Double Dog Dare You Read online

  “Oh, uh, yeah, I’m fine.” My throat feels dry.

  Sabrina gasps. “Oh my God, you had sex with the hottie, right? You totally did! I can tell!” She whoops and hollers, making me laugh. “Tell me all about it, and don’t leave out a single detail. He’s hung like a Clydesdale, right?”

  “Sabrina! I’m not talking about that,” I insist, that all-too familiar burn sliding up my neck.

  “So, that’s a yes. I knew it. I totally pegged him for an eight, maybe a nine-incher. He’s tall and big, but not in that gross, bulky way, but what really gave it away was his hands. Huge hands and long fingers, Q. Hands never lie.”

  “Big hands mean big penises?” I ask, smiling because she’s spot on when it comes to Royce Rigsby.

  “You tell me, Miss I Had Sex With A Gorgeous God last night.”

  “And this morning,” I mumble.

  I have to move the phone from my ear as she screams into the device. “I knew it! I totally knew it! Start at the beginning. Was he the King of Foreplay?”

  Sighing, I close my eyes and try not to picture how our evening began. Instead, I focus on grabbing a sheet of paper so I can start my grocery list. “I’m not telling you all the dirty details, Rina.”

  “So, he’s dirty. Yeah, I can totally see that. Does he have a playroom?” she asks, way too eager for juicy details.

  “No,” I reply with a chuckle. “Though, he does have a game room in his loft.”

  “Probably not the kinky games I’m imagining right now.” She sighs, the phone line filling with silence for several long seconds. “So you’re okay?”

  “I’m…perfect. He’s coming over for dinner tonight.” You couldn’t wipe the smile off my face with a putty knife.

  “Really? It must have gone really well. I’m excited for you.”

  “Thanks, but don’t get too excited. I’m not really sure this’ll lead anywhere.”

  “Well, it’s already led to orgasms, which is the most important direction to head.”

  “True, except, you know what I want in this life.”

  “Orgasms get you there.”

  “Technically, yes,” I start, but she cuts me off.

  “Orgasms lead to babies, as long as he’s got good swimmers.”

  “Yes, I understand biology, Rina, but you’re missing my point.”

  “Well, then make it already.”

  I sigh. “I don’t think Royce is the marriage and family kinda guy.”

  She’s quiet on the other end. “Why do you say that? Did he say he didn’t want it?”

  “Well, no, we didn’t exactly reach the ‘what do you want out of life’ discussion this weekend.”

  “That’s because you were still in the ‘make you forget your own name from too many orgasms’ discussion,” she adds with a giggle.

  Even though she’s right, she’s missing the point. “What I mean is everything about him screams wham, bam, thank you, ma’am.”

  “But…didn’t you say he’s coming over for dinner?”

  Sighing, I realize she’s right. “Yes.”

  “That doesn’t scream very wham bammy.”

  “No, I guess it doesn’t,” I concede, still feeling a little confused.

  “Listen, Q, I know you had this plan that involved a husband and kids. I also know it hasn’t exactly happened the way you thought it would. I don’t know if Royce is husband material or not, but there’s nothing wrong with having a little fun until the right one comes along.”

  “But what if the right one comes along while I’m having fun with Royce? And I miss him?”

  “Then he wasn’t the right one, Q. You know I don’t believe all that Hallmark bullshit on soul mates and whatnot, but I also know you do. There’s no way fate would put your Mr. Perfect in front of you, only to have you miss him because you’re having fun with Royce. I say, let loose and have fun with Mr. Nine Inches and when you’re done having fun, move on. Mr. Minivan and Picket Fence will probably appear just when you think he’s already passed you by.”

  She does make sense. Kind of.

  I may not know much about Royce, but I think I’ve learned enough to know he’s not really looking for the same things I am, long term. It’s nothing he’s said, so much as the vibe he gives. He has that one-night stand feel. The guy who plays hard, has fun, and moves on. The one who’s declared to be single until the day he dies and will probably follow through with his plan.

  The one who could really hurt a girl like me, if I were to let him.

  Good thing I already know that can’t happen.

