“Dare,” she said, like she was daring me and not the other way around.
I kept my relief from showing but did allow myself a smirk. “Okay. Dare it is.”
Again I picked my way through the crowd, and again I knelt down on the blanket; this time I was kneeling next to Jess, and she was adorably ruffled, unable to hide her anger.
“I dare you to come with me and go skinny-dipping in Bandit Lake for the next hour.”
Her brown eyes widened, rimmed with shock, and the crowd erupted in opinions. I heard someone say, I should have thought of that one, that’s a good one.
“Well?” I pushed, burying my enthusiasm under an expression of boredom. “What’s it going to be?”
Finally she sputtered, “An hour? That lake is near freezing; we’ll get hypothermia.”
“Okay, thirty minutes then.”
“Thirty minutes?”
“Fifteen. Final offer. Or else you have to choose truth.”
A wrinkle formed above her nose, and her eyes bounced between mine. Then, abruptly, she lifted her chin and said with venom, “Fine. I accept.”
She stood, unzipped her jacket, tossed it to Cletus, then jogged out of the circle of the bonfire’s light. I was too surprised to move at first, but then Beau punched me in the shoulder.
“What are you waiting for, dumbass? Go get her.”
I stared at my brother and he stared back, giving me an excited, encouraging smile. And I saw what I’d been blind to earlier. Beau wasn’t interested in Jessica, not because she wasn't beautiful or amazing. She was. She was gorgeous. She was smart and clever. She was breathtaking. She was also too good for either of us.
Beau wasn't interested in Jess because he knew how I felt. Of course he did. We were twins. He must’ve always known.
We exchanged a brotherly grin, and he punched me again. “Go on, get.”
I nodded once then stood, toeing my boots off and pulling both my sweater and shirt over my head. I left everything but my pants in a pile on the ground, grabbed a still-folded blanket, then sprinted into the woods after Jessica James.
I was always running after her, but this time I wasn't going to let her get away.
CHAPTER 4
“The journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step.”
― Lao Tzu
Jessica
I’ve never been a liar. I’m not that creative and I lack the energy required. I’m not even very good at lying to myself. That’s probably why I currently felt like my brain was being torn in two.
I didn’t like that I wanted Duane Winston, but there it was. He’d done something to me, awoke some slumbering feminine feral creature, and now I was pathetic with thinking about him. And it wasn’t just wanting his kiss, his touch, his body, and maybe even a bit of his sassy back talk. I was thinking about him and our interactions growing up and all the countless hours we’d spent in each other’s company not getting along.
To make matters even more muddled, whatever he’d done to me backstage at the community center had apparently miraculously broken the Beau-spell—at least for the night. I wasn’t sure if this was a good or a bad thing. On one hand, I’d always known my feelings for Beau were based on an unhealthy and unrealistic infatuation.
On the other hand, at least Beau had been nice to me. No sassy back talk from Beau Winston—only friendly smiles, honesty, and kindness—which was why I’d hero-worshipped him for so long.
But now…almost nothing. When Beau had found me in the dark and told me who he was, the first thing I felt was disappointment he wasn’t Duane. No music only I could hear. No reducing me to a blubbering, slurring Swahili speaker. Just disappointment.
How that was even possible after twelve years of obsessive behavior made me question my mental health. Likely, I should have been questioning it long before now.
I slowed my jog to a walk, guessing that the edge of the lake was nearby and cursing myself for not bringing a flashlight. The short run was good, but not enough. It had expelled merely a modicum of the restless energy coursing through my system, making me feel fried, dried, and crispy.
The problem was my brain was tearing in two because my feelings for Duane were not consensual.
Did I want to feel like a jealous, raging, seething she-witch when Duane had kissed my sexy bee cousin, who also just happened to be his ex-girlfriend, and a smokin’ hot stripper?
No. No, I did not. I didn’t want to feel this way. I wanted to feel nothing. But I didn’t feel nothing. I felt like he’d reached inside my chest, closed his fist around my heart, and was slowly squeezing it. I also felt like plucking the wings off Tina’s costume.
He’d kissed her. He’d kissed her just like he’d kissed me. Obviously Duane made a habit of kissing the hell out of women, all women. That’s probably why he was such a good kisser. Lots and lots of practice.