Nerve (12 page)

“A hundred dollars.”

He raises his eyebrows. “My, oh my. What would I get for that much?” He hasn’t called me a greedy bitch or driven off yet. A good sign.

I run a finger down the middle of my chest. “What would you want?”

He gives a low chuckle as his gaze slides over me. “A lot.”

I glance around, catching Ian’s eye as he passes us with his phone out. I turn to the guy in the car, smiling as Ian takes up his filming position.

I bat my eyelashes. “So is it a deal? You’ll pay a hundred?”

“Anything I want?” His lips are plump and shiny, like he licks them a lot.

“Mm-hmm.”

A hairy hand emerges from the window to stroke my skirt. I fight the urge to vomit.

He presses a button to unlock the passenger door. “Then it’s a deal. Why don’t you get in already?” He leans away to clear a box from the seat. As his body shifts, I see something flash in his breast pocket. Oh geez, was that a badge?

“Look, sir, I was just kidding. Sorry for any confusion.” I hurry toward Ian and yell, “Run!”

Behind us a door slams.

“Get back here! Freeze!”

The crowd across the street erupts into whoops. We sprint in their direction, dodging cars. The frat boys double over in laughter and the others nearby hold out phones. But none of our fans are going to protect us this time. Ian and I head south and keep running. I doubt any of the Watchers are dumb enough to chase after us. Not with a cop waving his gun as he jogs across the street.

Ian and I turn the second corner. My feet are killing me. Ballet flats have lousy arch support.

I pant. “I’m not sure I can keep up this pace all the way to the car.”

Three doors down is an alcove that Ian pulls me into. I instinctively hold my breath, afraid of what smells lurk in such an obvious place for winos to spend the night. Although it’s musty, the odor I fear most is absent. We huddle in the shadows, Ian against the wall, me in his arms. Half a minute later, footsteps approach, and the cop huffs by, cussing to himself. Behind him are two boys in athletic jackets, giggling and filming him. Okay, someone was dumb enough to follow.

Ian’s heart pounds hard against my cheek. Neither of us moves a muscle.

“Come here!” The cop yells to the boys.

By their footsteps, I hear that they’re following orders; even the laughter stops. He demands their phones, probably hoping to delete whatever footage they got before it ends up online. Too little, too late, dude.

As they march past the alcove, one of the boy’s eyes get wide like he spots us, but instead of ratting us out to save himself, he hangs his head. The cop also glances our way, squinting, but keeps going. I don’t dare breathe until their footsteps are far in the distance. When I do, I notice Ian’s scent—like mountains on a late summer hike. I take another long breath of him.

“I think we did it,” he whispers.

“Amazing.” I look up into his face, although I can barely make out his features.

He strokes my jawline with a finger. “Ian Jagger, huh?”

“Don’t you want to be a rock star?”

“Out there, you were the rock star.” He pulls me in closer, as if that’s possible.

Is he going to kiss me? I barely know this guy. But we’ve faced all kinds of danger together already. That has to count for something. And he seems to have my back. That counts for something more. Okay, maybe his attention is just part of the game. But that tingle along my spine sure feels real.

He moves his finger from my jaw to my lips, gently tracing their outline. We stand there breathing each other’s air, feeling each other’s pulse.

A light goes on inside the building, causing me to jerk away from our clinch. The thick glass door next to us reveals a tiny foyer with a shabby sofa and a row of mailboxes. A white-haired man limps down a stairway, leaning on an ornately carved railing.

“Recess over,” I say, with all the disappointment of a second grader heading back to class.

We tiptoe down the steps, peek both ways to make sure the cop’s gone, and trot to the car with our fingers loosely laced. It isn’t until we get inside the car that we discuss my dare.

“Think it’ll count?” I ask.

“Hell, yeah. An offer’s an offer, whether it’s from a cop or not.”

I hope he’s right. As we wait to hear from NERVE, we sit there grinning at each other. Hard to believe that earlier this evening I was sulking behind a dusty curtain while I watched my best friend backstab me. And now? Prizes, fun, and maybe cash. But most importantly, a smokin’-hot guy who’s eyeing me like candy.

I love this game.

Ian starts the engine and turns on the heat. Outside, it’s begun to rain. Do the girls on the street carry umbrellas, or does rain not even factor into their complaint list? Maybe the drizzle helps wash away the stench of their clients. I rest my cheek against the seat, content not to be running or shivering or negotiating with horny older men.