  Getting involved too deep with Royce Rigsby isn’t in the game plan, which might be why staying away altogether is the best option.

  But then I think about how dark his hazel eyes got when he was close to coming, and how his masterful hands played my body like a musical instrument. It’s details like those that have me actually contemplating her idea of having a little fun now, while I wait for Mr. Forever.

  “You’re quiet, which means you’re thinking. I hope it’s about what positions he’ll do you in later tonight.”

  “You have a filthy mind for someone raised by a preacher,” I tease.

  “It’s the sheltered life talking. There was nothing to do in Wednesday night Bible study but think about sex,” she replies, and I’m not entirely sure she’s joking. “Anyway, my point is this: have fun with Royce. Enjoy a few more orgasms while he’s willing to provide them, and then move on. You may not get so lucky on the orgasm front with your forever, Q. Daphni Simmons was telling me she hasn’t had one in four years. Four. Years, Quinn. Can you believe that? See what marriage does to you?”

  I roll my eyes, even though she can’t see. “Maybe it’s because Mr. Simmons is too busy sleeping with his secretary to worry about his wife’s sexual needs?”

  “Probably,” she replies. “Listen, I gotta go. Now that I know you’re not dead, I’m going to meet Decker at the coffee shop.”

  “Oh yeah? How’d that go last night?” I ask, hating I didn’t ask before now.

  “Good. I mean, not as good as your night, obviously, but we agreed to meet up today when he gets off work. Maybe, if I’m lucky, he’ll show me how the coffee grinder works in the back room, if you know what I mean.”

  A smile crosses my lips. “Well, be safe, friend. Make sure you suit-up before he does any grinding demonstrations.”

  Sabrina laughs. “Will do. And you make sure to think about what I said. Just because Royce isn’t the endgame doesn’t mean you shouldn’t play ball.”

  “Play ball?”

  “It’s a sports metaphor. Sheesh, catch up.”

  “No, I got it. I just don’t think I’ve ever heard you say play and ball in the same sentence without referring to testicles.”

  She laughs again. “I love it when you say testicles. So proper.”

  “Goodbye, Sabrina,” I say, essentially cutting her off.

  “Just say big hairy balls once, will you?”

  “Goodbye!”

  I hang up and set my phone on the counter, trying not to giggle at her antics, and make sure the phone is still plugged in. Then, I grab my notepad and start making my list. I start with breakfast items, before moving to lunch and dinner. Only when I have my week planned out, do I turn my focus to this evening.

  Dinner with Royce.

  It’s been awhile since I’ve made dinner for someone of the opposite sex. Paul always preferred to go out for dinner. When he would allow me to cook for him, I had to do it at his place because it was roomier than mine. The truth was, Paul was a bit snobbish and cared way too much about appearances.

  But now is not the time to think about Paul.

  Now is the time to plan my menu, get ready for the day, and head to the store before it gets too crazy-busy with Sunday afternoon shoppers. Once that’s done, I’ll be able to turn my focus to Royce and the dilemma he creates.

  Do I consider spending more time with him, even if he’s not possibly looking for the same things in l
ife I am? Or do I cut my losses now to avoid the potential heartache later?

  Even after I unload my groceries, I’m still not any closer to making a decision.

  ***

  I get more nervous with each minute that passes five o’clock. I have a salad ready in the fridge, the asparagus cut, seasoned, and placed on a baking sheet, potatoes ready to be baked, and the salmon marinating. All I need is my dinner date.

  Or companion.

  Not a date.

  Not really.

  I start to pace and fret, which is not a good look on me, but I can’t help it. What if he doesn’t come? What if I went to all this trouble for him to not show? Or worse, what if I burn the vegetables or the fish doesn’t turn out?

  I groan in frustration, hating how I’m letting worry get the best of me. And fortunately, I’m saved from further torture by a knock on my front door.

  The door is open, so the moment I round the corner from the kitchen, Royce comes into full view. He’s wearing a fresh T-shirt and shorts, his feet adorned with running shoes, and a ball cap perched on his head. In his hand is a leash, which leads to his dog. Jack is sitting like the good boy he is at his feet, tongue hanging in excitement.

