Do You Dare? by Lylah James

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

Lila

Send me a picture. Wanna see your sexy face.

I opened the text from Riley and then stared around the loud club. We were sitting at a corner booth with pretty bad lightning.

Still, I humored Riley and brought my phone up, deciding to please her with one picture. She wasn’t able to join us for a night out since she had an essay due tomorrow morning. Riley pouted as I left our apartment with Maddox, Colton, Jaxon and Rory. She made me promise to send her photos of us being pissed drunk, so she could live vicariously through us.

I ruffled up my hair a little, then pursed my lips in a sexy pout. Just when I was about to click the perfect photo, I was suddenly jostled. Something wet touched my cheek, and I reared back in shock. Maddox’s head fell into the crook of my neck, and he inhaled deeply before pulling away, giving me panty-melting smile.

“Eww, did you just lick me? What the fuck, Maddox?” I growled, slapping his chest and shoving him away. But he was a wall of muscles so moving him was an impossible task.

He gave me a mock pout. Yeah, he was a little drunk already. “I thought we were supposed to lick the ones we love. I licked you, so you’re mine.”

I blew out an exasperated breath before hissing. “Are you a dog?”

Maddox paused, as if he really was thinking about my question. And then he shrugged. “Doggy style is my favorite position to fuck. And I’m also your Poodle.”

Before I could have stopped him, he leaned forward and licked my cheek once again, leaving a wet trail behind.

His mouth moved to my neck, licking me there, too. Against my own accord, my thighs trembled, and my core clenched as his lips brushed over my throat. “Maddox!” I whisper-yelled. “Stop licking me!”

He leaned back, and his lips quirked up dangerously. “Why? It gets you wet?”

“No,” I barked, suddenly feeling the urge to smack him. “Because your girlfriend just walked in, and she’s coming our way. Oh, she doesn’t look very happy.”

Maddox looked toward the entrance before sinking more into his seat, as if trying to hide from the raging chick coming his way. “Ah. Shit,” he whispered.

Bianca wasn’t exactly his ‘girlfriend’ anymore. They broke up when Maddox didn’t show up the night he was supposed to go over to her house. The night he got into a fight with Landon and ended up in jail.

The next morning, Bianca threw a huge tantrum and even called me a ‘homewrecker’ and ‘bitch’ for trying to steal her man. Maddox dropped her so fast I thought she’d suffer a whiplash.

Her man? Yeah, right.

Maddox was never hers in the first place.

A week after their breakup, she still didn’t grasp the idea and has now turned into a stalker. Bianca stopped at our table, hands on her hips, and glowered at Maddox. “I need to talk to you.”

He lifted a shoulder in a shrug. “I’m busy, as you can see.”

“Now,” she snapped.

My eyes widened at her tone, and Maddox tensed. “You don’t get to come here and make demands. I’m not your boy toy, Bianca.”

She tapped her foot, impatiently. “You owe me a better explanation for breaking up with me, Maddox.”

Maddox rubbed his eyes and slurred a bit as he spoke, “I don’t owe you shit. And we were never together in the first place. We fucked, that’s it.”

The distaste was clear on her face as she gave me a nasty look. “It’s because of her, isn’t it? You’re choosing her?” Bianca said in a shrill voice, pointing an accusing finger at me.

Here we go again.

Another ‘girlfriend,’ same drama.

Maddox growled low in his throat, the sound so threatening even I winced. “Listen–”

My phone rang, breaking through the tension, and Maddox stopped mid-sentence. I gave him a sheepish look and slid out of the booth, phone to my ear.

I walked away from Maddox and Bianca as they continued arguing with each other.

“Hey, Bea?” I answered the call.

“Lila, shit. We’re in trouble,” she gasped.

“What? What is it? What happened?” I strode out of the club since it was too loud to hear anything Bea was saying over the phone.

Bea was a professional dancer, and my chorographer of the dance club at Harvard. Two years ago, I joined the club as a hobby and soon realized that I enjoyed dancing. It was therapeutic.

I wasn’t the best dancer, but I also wasn’t too bad. In between my studying and waitressing part-time, I needed something to do to relax and just unwind. Dancing seemed to do that for me.

“Owen is hurt. He broke his leg from a biking accident. He. Can’t. Dance,” Bea said, out of breath. I could feel her freaking out through the phone.

“Owen is hurt?” I asked, because I couldn’t believe what I just heard. “How bad is it?”

“He’s okay. He’s home, and he just called me. Owen isn’t in a lot of pain, but it’s bad enough he won’t be able to dance for the next three months. Oh God.”

Oh shit.

That didn’t sound good.

A month ago, our club partnered up with a non-profit organization that put on charity events for people with disabilities. This year, the fundraising event was for blind people.

Our small group of dancers were supposed to present a show for the attendees at the event who would be contributing to the charity.

Owen was my dance partner.

Shit!

“There’s no backing out now. This is top-notch, Lila. The organization, the event–everything–has to be perfect. We’re representing Harvard. We no longer have a dancing partner for you anymore, and you open the show!”

My throat went dry, and I tried not to panic, but Bea freaking out like this was causing me to freak out. “Bea, you need to calm down. We can figure it out.”

“The event is in a week!” She screeched loud enough I had to pull my phone away from my ear.

She was right though. We couldn’t mess this up. Every dance number at the event was a couple’s dance; the organization specifically asked for a partner dance since they thought it would be more attractive to the attendees.

