The Dare

LAYLA

"Well, that sucked giant balls." I close the door with a little more force than necessary, relieved to be back home in my apartment. The television's on in the living room and it looks like my housemate's been watching one of her serial killer documentaries to wind down before bed. "Millie!" I call out. "Where are you?"

"Bathroom!" she yells back. "There in a sec."

I slip off my black stilettos and rest my hand against the wall, lifting my foot to massage my tortured toes. At twenty-five, I think I've just worn my last pair of heels--and I'm ninety-nine percent sure I'm done with dating apps, too.

I rub my other foot and straighten, wondering why I keep putting myself through this crap. I've just wasted two precious hours listening to a man go on and on about his psycho exes and how women are all the same and you can't trust a single one of them, you know? News flash, buddy: if all your exes are psychos, you either made them that way or you have a type.

Oh shit. Awareness speeds through me, and I stiffen in realisation. Does that mean I have a type? Am I attracting these men... or am I actively seeking them out? I don't know which answer's worse. I close my eyes and lean against the wall. Dammit. Maybe I'm the problem here.

"Oh, Layla. What happened?"

I open my eyes to find Millie standing in the hallway. She's a willowy blonde goddess with blue eyes and a sweet personality, all wrapped up in a pair of short, pink pyjamas. Millie's had her share of dating disasters too, but with a new girlfriend in her life who appears as if she might be a permanent presence, my best friend is disgustingly loved up and off the market.

"Another dud. All he did was talk about women--many, many women--and he got himself so worked up he sounded unhinged." I push off the wall and nudge my discarded shoes to the side. "Sometimes I wish I could be into women, but you're beautiful and when I look at you, my vagina does nothing. Not even a twinge. It's dead down there."

Millie smiles and returns to the oversized corner couch, patting the spot beside her in invitation. "Come sit with me."

I yank down the hem of my stupid, suffocating dress and cross the room, sinking onto the couch with a sigh. "Maybe I should forget about men for a while and work on being happy alone." As soon as the words leave my mouth, I wail and fall against the backrest. "I can't, though," I say, feeling hopeless. "I love dick. I hate that I love dick."

Millie drops a cushion on her lap and encourages me to rest my head there. I turn on my side and lay in the fetal position with my legs curled beneath me, letting her play with my long, dark hair. She sifts the strands through her fingers until she has me shivering in response. It feels nice. Comforting. It makes me immediately suspicious.

"You're softening me up to deliver a tough love speech, aren't you?" I ask, closing my eyes.

"Maybe." There's a smile in her voice.

I try to relax and take slow breaths to ease the lingering tension from my date, but my curiosity grows, and I can't let it go. "All right, let me have it. Tell me where I'm going wrong."

"I can see right down your dress," she says. "The neckline's so low your boobs are falling out."

"I'm sorry. If there's one thing I know for sure, I have great tits. Being in a committed relationship and all, that must be very frustrating for you."

Millie lets out a huff of laughter and smacks my shoulder. "That's not what I'm talking about."

"Why don't you explain it to me, then?"

When she resumes her stroking motions through my hair, I want to purr like a cat. She has the most gentle hands and looks after me so much better than I deserve. "You don't need to do this, Layla. The dress, the heels, the full face of makeup. It's fun for women who are into it. I love getting all girly and dressed up--but it's just not you. I think you're attracting dodgy men because all the good ones can sense you're not being real with them."

"But this is what I need to do if I want to get noticed. Guys are dating multiple women these days. It's competitive out there." I try to keep my voice calm, but the frustration's creeping in again. "How am I supposed to win the prize if I don't play the game?"

Millie sweeps my hair away from my face and trails her fingertips over my forehead, swirling circles that have me cuddling closer to her. "Layla, honey, you're the prize. The quicker you embrace that, the luckier you'll be with men."

Affection flows through me, and I smile. Millie's known me for so long that she's forgotten how I can come across to new people. I border on too blunt, too honest. I have a smart mouth that offends almost as much as it amuses. If I don't play up my appearance and dull down my personality, I won't get another first date, let alone progress to a second one. "You're like the sister I never had," I admit, "and you're so loyal it blinds you to all my faults."

She plays with the gold hoop in my ear, pausing a minute while she considers my comment. "Or maybe you're so critical of yourself that you don't see all your amazing qualities."

