The Dare (18 page)

Besides, Jace had just said he wanted to be
my world. I just about died as his words sank into my
consciousness, healing cuts I never knew existed. "Where's
Brett?"

"Oh, Brett." Jace grimaced. "He got
sick."

Paris grabbed her purse. "Guess that's my
exit then, huh?"

"Oh, he'll be back. I told him it would be
wonderful to enjoy some dinner with him this fine evening."

My eyes narrowed.

Paris shrugged. "Fine, I'm going to use the
restroom. If he gets back before I do, tell him I want something
with shrimp."

Her heels clicked against the floor as she
sauntered away, her ass nearly falling out of her dress.

I let out a breath of relief.

"Oops!" Grandma dropped some shrimp onto the
floor. She picked it up and placed it back on the grill. Then she
grabbed something out of her pocket and put a few drops in the
sauce for the shrimp.

I smacked Jace, "Do something! She's
drugging
—
"

I paused.

"You were saying?" Jace laughed. "Let her eat
bad shrimp. See if I care. Technically, I can't kill the guy, but
that doesn't mean I want to sit here and eat with them. The sooner
Grandma gets rid of them the sooner we can romance."

"Romance? You're using it as a verb?"

He grinned, "It's an action."

"So now I get action."

"Oh sweetheart, you have no idea."

My face fell. "He thinks I'm a prostitute,
doesn't he?"

"No. He thinks what I tell him to think."

My head snapped up. "What did you do? Brain
wash him?"

"Baby," Jace whispered in my ear, "sometimes
being a politician has its uses. Brett's a weak man. My ploy had
nothing to do with punching him in the face or lying to him. But
everything to do with what I could get him. He thinks we're dating,
and the story is a cover-up because of another scandal in my
past."

"What did you have to do? To convince
him."

"I paid him fifty grand."

My mouth dropped open.

"Geez, I'm kidding..." Jace chuckled, warm
against my ear. "I told him I loved you."

My world plummeted. Had he no idea? That
those three words had just shattered my entire existence? Because I
wanted it to be real. And he just reminded me yet again that it
wasn't.

"Hungry?" Grandma flipped a few pieces of
clean shrimp onto our plates. "Eat up!"

"Are you really a chef and licensed
therapist?" The agent asked.

"Yes." Grandma nodded enthusiastically. "I'm
also a pilot."

"Licensed pilot?"

"Why do you keep saying license? Do I not
look intelligent enough to have several talents and hobbies?"

"Why did you feel the need to get all of
these… .certifications?"

"Because I know my grandsons. At one point, I
figured I'd have to learn how to fight in the MMA arena, but thank
heavens that didn't happen." Grandma shifted in her seat. "Besides,
a good leader always knows one thing."

"What's that?"

"If you want something done, you sure as hell
better do it yourself."

Jace

"If you as much as sneeze in her direction, I
will stop at nothing to destroy your pitiful existence from the
ground up."

The thing I should have said instead of…

"I love her."

Brett laughed. "Right. You do realize that
half the world thinks you're on vacation with a new girlfriend, and
the other half's convinced you're with a prostitute."

"Well, clearly, since I love her. She isn't a
prostitute. Money doesn't need to exchange hands when you're in a
relationship. Not that you would know that." I sneered.

"I'll expose you," Brett threatened. "After
all, what type of concerned citizen would I be if I let a state
senator get away with illegal prostitution?"

"Expose away. I have no secrets." I seethed
feeling my control snapping, "But leave her out of this. Don't you
think you've hurt her enough in the past?"

Brett's face pinched. "She told you about
high school? That's kind of pathetic if you ask me. I mean, she's
what, thirty? And she's upset about something that happened twelve
years ago?"

"You're a bastard." I snapped "And by the
way, It was me."

"You?"

"At the dance." I puffed out my chest.
"Kissing her. It was me, so take your damn accusations and stuff
them up your ass before I do it for you. We've been friends for an
eternity, and I. love. Her. I. Choose. Her. Mind your own business
before I pay a friend of a friend to cut the brakes to your
car."

"Are you threatening me?"