I took in a deep breath, trying to calm my rising panic. I was used to perfection–my grades and my work. I was obsessed with it, although I wasn’t always like that.

My therapist said it was my way of dealing with the death of my parents–chasing perfection and wanting to always be in control.

Right now, everything was happening the opposite of what I wanted.

“So, we need to find me a new dance partner?” I questioned Bea.

“Even if we do, who’s going to learn the dance in less than seven days?” She took a shuddering breath and let it out. “It’s not possible.”

“Nothing is ever impossible,” I said.

“Your optimism is admiring but not suitable for the situation since we are thoroughly fucked!”

“I’ll find a dance partner,” I announced with conviction. There was no giving up after we’d come this far. The event was happening. Owen was hurt, but we had to find a way to make it work.

And I knew exactly who was going to help me.

Even if I was about to hear him grumble about it for the rest of our lives.

“Lila–”

“I know someone.”

“Who?” she asked suspiciously.

My corner of my lips curled up. “Maddox.”

I had struck Bea into silence, only her breathing could be heard over the phone.

“You’re serious?” she whispered, as if we were sharing a secret.

“Yup.”

“Holy shit. You mean, The Maddox, right?”

“Yup.” I grinned harder.

“Holy shit,” she said again.

We said our goodbyes, and I walked back inside the club. Maddox was going to hate it, but I knew he’d never say no to me.

Back at our booth, I saw that Bianca was nowhere to be seen, and Maddox was nursing a beer. “Where’d she go?”

“I handled her,” he said, not giving me any more details. “What’s up?” Maddox seemed to have sobered up a bit.

“I need to talk to you about something.”

His eyes narrowed on me. “Is it bad?”

I half-shrugged. “Not exactly. Do you want to go home?”

Maddox stood up without saying a word, and I guessed I had my answer.

***

Maddox

“No,” I calmly stated. “Not happening.”

“But Maddox,” she dragged out my name, pleading with her eyes. When I shook my head firmly, she stomped her foot.

She peeked at me through her lashes. “This is really important to me.”

Then Lila got a look on her face, a look that should have warned me of what was coming.

“Lila–”

“I dare you.”

Jesus Christ, this woman!

“Take that back,” I warned, my voice low.

Lila smirked. “No.” She crossed her arms over her pert tits, pulling my attention to her chest.

I was a goddamn weak man.

Weak to my fucking knees for Lila Garcia because she was the one temptation I couldn’t have.

She was wearing a crop top that should’ve been illegal. Her dreamcatcher necklace hung around her neck; Lila never took it off after I put it on her three years ago. Her stomach was taunt, and her belly button looked cute, and as fucked up as it was, a brief image of me licking her belly button and her giggling flashed through my mind. My mouth watered at the thought.

I shook my head and cursed myself. No, I couldn’t.

This was… not happening.

Never, fucking ever.

Even though it grew harder every year to remind myself that we could only ever be friends and nothing more.

Every time she smiled at me, it became harder not to kiss her.

Though, I had refused to admit that even to myself. I refused to even entertain the idea of touching Lila in a manner other than ‘friendly.’

But fucking hell, I was little drunk, and I couldn’t get the image out of my head. She was standing in front of me with a crop top and shorts that hugged her curvaceous ass like a second skin, her pink lips glistening and her black hair falling over her shoulders.

Lila looked like a Rated-R Snow White. I wanted to slide between her thighs and make us both forget that we were best friends.

No. FUUUCCCK. NO!

That was drunk me thinking of that shit. Sober Maddox would never think of fucking his best friend, I told myself.

“Maddox, are you listening to me?” Her voice broke through my burning thoughts.

I swallowed and forced myself to look away.

“Yeah,” I said, my voice deeper, hoping she didn’t notice the way I strategically adjusted the pillow over my lap.

“Do you dare?” she asked cheekily.

I sighed, running my fingers through my short hair and pulling on the strands. “This isn’t going to be fun, Lila.”

She was asking me to be her dance partner. I wasn’t much of a dancer, but I wouldn’t say I completely sucked. This was important to her; I was well aware of that fact.

It was the fact that I was going to be too close to Lila for a whole week, especially since it had started to become harder for me to control my urges–my dick–around her. That bothered me. After the incident with Landon… there had been an unmistakable tension between Lila and I.

We both refused to acknowledge it, going on with our lives, but it was there, and it was becoming harder to ignore.

I didn’t know why… I was feeling this way.

And I didn’t understand what it was.

Angry at myself, I held back a growl, and my eyes snapped to Lila’s. She was waiting for an answer, oblivious to my inner turmoil.

Lila Garcia was my best friend, and the last thing I wanted to do was lose her because I couldn’t keep my dick in my pants.

I’m drunk, this is why, I convinced myself.

She tapped her foot impatiently. Any other girl doing that would have annoyed me, but Lila tapping her foot was cute as fuck.

“C’mon, Coulter. Are you about to lose to me?” She tsked. “It’s a simple dare.”

Simple?

Little did she know…

She grew cocky when I didn’t reply, her competitive nature shining through. Lila knew I’d never turn down a dare, and she knew exactly how to get her way.

“Fine, I accept the dare,” I said, my teeth grinding together. “You’re going to regret this, Garcia.”

Lila pressed her lips together to keep from smiling, but she lost the fight. A beautiful smile spread across her lips, and she laughed a bit, the little happy sound shooting straight to my heart.

My fingers curled and uncurled at my sides.

What in the fuck is wrong with me?