I roll onto my back and rest my hands on my stomach, thinking about her observation. Millie's the kindest person I know. She cares for everyone with the same enthusiasm regardless of how well she knows you, and she shares herself around like it fills her cup rather than taking something from her. If a woman like her can like me, love me, and treat me like I'm special, maybe she understands how the outside world views me better than I do. I don't know.

"I have a challenge for you," she says.

I tilt my head back a little to meet her eyes. "That tone has an evil-plan ring to it, and I already want no part of whatever you're about to say."

She smiles. "Hannah and I are going out for drinks tomorrow night at The Crest. Nice and early before the crowds show up. Come with us."

Maybe not so evil after all. At least I'll have fun with Millie and her girlfriend, and I won't come home feeling dejected. "All right. I can do that."

"There's a catch, though."

I blow out a sigh. "Isn't there always?"

She ignores me and dives straight into the details. "You need to be yourself. Completely yourself. Casual clothes, natural hair. No makeup--and none of this on show." She shakes the neckline of my dress so my boobs do a little jig.

"You enjoyed that, didn't you?" I ask, looking up at her again.

She lets out an embarrassed laugh. "A tiny bit."

I smile. "Is that all? Nothing more to add?"

"One more thing."

I cover my face with my hands and groan. "No. The answer's no."

She ignores my protest. "Hannah and I get to pick a guy at random, and you have to approach him with your true personality--no holding back or dimming your light--then come away from the conversation with his number."

I pull my hands down and laugh. "Oh great. Easy. Let's just go there right now and do this thing."

Millie gives me a patient smile and smooths my hair back from my forehead. "I care about you, Layla, and I want to see you happy. It's time for a change, and sometimes change means getting uncomfortable."

~ * ~

Once we grab our drinks and settle in at a corner table, Millie and Hannah get straight to work scouring the pub for a suitable candidate-slash-victim. At this early hour, the place isn't all that busy, so we'll be waiting a while. I don't know if that's a good thing or a bad thing.

I glance around the room, taking in the circular bar in the centre and the pool tables off to one side. People are still enjoying meals in the seating area, but soon enough they'll clear out to make way for the rowdier crowd who are here to get drunk and dance.

"So... not many options, huh?" I ask, raising my brows. "Should we can this idea?"

"Not a chance," Hannah says with a smile. "This is going to be the best entertainment I've had in a while." Her sleek red hair is shaved at the temple and stops at her jawline in a blunt cut. She's wearing jeans with a green sleeveless top that shows off the colourful tattoos adorning both arms.

Millie's decked out tonight in a royal blue dress with her blonde hair in a big, bouncy ponytail. "I can't wait to see you in action," she says.

And me? Well, I look like I got dressed in the dark. Charcoal t-shirt with ABBA on the front, black denim skirt, and a pair of sneakers that were bright white about two years ago. My hair falls to the middle of my back in its natural waves, and I've left my face completely free of makeup--not even lip gloss to soften the look. Au naturel, and ready to frighten some poor, unsuspecting man.

"Please don't do me dirty and pick someone you know I won't like," I beg. "Or a man who's way out of my league."

"We've got you." Millie reaches over the table to squeeze my hand. "Stop worrying."

"It's true." Hannah takes a sip of her drink. "I might not be into penis, but I still know a hot guy when I see one."

"Not too hot," I repeat. "Just... semi-hot. Approachable. Nice face, but not so pretty or put together that I shouldn't be standing next to him, let alone trying to get his number."

"Layla." Millie gives me her signature look that falls somewhere between compassionate and cut-the-shit. "You've got this. You'll be okay--more than okay."

"Your faith in me is concerning." I suck down the last mouthful of the Aperol Spritz she bought for me and grimace. So gross, but she loves the stuff, and I don't have the heart to tell her it's like guzzling a rotten orange.

I lean back in my chair and the three of us spend a while exchanging banter and laughs. We each sip our way through another drink, and Millie and Hannah share touches and glances that remind me of why I don't want to give up on love. I need intimacy in my life, to feel like I'm part of something special, and to end my months-long dry spell with endless make-out sessions and lots of sex.

"He just walked in," Hannah says, her voice breathy and awestruck.

