are just stumbling through self-discovery while putting on a brave face. So how does that square with the Conor Edwards of lore? The man with more notches on his hockey stick than snowflakes in January. Who is the real Conor Edwards?

Why do I care?

“So, uh, what’s your major?” I ask, feeling like a cliché.

His head falls back and he blows out a breath. “Finance, I guess.”

Okay, not what I expected. “You guess?”

“I mean, I’m not really feeling it. It wasn’t my idea.” “Whose idea was it?”

“My stepdad. He got it in his head I’ll go work for him after I graduate. Learn how to run his company.”

“You don’t sound stoked about that,” I say, throwing out some west coast jargon just for him. It earns me a chuckle.

“No, not stoked,” he agrees. “I’d rather get strung up by my balls than put on a suit and stare at spreadsheets all day.”

“What would you rather major in?”

“That’s the thing. I have no idea. I guess I ultimately caved on finance because I couldn’t come up with a better excuse. Couldn’t pretend I had some other great interest, so…”

“Nothing?” I press.

For me, I was torn by so many possibilities. Granted, some of them were leftover fantasies from childhood about being an archaeologist or astronaut, but still. When it came time to decide what I wanted to do for the rest of my life, I had no shortage of options.

“The way I grew up, it’s not like I had any right to expect much,” he says gruffly. “Figured I’d end up working minimum wage with a name tag, or in jail, rather than going to college. So I never really gave it much thought.”

I can’t imagine what that’s like. Staring into your future and having no hope for yourself. It reminds me how privileged I am to have grown up being told I could be anything I wanted, and knowing the money and access were there to back it up.

“Jail?” I try to lighten the mood. “Give yourself more credit, buddy. With your face and body, you would’ve made a killing in porn.”

“You like my body?” He grins, gesturing to his long, muscular frame. “All yours, T. Climb aboard.”

God, I wish. I swallow hard and pretend to be unaffected by his hotness. “Pass.”

“Whatever you say,buddy.”

I roll my eyes.

“What about you?” he asks. “What’s your major? No, wait. Let me guess.” Conor narrows his eyes, studying me for the answer. “Art history.”

I shake my head.

“Journalism.”

Another shake.

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