Ian adopts the same position as me, so that we’re face-to-face, less than a foot apart. “So how far do you want to take this?”

Is he talking about the game or something more? Even though the evening has been exciting so far, it’s not like I’m eager to subject myself to whatever the NERVE dare-makers, which I suspect are really a roomful of greasy guys eating cheeseburgers, come up with next.

But the words that come out of my mouth are, “I don’t have to be home until midnight.”

He brushes a lock of hair from my forehead. “We could have so much fun in the next fifty minutes.”

My insides melt into latte foam. Fifty delicious minutes. Or wait, is he talking about the game?

“Fun is good,” I say, hoping he’ll elaborate upon what he’s thinking.

Keeping his eyes on mine, he slips off his jacket and shifts closer. Heat emanates from his body, drawing me in. I run a hand along his shoulder, amazed by how solid he feels, and more amazed that I reached out to touch him without a second thought. Maybe the game is altering my risk-taking DNA somehow. The drumming of rain on the car roof gives me a tingly, under-the-covers sensation. Settled inside this cozy space with Ian is good. Really good.

So, naturally, this is the moment our phones blast with trumpet music. My head almost hits the ceiling. Never thought I’d miss that creepy kid ring tone. I open my phone, not because I care what it says, but to stop the noise. The message from NERVE is packed with exclamation points.

“Holy shit,” Ian says as I read.

My thought exactly. Not only have I earned my new phone, but the audience grew by seven thousand Watchers, which tacks on fourteen hundred dollars of bonus money. I feel faint.

In addition to my winnings, NERVE allowed incoming messages to go through. A dozen each from Liv and Eulie, first with condolences (I
T’S
M
ATTHEW’S LOSS
), then with amazement (I
S THAT REALLY YOU
?), then with congratulations (OMG! OMG! OMG!).

I can’t wait to hash over every detail of my night with them, the way I normally would do with Sydney.

Still, it’s weird there aren’t any texts from her or Tommy, even WTF ones.

As a test, I select Tommy’s number and press it. His voice comes through harshly. “Are you okay? Why didn’t you call me back sooner?”

Crap. I should’ve just texted him. “NERVE blocked my phone as part of the game. You’re the first person I’m calling. You’ll never guess how much bonus money I’ve won.”

His exhalation fills my ear with static. “Better be a ton after what they made you do. Seriously, you know how many people get shot in that part of town? And if you get arrested, you’ll have a criminal record.”

The rain outside intensifies, with a rumble of thunder. The hip I fell on outside the bowling alley starts to ache again. “I didn’t actually do anything wrong. It was all just pretend.”

“You trolled for johns, negotiated a deal, and resisted arrest. Good luck proving you were only kidding.”

I laugh. “Congrats on earning your Law and Order degree.” A nagging stitch in my side tells me he’s right though.

“Hey, you’ve won some stuff and had your fun, so you’re quitting while you’re ahead, right?”

A ripple of lightning flashes everything around me blue for a second. “Yeah. It’s getting late anyway.”

“Good. I’m glad you’re going home before things get even more dangerous. I don’t trust that Ian guy.”

That Ian guy strokes my fingers like a mini harp. Every hair on my arm rises in pleasure. His caresses work like some kind of magic acupressure, calming the pain in my leg.

Oh yeah, I’m still on the phone. “Ian’s been great. I’ll see you tomorrow morning to help strike down the set, okay? Thanks for being my wingman on the prelim dares. I owe you. Bye, Tommy, you’re the best.” I clap my phone shut before he can nag me any more.

Ian frowns. “I thought I was the best. You two-timing me already?” His mouth curls upward.

Mmm. He’s feeling we have enough of a connection where “two-timing” is even worth mentioning? He bites his lip in a way that makes me want to bite it too. If he’s playing me, he’s good. And why would he want to play me anyway? We’re on the same side.

My phone rings with a rock song I recognize from a cop show. Seems like I can’t get away from the Rolling Stones tonight. Weird that Ian’s phone is silent.

When I read the next message, my face scrunches up.

His eyes widen. “What is it?”

I try to make sense of what I’m reading. “This dare’s, um, different.”

“How?”

