Page 23 of The Dare

“Yeah, babe, I’m game.” Conor rips his tie from his shirt collar and flings it across the room.

I roll my eyes. “Not that.”

“Tease.”

I take a seat on his bed against the headboard and put one of his pillows between us like he did the last time wefound ourselves alone in a room together. The blue plaid bed set says his mom picked out something masculine for him at Neiman Marcus. It’s very soft, and smells like him—sandalwood, with the salty hint of the ocean.

“I want to know—what was that display at the banquetreallyabout?”

“I already told you.”

“Yeah, and I think there’s more to the story. So, spill.”

“Wouldn’t you rather make out?” He climbs onto the mattress beside me, and suddenly the bed feels very, very tiny. Is this actually a king-size? Because he’sright there, and one measly pillow isn’t going to protect me from the heat of his athletic body and the scent of his after-shave.

I force myself not to be affected by the sexy grin he flashes me. “Conor,” I say with the tone I use with my first graders when one of them won’t share the crayons.

His flirtatious smile evaporates. “If I said you didn’t want to know, would you just trust me and let it go?”

“No.” I meet his gaze head-on. “Tell me why you did what you did at the alumni banquet.”

On a deep sigh he rubs his hands over his face and combs his hair out of his eyes. “I don’t want to hurt you.” The confession comes out in a mumble.

“I’m a big girl. If you respect me, tell me the truth.”

“Damn, T. Right in the fucking feels.”

He looks at me with such pained eyes, I have to brace for the worst. That maybe Abigail put him up to the whole thing, that they planned it together. That first dare, the love-bombing at Woolsey Hall…it was all a big scheme to make me catch feelings for him. Only now he’s having regrets? It’sa mortifying scenario, but it also wouldn’t be the worst thing Abigail’s ever done.

“Fine. But keep in mind, these are their words, not mine.”

He recounts overhearing Abigail and Jules talking with their boyfriends earlier about my “hook-up” with Conor. I flinch when he explains in an unhappy tone that their conversation included discussion of my potential as a porn actress, among other digs.

Lovely.

He’s right, I could have lived without the gory details.

Before he’s even stopped speaking, I’m feeling nauseated. My stomach twists at the thought of Conor hearing them say all that shit about me.

“I’m still twenty pounds from my goal porn star weight,” I joke at my own expense.

Most of the time, if you make fun of yourself first, it takes all the wind out of the fat-shaming sails. Showing people you’re self-aware softens their aversion to having a chubby friend. Because it’s important to everyone that we know our place.

“Don’t do that.” Conor sits up to level me with narrowed eyes. “There’s nothing wrong with the way you look.”

“It’s okay. You don’t need to make me feel better. I have no delusions about how people see me.” The jabs land every time, but by now the nerve endings are mostly dead. At least, that’s what I tell myself. “I was a chubby kid. I was a chubby teenager.” I shrug. “I’ve struggled with weight my whole life. This is what I am, and I’ve accepted that.”

“No, you don’t get it, Taylor.” Frustration crosses his expression. “Your body isn’t something you have to make excuses for.I know I’ve said this before, and I guess I’ll keep saying it until you believe me, but you’re smoking hot. I’d do you right now, in a heartbeat, six different ways if you’d let me.”

“Shut up your whole face.” I laugh.

He doesn’t laugh with me. Rather, he gets off the bed and turns his back to me.

Oh crap. Is he mad that I told him to shut up? I thought we were kidding around. That’s our thing, right? Wait. Do we know each other well enough to have a thing?Fuck.

“Con—”

Before I can fix whatever I’ve broken, Conor starts unbuttoning his shirt, then peels it off his shoulders.

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