Page 55 of Dare You to Run
He grows agitated and leans in close to me. “Please just trust me.”
I’ve known this man for a whole seven days and he thinks he can tell me what to do? My mom and aunts raised a free-thinking, independent woman and I’m not about to bow down now.
“I’m playing, so let’s go.” Hendrix’s eyes fill with fire and I turn away, not really caring how he feels.
The night really just starts out as drinking games, many that I’ve never heard of. Pizza box was the first game where everyone wrote their name on a box –in this case an empty beer case– and drew a circle around it. One person tossed a quarter and the name it landed on had to take a shot. Then that person threw a quarter and it continued until everyone was pretty knackered. Luckily I only got saddled with two shots. No surprise, the grumpy old man Hendrix didn’t play.
Next we played Thumper, which required one player to continuously make some type of hand motion or tick. When a person picked up on it, they took a swig of their drink each time the motion was repeated. This had people tapping out.
After that, things turned a bit racier. One person was dared to jump over the fire pit. Thankfully he avoided catching fire. Malik was dared to run naked into the ocean and while I tried to redirect my attention, I admit to taking a small peek. Not even a little guilty that I did.
Now I sit close to Hendrix who has participated in nothing to do with drinking, sipping on a beer of my own.
“Henny,” a girl who is quite inebriated and wearing the smallest shorts known to man, calls out from across the fire. “I dare you to play the game with us.”
He sighs and leans back into his chair, throwing his arm over the back of my chair. “Fine. I’ll play your fucking game but no drinking. I’m on my bike with Dagen.”
The woman gets a sly smirk on her face as does Danté who sits next to her.
“Good. First dare…I dare you to kiss me.”
Hendrix rolls his eyes. “I’m not doing that, Soria.”
“Why not? It’s not like you haven’t done it before,” she purrs, obviously trying to make me jealous.
“Henny, you gotta take the dare. Otherwise, you know what happens next.” Danté lifts his beer to his pink lips and throws back a swig.
“Kiss her. Kiss her,” the group starts chanting.
Everyone, but Malik.
“That’s a lame dare. We’re not thirteen anymore.”
Soria –as I have come to learn is her name– slinks her way over to us and stops directly in front of Hendrix’s chair. I see his jaw clench with tension and his nostrils flare.
“Exactly. Which is why this isn’t a typical kiss.”
“Bro,” Malik says, a little bit of torture in his voice. “Just do it. You don’t want the alternative.”
Hendrix looks from Malik to me to Soria, his chest heaving and teeth grinding together. He lowers his head, exhaling a defeated breath, then lifts it to look up at Soria. Once his attention is fully on her, she begins to roll up the t-shirt that is suctioned to her body, exposing her flat stomach inked with a dragon that wraps around her torso.
I swallow down a lump of anxiety as I continue to watch them. Next she unbuttons her shorts and pulls them open, just enough to hint at the ladybug tattoo that sits just above her pubic bone.
“Lick it,” she purrs.
“You said kiss, Soria,” Hendrix protests.
“Kiss the ladybug, then lick your way and kiss Falkors face.” I presume her tattooed dragon is Falkor and I think it’s a bit pathetic she named it, but whatever.
Hendrix’s eyes close in agony and I wait for him to refuse. In my head I’m begging him to say no and take whatever consequence they’ll dole out.
But against my silent pleas, he leans forward and places a chaste kiss on her small tattoo, getting dangerously close to a place that should only be explored in private, and licks all theway up her lower abdomen, up her ribs, and stopping at the dragon’s head that sits just below her breast. My stomach turns with jealousy and I simply cannot stand to watch one more second.
I stand up abruptly, dropping my beer to the powdery sand, and stomp off towards the wooden boardwalk that leads back to the parking lot, far from the watching eyes of the people enjoying their gluttonous pleasures.
My eyes sting and I work hard to ward off the tears that threaten to fall. This is stupid. He’s not my boyfriend, he’s not my anything. I have no right to feel any sort of possession over him.
I prop my hands on my hips and take deep breaths, working to calm myself down. I look like a fool and there is no way in hell I’m walking back down to that beach to sit and act like I didn’t just stomp off like a child who was told no by her dad. I search for my phone in the front pocket of Hendrix’s hoodie and pull it out.
