Page 21 of The Love Dare
Maybe if I put my calf like this, and I bend my knee like that. Or maybe if I hook my leg this way and stretch my other foot out.
She tries to imagine a set of hands on the backs of her thighs, holding her against a wall. Tries to picture strong fingers encircling her ankles as she stretches herself wider. There’s an ache developing in her groin, but it definitely isn’t sexy.
This would be so much easier if I had a boyfriend.
Winnie lets her head fall back with a sigh.
Maybe Sam can?—
Sam! Shit!
She drops her legs with a gasp and scrambles to a seated position. In her haste to grab the remote, she flies off the edge of the chair. The floor greets her with a rudeslapas she completely face-plants into the hardwood. Winnie lies there for a second, stunned, unable to stop from thinking,I wonder how long it would take for someone to discover my body, before snapping back to attention. With a groan, she rolls onto her back and blindly reaches up, shuffling her fingers across the counter until she grazes silicone buttons. After turning the TV on, she darts aglance at the industrial wall clock she bought five summers ago at four in the morning on the night Jonathan Doherty broke up with her by saying, quote,You seem like a nice kid.After a pint of ice cream, four margaritas, and nine episodes ofFixer Upper, it felt very sophisticated. By the time it showed up at her door a week later, she’d already come to realize he was a thirty-year-old perv hanging out in college bars, but the damage was done. And it wasn’t the clock’s fault she had terrible taste in men.
9:45!
She totally lost track of time—a hazard of actually enjoying her job. It’s always been like this, as a kid with crayons, a teen with fine art markers, a graphic design major with a stylus. Minutes and hours cease to exist the moment she starts drawing. The Earth spins on, but she’s stuck in an alternate reality ruled by line and color and the story she’s trying to visually portray. It’s gotten her into trouble on more than one occasion, the latest being right now, as she hastily pulls up the guide and searches for the correct channel.
Sam’s gonna kill me.
Sam, short for Samantha Peters, is the absolute best friend, roommate, and partner in crime any girl could ever ask for. They met their sophomore year at NYU about three days after Winnie transferred. She’d been in a state of terror—afraid to speak to anyone, afraid she would never make it in this huge city, afraid everyone could smell her fear. It was her first time truly on her own, and instead of grabbing the metaphorical bull by the horns the way she always daydreamed she would if given the chance, she’d retreated so far back into her shell she couldn’t find a way out. And then Sam came barging into her life, five minutes late to class but strutting inside the lecture hall as if she were early, completely unaffected as the professor tossed her a dirty look, holding her chin high as if she owned the place. Winnie just stared at her in admiration, wondering what it would be liketo go through life like that, and she kept staring like a creepy stalker as Sam came closer and closer before stopping at the seat right next to her. Completely unaware of Winnie, Sam dropped into the spot, then promptly spilled her latte down the front of her white shirt.
Winnie would never forget the mutteredfuckthat followed—there was no shame, no embarrassment, just fury. While Winnie would have been turning her head this way and that, wondering how many people saw, what they would say, her cheeks flaming red, Sam just groaned, snapped the lid back on, and took a quick sip before pulling out her notebook, clearly frustrated with herself, but seemingly unconcerned about the hundred or so other people eying her all around the room.
Her confidence was intoxicating.
Winnie was so curious, so lured in, she didn’t know what came over her. For the first time in three days, she finally found the strength to speak. When class ended, she tapped on Sam’s shoulder and offered her a sweater to cover the stain. Sam took it. They sat together the next class, then realized they were in the same Intro to Statistics course, too. Math was Sam’s thing, and English was Winnie’s, so they started meeting up to study, and after about three weeks, they were utterly inseparable. They’ve roomed together ever since. Sam brings Winnie out of her shell. Winnie softens Sam’s rough edges. They just work.
Which is why Winnie can’t believe she got so wrapped up in her art that she completely forgot her best freaking friend is about to get engaged on national TV.
Okay, she can easily believe it.
But still.
There it is!
Winnie finds the listing forThe Love Matchand clicks. Sam is already in the middle of a passionate embrace when the show pops on.
Dammit! I missed the good stuff!
Winnie mentally chastises herself as she tries to play catch up. Reality TV dating shows have never really been her thing, but Sam is oddly obsessed. She lives for the drama. Winnie, on the other hand, is perfectly happy finding herhappily every aftersbetween the pages of a book. Those at least last! Tonight, though, she’s making an exception. Because in this live finale, it’s not some rando finding fake love. It’s Sam. And it’s real. In the twist of the century, Winnie’s independent, driven, boss-lady investment banker best friend fell head over heels for a cowboy—a freakishly hot cowboy, yes, but a cowboy nonetheless. And now here they are, making out like a couple of horny teenagers in front of ten million live viewers.
Winnie puts a hand over her heart as a warm feeling fills her chest. She hoped to watch their proposal and subsequent interview, but this right here is enough. Because unlike practically every other romance from the show, she knows this love will last and that makes all the difference.
On-screen, confetti explodes from the studio rafters as dramatic music swells. Balloons rain down on the happy couple. The audience supplies raucous applause. Sam and her cowboy hardly seem to notice, pausing for a brief laugh before finding each other’s lips again.
A silly smile widens Winnie’s cheeks.
That’s exactly how it should be. And she’s thrilled her somewhat cynical best friend has finally found someone who makes the rest of the world disappear.
The camera suddenly shifts as the host, Keith Holson, steps back onto the stage. Sam and her man fade off screen. Winnie grabs the remote, ready to click off the TV and return to her work, when a hulking shadowy figure in the background gives her pause.
That silhouette looks…familiar.
Her pulse jumps.
“He’s known as the King of the Ice. But will he find a queen to melt his heart?” Keith offers a mischievous smile. “Stay tuned as we reveal our new leading man right after the break.”
A commercial flips on. Winnie is frozen in place, her pointer finger still on the power button as those words play on repeat in her mind.