"Who? Where?" My heart thuds as I snap my head around to follow her gaze. When Millie whispers her agreement with a 'yes' that sounds more like it belongs in the bedroom, dread trickles through me. I scan the room, wondering how good a man needs to look to inspire that reaction from two lesbians.

There's only one new arrival, so it doesn't take me long to spot him getting settled at the bar. As soon as I see him, I immediately recoil from the sight. "No way!" I say, shooting my friends a disbelieving look. "I'd be punching so hard. I'll offend him just by going over there and saying hello to him."

He's wearing a leather jacket with a black t-shirt underneath, and a pair of battered jeans that make him look effortlessly casual. His dark hair is just long enough to reach the nape of his neck and fall over his face as he leans his elbows on the counter. From a distance, his eyes appear brown or hazel, and when he looks up at the approaching bartender with his deep, soulful gaze, I suck in a breath. He's gorgeous, like a model who just fell from the pages of a magazine and landed in a bar.

"That's most definitely the guy," Hannah says with so much certainty that I wonder if we're looking at the same man.

"He's perfect for her," Millie adds. "Did you see the way he walked in here?"

Hannah smiles. "Straight to the bar without looking around. No peacocking to see who noticed."

"Hmm." Millie agrees. "He's hot, but he knows it doesn't mean anything. You can't take credit for genetics."

"Oh my God." I groan and tip my head back. "If I go over there, will you two shut up? You sound ridiculous."

When I lower my gaze again, both women are looking at me. Millie laughs while Hannah smiles and says, "Go get him."

I'm questioning several life choices at this point, but it's time to set aside my pride and embarrass myself for the entertainment of others. At least it'll give us some cringeworthy stories to tell, and in a decade or so, I might even be able to laugh about it. "Okay then. Prepare to witness my humiliation. When it all crashes and burns, I expect grovelling apologies from both of you."

"You'll kill it," Millie says. "Just be yourself. Your real self. Go with every instinct and don't worry about how it looks. Every instinct," she repeats.

Oh, okay. Simple as that.

~ * ~

I approach the bar with the mindset that he'll shut me down as soon as I speak to him, so I have nothing to lose other than my dignity. With all the failed dates I've been on recently, that's already in the gutter. This will be over in minutes--seconds even--then I can go back to the table with my friends, content in the knowledge that they have no idea what the fuck they're talking about.

With a bracing breath and a prayer to the Goddess above, I slide onto the barstool beside the man and immediately want to inhale him. He smells divine, like leather and soap and broken hearts. I order a hard cider and pay with my phone, then turn my mobile to silent mode and rest it face down on the bar. If Millie and Hannah blow it up with their commentary, I want to avoid the distraction.

I don't look the man's way until I've taken my first sip.

Unfortunately, he's even more impressive up close. Big, broad shoulders, dark brows, sensual lips, and a smooth jaw that I want to rub my cheek against. Ugh. I love men so much--their smell, their muscles, the way their arms feel around you, their straightforward, uncomplicated brains. I just wish I could find one who loves me.

"Why are you staring at me?" he asks, keeping his gaze directed at his drink.

His voice is deeper than I expected, and the hint of amusement means we're off to a good start. "I'm just wondering why you look so sad. Did you miss out on a big modelling contract or something?"

He lifts his head, and when he turns on his barstool to face me, I fight not to shrink back from the masculinity oozing from him. It's almost too much. His gaze moves over me, skimming my face, my breasts, taking in my clothes. His mouth turns up on one side. "Did you come straight here from a skateboarding convention?"

I smile and swivel on my stool to fully face him. Another good sign. We're both fluent in smart ass. "I left my board outside. I can show you a sick kick-flip later if you like."

Rather than answer me, a smile hovers on his lips, and I swear the buzz of attraction ignites between us.

"So, why the sad face?" I prod.

"My girlfriend broke up with me."

My eyes widen as I reach for my drink. "Bullshit," I say, taking a sip.

He nods, holding my gaze. For a split second, I wonder if it's a line meant to generate sympathy, but he wouldn't need to resort to those tactics to reel women in. "When?"

"Couple of weeks ago."

"Is this your first time out since it happened?" Am I the first woman he's spoken to as well? I don't want to be the rebound.

He nods again without elaborating.

"Why did she dump you?" I haven't even looked over my shoulder to spare my friends a glance, but I can feel their eyes on me.

"Differing opinions. No option for compromise."