"Of course not. We're just joking around.
You, of course, are a little drunk after all those shots…" I
reached for the drink on the bar and threw it in his face. "…and a
little unsteady on your feet after getting in a crazy bar fight." I
punched him across the jaw and then grabbed at his shirt again,
steadying his body so I could punch him again. "Am I right?"

His face turned a hundred different shades of
red before he pushed against my chest.

I took a step back and smirked. "Now, you're
going to either apologize or wish you had."

"I'll go ahead and take my chances." Brett
cracked his knuckles and took a huge swing in my direction.

I ducked and then punched him in the
face.

Hard.

"Bastard!" Brett almost fell over. "You don't
even love her! You're just dating. Something doesn't add up
here."

"It's serious, and I do..." my voice cracked
on the lie, "I do love her."

The minute the words left my lips I felt like
I'd betrayed something special between us. As if I'd somehow
cheated her out of having that experience because I'd said too
soon. But it wasn't as if I would ever say it to her anyway,
right?

I took another sip of whiskey and grimaced as
the dry liquid burned down my throat. I shouldn't have told Beth
that part. I should have kept it locked up inside.

Instead, she looked like I'd just told her I
wanted to set fire to Donkey and eat a puppy for dinner.

"Eat, eat!" Grandma instructed loud enough to
wake up the dead.

I was surprised I hadn't broken my hand
—
I'd never hit a guy so hard in my entire
life.

"Shrimp?" Grandma asked as Brett took a seat
on the opposite side of the table a good few feet away from me.

"Sure." His eyes darted from the plate to the
empty seat next to him, "Where's Paris?"

"Bathroom," I said.

While Beth said, "Puking," under her
breath.

"Great."

Grandma threw a knife into the air and then
chopped some mushrooms in front of us and spread them out like a
fan. For being eighty-six, she had quick hands.

I hadn't asked why she was our chef for the
same reason I hadn't asked why she was our therapist. She was
insane. Therefore, her cooking us dinner? Yeah, it made total
sense.

I half-expected her to be our guide today for
the excursion and wouldn't have even blinked if she walked into our
room and claimed to be the maid. Hell, if she claimed to be
president of her own country, I'd just pour myself a glass of
scotch and ask which one.

Brett ate a few pieces of shrimp, alternating
between licking his fingers and using his tongue to mate with
them.

"Is he eating it or seducing it?" Beth
whispered next to me.

Ten minutes later, Brett closed his eyes and
moaned as he then gripped the table with his hand.

"Orgasm via shrimp?" I concluded. "I may
never eat again."

What I thought was Brett becoming aroused by
shellfish was actually Brett moaning in pain. He teetered off his
chair and with a thump fell to the floor.

"Holy shit, Grandma killed him." I mumbled
under my breath, pushing my chair away from the table so I could go
help him, or maybe just kick him while he was down. Jury was still
out.

"I, uh…" Brett burped and reached for his
water, "I don't feel so well."

"Are you allergic to shellfish?" Grandma
asked, concern lacing her every word.

"No." he pounded his chest and burped
again.

"Oh, heavens!" Grandma dropped the knife onto
the table and rushed to his side. "I think you are! I think you're
going into shock! Hurry! We need to get you to the hospital."

"Seriously?" He gripped the table again. "I
do feel kind of hoarse."

Grandma nodded emphatically. "I'll get the
manager. We'll have you in the hospital in no time!"

Amused, I watched Grandma lie her ass off as
she escorted Brett to the waiting taxi. Paris came out of the
bathroom in time to see the fiasco. She'd also failed to look in
the mirror. White powder glowed next to her upper lip.

"Not puking, snorting. Classy woman." I took
a long sip of my whiskey and watched as the night went to hell in a
hand basket.

Paris swatted Brett on the back for ruining
their night. Brett, having been exposed to a foreign substance he
was now convinced was killing him, started having a full-blown
panic attack as they rushed out the doors and into the waiting
car.

Grandma waved goodbye and walked back to her
station and continued chopping. No explanation. No apology.
Nothing.

"So," Beth cleared her throat, "What did you
give him?"

"Nothing." Grandma kept chopping.

"Don't lie."

"Grandmas never lie." She pointed the knife
in Beth's direction.

