Page 3 of A Kiss on a Dare
But there’s still one question gnawing at me, making it impossible to fully let it go.
“Why did you say he’s definitely not gay?” I ask, trying to keep my tone casual and not like the needy, pathetic fangirl I absolutely feel like.
Cat hesitates, looking slightly uncomfortable, before finally answering. “He told me he was waiting for me when he came up.”
“Wow.” The balloon of disappointment in my chest grows so big it’s hard to breathe. “So, I was right. He’s not gay.”
“Who knows,” Cat says, slinging an arm around my neck and planting a sloppy kiss on my cheek. “There’s still a chance he meant something else, Sunshine.”
I sigh. I know she’s just trying to make me feel better, but the truth is, it doesn’t help much.
“I promise, if he’s straight and tries anything with me, I’ll tell him to go fuck himself,” Cat says, her drunken determination making me laugh despite myself.
“You’re the best,” I say, my chest tight with a mix of guilt and gratitude. She really is the best, and here I am, feeling like a jealous, pathetic little loser. Ugh.
“I want to get hammered,” I say, suddenly deciding the night is salvageable if it involves forgetting everything with alcohol.
Cat’s face lights up. “Yessss! I’ve been waiting for you to say that.”
***
It’s two hours later, and I’ve had so much gin and tonic that my mouth tastes like I just made out with a rosemary-and-ginger-flavored monster or something. Everything around me in the hospital basement is fuzzy, the lights and voices blending into a cozy, drunken haze.
Cat and I are camped out at a square table in the corner of the room, swapping residency stories. We both did residencies at different hospitals before landing here as fellows. Cat’s throwing back shots of something questionable that she’ll definitely regret tomorrow—but since she has the day off, she doesn’t care. Me? I’m not so lucky. I don’t have a day off. In fact, I’m on call tomorrow night, right on Christmas.
Not that it matters. I didn’t have plans, so when Frog dangled double pay for holiday shifts, I signed up faster than I’d like to admit. I really need the money for new furniture, especially a bed. I can’t sleep on the sofa much longer, or my back will give out.
Now, as I sip what’s left of my drink, I know my hangover is going to try to kill me tomorrow morning. But I should be fine by the time my shift starts at eight. Worst case, a couple of ibuprofen capsules will save me.
Cat’s in the middle of telling me about some massive crush she had during her residency at St. Clover’s Memorial when I see him.
James. Freaking. Gabrielle.
He’s back. He just walked into the room and is heading straight for the drinks like a man on a mission.
“Cat, Cat, look,” I hiss, tapping her shoulder and nodding toward him. “He’s back.”
“Who?” Cat blinks at me, her drunken puppy-dog expression all confused, but then her gaze locks onto Gabrielle. She nearly squeals as she turns to me. “Yes! I told you he’d come back! You should go talk to him!”
I frown, taking an unnecessarily large gulp of my gin and tonic. “Why?” I slur. “We’ve established he’s not gay.”
“Who cares! Go talk to him anyway. If he’s straight, it’s even better—you won’t ruin anything. No pressure. That’s how I usually get over my crushes—either I sleep with them or have a serious conversation and kill the fantasy.”
I shake my head firmly. “Nah.” I’m drunk, but the hollow pit in my stomach screams at me that it’s a bad idea.
I watch Gabrielle toss back a shot, then pick up another one. I’m so focused on him that I almost miss Cat’s next words.
“I dare you,” she says, her voice sly, “now pick a number.”
My heart drops.No. She wouldn’t.
Then again, it’s her turn, so she totally can.
This is a game we play when we’re bored. One of us saysI dare you, pick a number,and the other has to open a randomizer app on their phone, which spits out a number between 0 and 7. That’s how many dares the other person has to complete. If you refuse any of the dares, you owe the other person one wish—redeemable at any time, no exceptions. Oh, and one refusal equals one wish.
I groan, purse my lips, and open the app, silently begging for a zero. I set the parameters, hit the button, and…
It’s a 5.
