Page 112 of The Dare

I admit, she sounds sincere. Which I suppose means she isn’t entirely devoid of humanity. And it did take courage to come here. She gets bonus points for laying her shit out and taking the blame. That takes integrity.

Maybe it’s never too late to become a better person. For either of us.

“I won’t promise to go to the police,” I tell her. “But I’ll think about it.”

“Fair,” she says, with a smile that reads as hopeful. “Can I make one more suggestion?”

I roll my eyes with a smirk. “If you must.”

“At least let me get my mom to send takedown notices to any sites hosting the video. She’s an attorney,” Abigail explains. “Lots of times she can scare people with just the letterhead. You don’t have to do a thing or talk to anyone.”

Actually, that’s a great idea. I was dreading trying to figure all that shit out. If Abigail’s mother can just use her fancy law degree and make it go away, that’d be swell.

“I’d really appreciate it,” I say, my voice sounding annoyingly shaky. “And I do appreciate you coming over.”

“So…” She twists on her stool like a child. “We’re not sworn enemies anymore?”

“Maybe more like stepsisters.”

“I can live with that.”

41

CONOR

AHORN BLARES. JOLTED, ISNAP UP BUT MAKE IT ONLYinches before my head slams into I don’t know what. I can’t feel my legs. Something is digging into my side. My arm is trapped under my body and the other one is numb, wedged under—

Another horn. Jarring. Earsplitting. A long succession of deafening wails.

Fuck me.

“Wake up, dickhead.”

The screaming horn stops. My head drops toward blinding light as I stare up at a bright blue sky and Hunter Davenport’s face. I realize then that I’m stuffed on the floor of the backseat of his Land Rover, my head now hanging out the open passenger door.

“The fuck?” I grumble, struggling to get my limbs or wits about me. But I’m unable to pry myself free of the tangled puzzle.

“We’ve been looking for you since last night, dipshit.”

Hunter grabs my arms and yanks me out of the SUV,then drops me in a heap on the pavement. With effort and tingles buzzing through every sleeping nerve, I climb to my feet and reach for the vehicle to prop myself up. My brain is blurry, eyes unfocused. My head erupts in pain. For a second I think I’ve got it under control. Then I sprint, unsteady and clumsy, to the grass to upchuck what tastes like Fireball, Red Bull, and Jäger.

I hate myself so much.

“Feel better?” Hunter asks cheerfully, handing me a bottle of water.

“No.” I take a few swigs, swish, and spit it out in the bushes. I know these bushes. I’m near my driveway. I don’t remember leaving the party across town, though. And I definitely don’t remember getting in Hunter’s car. Where’s my Jeep? “Wait. You said you’ve been looking for me?”

“Man, you went MIA last night.”

I check my pockets and find my keys, phone, and wallet. So at least I’m good in that department.

We go back to Hunter’s Rover and lean against the trunk while I take inventory of my last recollections. There was a house party at some friend of Demi’s. The guys were all there. We played beer pong, the usual. I remember pounding shots with Foster and Bucky. A girl. Shit.

“Where’d you go?” Hunter asks, apparently seeing the realization creep across my face.

“I made out with some chick,” I say half as a question.

“Yeah, we all saw. You two were all up on each other in the kitchen. Then you disappeared.”

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