The warmth of the car dissipates. Telling Ian about this dare means explaining some stuff about myself. Behind-the-scenes second banana to Sydney kind of stuff. Once he sees the real me, this fairy tale will end.

I swallow. “It has to do with my real life.”

His harp playing moves from my fingers up my arm. Sweet music. “As opposed to this, your fake life?”

“Not fake, just more like surreal, you know?”

His gaze is steady. “The dares are a game, but everything between them isn’t. Not for me, anyway.”

“For me either. What I mean is that this time NERVE wants me to mess with people who aren’t strangers. And for some reason, the dare doesn’t mention you.”

He shrugs. “I’m sure they’ll come up with something for me. So what do they want you to do?”

I stare out the windshield. “To go to the auditorium where we had a school play tonight. I did the makeup and costumes. Anyway, I need to go to the cast party and confront a friend about something, and then I have to add a negative critique on her performance.” The last bit just seems silly and cruel. But what I really can’t get my head around is how NERVE knew I was mad at Sydney. Who told them? Liv and Eulie? Did they think they were helping me?

He slides his hand down my arm. “Doesn’t sound too bad compared to what else you’ve faced tonight. Those hookers could’ve scratched your eyes out. Your friend wouldn’t do that, right?”

I consider it for a moment. “Nah. She’s more about drama than violence.” I exhale loudly. “But this dare feels harder. It’s one thing doing obnoxious stuff in front of strangers. These are my friends.” Which in theory should actually be easier, but nothing about this dare feels easy.

His hand is smooth and warm against mine. “I get it.”

Does he? It’s hard to imagine him flustered or tongue-tied in front of his friends. Although he did seem nervous when that pimp wanted to take him for a walk. Who wouldn’t?

“You going to tell me what the confrontation is about?” he asks.

I sigh. “A guy. But it’s ancient history.” Surprising how fast my feelings for Matthew have faded.

He raises an eyebrow. “Will this confrontation be leading to a catfight? Please say yes. I’ll pay you myself.”

I hit his arm. “Don’t get your hopes up. This guy’s not worth it. I told you, ancient history.” Nothing like one hot guy to get your mind off of another.

“How ancient?”

I check my phone. “About three hours.”

We both laugh.

His own phone buzzes. He reads with a puzzled expression.
“My dare’s in two parts, but they only sent the first one, where I get to be basically a prop for your dare.”

“What do you have to do?”

“Flirt with the hottest girl there.”

My heart sinks. Another coup for Sydney. How did NERVE know the best way to ruin my night? Confronting Syd while Ian flirts with her would be my own custom-tailored hell. I grimace. Then I realize that it’s only hell if I decide to go through with it.

“Well, the dare doesn’t matter anyway,” I say. “I’m quitting.”

He sits upright. “Why? It wouldn’t be dangerous. You’ll get to see your friends. And I’ll be gushing over you the whole time.”

“No, you’ll be too busy flirting with the hottest girl there.” And she’ll be lapping it up.

He places a hand on each side of my face. “The hottest girl there will be you, no question.”

I study those succulent lips. “You haven’t met my divalicious best friend, Sydney, star of the play and every other event at my school.” There, now he’ll begin to see the truth. My admission is the first crack in this dream façade we’ve constructed, more temporary than any of the sets Tommy built for the play.

His gaze grows intense. “I’ve met you. And I promise, you’re way more enticing than any drama queen. Flirting with you will be the easiest dare ever.”

“Ha. You make it almost sound tempting.”

“You should know all about being tempting.” He pulls one of the elastic bands from my hair, and then the other as he leans forward, slowly. An electric buzz shimmers across my skin as our lips meet. His mouth feels as luscious as it looks. I could drown in this guy. So I do. All sense of time is lost as we press into each other. He tastes like berries, the kind you can’t get enough of. My body aches in all the right spots. I can barely catch my breath when we part.

His voice is husky. “C’mon, Vee. This dare will be all about you. I’ll do whatever it takes to make you shine in front of your friends. Drama girl will be forgotten by the time we’re done there.”

As if Sydney’s someone you could ever forget. She’s always been larger than life, back to the first day of kindergarten, when she arrived wearing a tiara and peacock feathers. All the kids wanted to play with her, but she chose me as her confidante, the quiet girl who color-coordinated her outfits with her pencils and erasers. I wore a lot of yellow and pink in those days.