"Interesting." A bigger group of people have just walked in, a party of a dozen or more who raise the noise level around us. Some of them approach the bar on either side of us, but the man keeps his eyes on me. The unhinged guy I went on a date with last week watched every woman walk by without even trying to disguise his interest. "How long were you together?"

"Twelve months."

Hmm. Long enough to get attached and start thinking about the future, but short enough to move on with no lingering memories holding him back. I instantly feel better. "So... what exactly does it take for a woman to dump a guy like you?" And I'm not just referring to his looks anymore. I like his vibe. Relaxed, confident, attentive.

"She wanted to open up the relationship and fuck other people."

"Oh." Not the answer I expected, but hearing his deep voice say fuck? Delicious. "And what do you want?"

"To give all my time and energy to one woman."

"Kinky."

His husky laugh has visions of messy hair, tangled sheets, and soft moans filling my head. His eyes connect with mine. "You're a little shit, aren't you?"

Uh oh. "What gave it away?"

"Every word you've spoken since you came over here on a dare from your friends. What's your name?" he asks before I can stumble around and try to defend myself.

"Umm... Layla?"

"You need some time to think about it?"

"Layla," I repeat with confidence, narrowing my eyes at him. "What's yours?"

"Dalton."

"Dammit. You even have a model's name."

He lifts his brows. "Yours is kind of girly for a tomboy."

My cheeks go warm with excitement after a mere five minutes in his company. I'm that easy. "Don't worry, I'm girly everywhere it counts."

Dalton leans his elbow on the bar and gives me a relaxed smile. "Why don't you talk to me more about that?"

I laugh and meet his eyes; they're the golden brown of bourbon, framed with thick, dark lashes. Pretty, pretty eyes. "Hmm. Well... for starters, I'm wearing some fancy-ass lingerie underneath my clothes."

I like to wear expensive pieces, with the one proviso that they have to be comfortable. It gives me a thrill whenever I'm out in public and helps satisfy the amateur exhibitionist in me. Tonight it's a black lace g-string and bra set that makes me feel confident and puts a bounce in my step. Literally. The bra's cupless, and the print on my tee hides the fact that I'm basically free-boobing it underneath.

His gaze drops to my t-shirt as if he's suddenly developed X-ray vision--or he wishes he had. "I'm not buying it. Doesn't go with the image. I'm picturing black panties with skulls on them and a bra that doesn't match."

And that's exactly why I love the combination of casual clothes with secret lingerie. No one expects it, and it makes me feel feminine and sexy without having to project that image to the world. That nothing-to-lose feeling from earlier lingers, and Millie's instruction to go with my instincts only makes it stronger. I glance around the pub at all the people involved in private conversations--couples having dinner, guys playing pool, and several people standing at the bar. No one cares about us, and discovering that we're pretty much invisible has my amateur exhibitionist wanting to turn pro.

I slip off my stool and stand before Dalton, moving between his knees to close the gap separating us. My eyes lock with his, and I grab his glass from the counter to pass to him. "Drink your beer and act casual," I tell him, then I take hold of his other hand--the one closest to the bar so no one can see what we're up to--and push it under my shirt.

His eyes glimmer with amusement as he sips from his glass. I keep the material of my shirt in place and lift his hand higher until it reaches the bottom edge of my bra.

His gaze stays meshed with mine, and he swallows a mouthful of beer as he traces the lace band around my ribcage. His fingers move slowly, as if he can't believe this is happening to him. I understand the feeling. I can't believe it's happening to me either--and there's no way I'm looking over my shoulder to see if Millie and Hannah are watching. If they are, they'll be beside themselves.

"Feels like lace," he says, his voice husky. "What colour?"

"Black." I lean in closer to make sure no one can see the movement of his hand.

"Go higher."

Dalton takes another drink and obediently slides his hand up and over one full, naked breast. The lack of cups along with the supportive band makes them perky as hell, and he nearly chokes on his beer. "What are you wearing--or more to the point, not wearing?" he asks as he swallows and recovers.

I try hard to keep my cool, but all I want to do is lean into him and close my eyes. He's covered my bare breast with his big, strong hand. In the middle of a pub. With people all around us. Half an hour ago, I was laughing with my friends and had no idea this man existed. Now, he's taken over my world. "It's just a cupless bra. I'm wearing a matching g-string by the way. It's tiny."