  “Hi,” I greet, offering a smile as I push open the screened door.

  Jack barks in greeting, his tail thumping hard against the porch. The moment I crouch down, I’m awarded with a wet, slobbery kiss across my cheek. “Jack, behave,” his owner instructs, but the dog doesn’t seem to listen. He places his big paw on my knee and bumps my shoulder with his head.

  I laugh at the same time Royce does, and shake the dog’s hand. “Come on in,” I tell them both, standing up and holding open the door.

  “Are you sure you want him in here?” he asks, grabbing the door and holding it for me. “We can just hang out in the backyard.”

  “No, it’s okay. I don’t think there’s anything he can get into,” I reassure as we both step inside. Jack instantly starts sniffing everything, pulling against the leash. “You can release him.”

  Royce seems hesitant at first but ends up removing the leash from his dog. Jack bolts into the living room, smelling everything within reach. I glance at his owner and find his eyes scanning my living room as well. “You have a nice place.”

  “Thanks. It’s small but suits me just fine.”

  Suddenly, Jack must catch a whiff from the kitchen. His nose shoots up as he sniffs hard and bolts toward the food. “Jack,” Royce hollers, turning and following the eager pup.

  “It’s okay. I have everything put up or out of his reach,” I assure.

  We step into the kitchen together and laugh as Jack tries to find the source of the amazing scents. “Wow, smells good in here,” Royce says, glancing at the covered pan of fish on the stovetop.

  “It’s salmon,” I reply hesitantly. I know he told me he likes about anything, but I can’t help but still feel worried about my choices tonight.

  “I love salmon,” he confirms, a smile spreading across his face.

  “Well, that’s a relief. I was afraid you wouldn’t. Fish is one of those entrees where you either love it or hate it, and even then, people are very picky about their fish. My grandma loved bluegill but disliked pretty much any other type. My grandpa would take her to Wisconsin every summer to fish, and she’d only keep the bluegill,” I tell him, realizing I’m rambling. But when I look his way, I only see his grin. “What? Sorry, I get a little long-winded sometimes.”

  He shakes his head. “No, I like hearing about your family. Are they still alive? You’re grandparents?” he asks, popping his hip against my counter and crossing his arms. The T-shirt pulls snuggly against his biceps, which makes my mouth drier than the Sahara.

  “No, they’ve both passed. My parents live in Sevierville and my older brother is in Alaska.”

  “Alaska?” he asks, leaning his elbows on the counter as if he’s totally engrossed.

  “Yeah, he’s in the Army, stationed at Fort Wainwright. He’s a lifer, serving twenty-two years.”

  “Wow, that’s commendable. Twenty-two years makes him…” he trails off.

  “Quentin turned forty earlier this year.”

  He looks to be deep in thought. “So, if he’s older than you, and he’s forty, that makes you…thirty…”

  I giggle. “Eight.”

  “Huh,” he says, straightening up and giving me a long, perusing glance from head to toe. “I’d never have guessed you were a day over thirty-two.”

  I roll my eyes. “Right. So why didn’t you just ask me my age?”

  He sobers. “My mama always told me never to ask a lady their age. It angers them.”

  I giggle. “Your mama taught you right.” I grab the food from the fridge to go in the oven and glance his way. “Do I want to know how old you are? You almost sounded shocked when I said I was thirty-eight.”

  “Shocked, yes, but not in a bad way. I’m thirty-five.” Those hazel eyes shine brightly under his ball cap.

  “Thirty-five, huh?” I state aloud, as if trying it on. He’s younger than me, though not nearly as cradle-robbing as the coffee house guys were. Three years isn’t much of a difference at all. Though, I have to admit, I always pictured myself with an older guy. Funny how life happens, right?

  I mean, not that we’re together or anything.

  Just friends.

  Who hang out.

  And have amazing sex.

  Let’s definitely not forget that part.

  “Where’d ya go there, Bestie. Your smile was a little wicked,” he teases, the tone in his voice laced with something dirty.

  “Nowhere,” I insist, turning my rapidly blushing face away from his knowing gaze.