I moved out of the way, which earned me a
smack on the arm.

"We merely fib, or as I like to call it,
frost over the truth."

"Frost over the truth?" I laughed.

"Of course. In one hand I have the truth…"
She fanned out a mushroom, and pointed. "In the other hand I have
the sauce. I lightly pour the sauce of the mushroom. And
voilà!"

"I'm confused," Beth said.

"Can you still see the mushroom?" Grandma
asked.

"Yeah."

"But you can see the sauce too."

"So?" Beth pointed at the example. "I see
them both, so how is the sauce hiding anything?"

"Cloaking, my dear." Grandma scooped up the
mushrooms and sauce and put them on a plate. "By the time you take
a bite and discover the truth in the flavors, discover the sauce is
just garlic, and the mushrooms are the food of choice, you don't
care anymore. Want to know why?"

"Why?"

"Because it tastes good." Grandma winked.
"Frosting the truth is just like that. It may seem devious, and it
may look like something else entirely, but the minute you learn the
truth, you don't care anymore, because it was staring at you," she
chopped a piece of meat, "the whole damn time."

Why was she staring at me like she wanted to
stab me?

I popped a mushroom in my mouth and was only
slightly irritated that it was amazing.

"Now," Grandma chopped up some pork, "why
don't you two order a nice bottle of wine while I finish up your
main course? How does that sound?"

"Are you going to be putting drugs in our
wine?" Beth asked.

"The thought briefly crossed my mind,"
Grandma admitted. "See? I can be honest. Now, shall we order some
wine?"

"What do you say?" I nudged Beth.

She blinked a few times then shrugged. I
officially hated myself. How was it possible that earlier today she
was blooming into this beautiful bright woman, and now she was
closed off? I'd done that to her. I'd made her doubt herself all
over again.

"Are you okay?" I asked dumbly, knowing that
she wasn't but wanting to hear her speak so I didn't go insane.

"I think I'm just tired." Beth forced a
smile.

"Do you want to go back?" I offered.

Her body slumped even more.

Damn it, how was I ruining things even
further?

"Tell you what." Desperate, I said the first
thing that popped into my mind. After all, she was all about having
fun, right? Not being boring anymore? "Let's eat really fast then
go dancing."

"Dancing? You?" Beth's smile returned.

Only this time, I figured it was at my
expense.

"Just because I'm a politician doesn't mean I
can't dance."

"Oh I know that." Beth patted my hand. "I was
going to say it's because you're white."

"White guys can't dance?"

"I give you Justin Timberlake." Beth nodded.
"He can dance."

"The man's a god." This from Grandma.

"I can dance like Justin Timberlake," I
argued.

Grandma laughed.

"Do you mind?" I glared.

She pointed her knife at me and kept chopping
with her left hand.

"No, you can't, Jace. You…" She shook her
head. "It wouldn't be possible. It would be unfair to humanity to
give you that face and body and then the ability to move your hips
seductively. Seriously, I'd have words with God."

"I hope you eat your words." I kissed her
cheek.

"And if I don't?"

I didn't answer. Instead, I prayed that all
the women I'd dated in college hadn't been total liars.

"So let me get this straight. You sear the
meat on both sides, and then you add the wine?"

"Yes." Grandma nodded. "It gives it that
perfect moist center."

"Interesting."

Someone knocked on the glass.

The FBI agent straightened in his chair and
cleared his throat. "So where were we?"

"Somewhere between drugging, dancing, and
Justin Timberlake."

"This should be on YouTube."

"Oh, I just love the Tube! And the Facebook!
And the Tweets!"

"Why do you keep putting
the
in
front of those?"

"Out of respect." Grandma's eyebrow rose all
the way to her hairline. "You never address the president as
president."

The agent paused. "You have me there."

Beth

"Alright, let's see it," I yelled over the
bumping music. I was thirty years old, had been drugged by a senile
old woman, and I was at a club. Oh, and right, I had been accused
of being a prostitute. Cool, I was officially living my own
mid-life crisis. At least I had Thor. Then again, this could all be
figment of my imagination. I could be tied to a giant computer,
Matrix
-style, and just making up my own dream world.