  “Mmhmm,” he sings with the brightest smile ever on his gorgeous face. I busy myself at the stove, getting the salmon ready to grill, when I feel his body press against my back. A gasp slips from my throat as his erection sort of nestles right above the cleft of my rear. It’s not completely hard, but he’s working on it. “I think your mind was in the gutter, Bestie.”

  I glance over my shoulder and watch his lips trail a line of kisses across my shoulder. When his eyes meet mine, I simply shrug and say, “Maybe.”

  His grin is devilish as he wraps his arms around my waist and holds me against his body. “Mine has been stuck in the gutter since I dropped you off earlier. All I can think about is a repeat.”

  My blood zings through my veins and wetness floods my panties. I find myself pushing back against him, his now very-hard erection sandwiched between us. I want to turn around, drop to my knees, and worship at the temple of Royce Rigsby.

  But the moment is broken when he lightly pats me on the ass and steps back, severing our connection. “Maybe I’ll let you have your dirty way with me later, Bestie Tami with an I. Right now, I think we start with food and maybe a drink or two.” His eyes burn darker and practically draw me in, like a moth to a flame. “You’re going to need your nourishment for later.”

  Later.

  Yep.

  Moth to a flame.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Royce

  “That was delicious,” I tell her again, dropping my napkin on the table beside my empty plate. I look to my side where Jack snores, his belly full from the kibble I brought along for his dinner.

  “Thank you,” she replies, reaching for the plate in front of me.

  I grab them before she can and stand up, heading for the sink.

  “You don’t have to clean up. I can do it later,” she says, setting everything beside the empty sink.

  “It won’t take too long. We can do it now,” I offer, but she shakes her head.

  “No, let’s go sit on the porch. It’s a gorgeous evening.”

  We quickly clear off the table, setting the dirty stuff aside. While Quinn puts leftovers in the fridge, I grab two bottles of water and head for the front door. Jack stirs, realizing I’m about to go outside, and jumps up to follow. I set the bottles on the bistro table and watch a
s my dog runs out and starts to sniff every corner of her small yard. When he finds the perfect place, he finally lifts his leg and takes care of business.

  “I love sitting out here,” she says, as she steps out on the porch to join me.

  “It’s a great neighborhood,” I agree, looking around, the sun starting to dip below the tree line. Quinn lives in the middle house of three on the street, with the same number on the opposite side of the road. She doesn’t have the view I have, considering she’s at the base of the mountain, but it’s a quiet, somewhat remote area. The only traffic is local, but with only a few houses on her block, that traffic is limited.

  “I always thought I’d love to live down at the bottom of the mountain, but after spending some time last night out on your deck, I’m seriously considering relocating,” she states with a chuckle as she takes the empty seat across from me.

  “I got lucky with my place. It was an older couple who built it. They didn’t like driving up and down the mountain in the winter anymore.”

  “I purchased my house from an older couple too. They wanted to move closer to their daughter and her family. I believe they called this place their home for like forty years. I just realized I didn’t give you a tour. That’s rude of me,” she says, her eyes apologetic.

  “It’s okay. You can show me the bedroom. Later.” I wiggle my eyebrows suggestively and watch as one of those blushes darkens her cheeks. I take a long pull of water and watch as Jack continues to sniff and mark different places in the yard. Since I’m out here, I don’t have him on a leash, but so far, he’s staying on Quinn’s property. “So have you ever visited your brother in Alaska?”

  “I have, actually,” she replies, leaning back in her chair and looking up at the sky. “Not too long after he transferred up there, my parents and I went for a visit. We stayed in Fairbanks, which was nice, and we were there in the summer, so the weather wasn’t horrible. The unit he’s in is combat ready forces, so he can be deployed anytime. It’s hard on his wife and kids,” she says, a note of sadness in her words.

  “I bet that’s hard. I did a couple of tours but didn’t have the baggage he has.” I think back on how my deployments always affected my own parents. After my dad died, that was part of the reason I stepped back from that life. The last deployment really took a toll on my mom, according to Rueben, and I didn’t want to lose my only remaining parent because I was off fighting wars on foreign soil and she was home worrying herself to death.