They Wouldn't Dare - Chapter One

Sneak peek of my upcoming new adult romance

(art by heyyymumu)

Note: this is an unedited chapter, published verison may include minor changes

Fall Semester - Senior Year

Westbrooke University’s starting tight end stood at my front door, soaked from head to toe. His jaw was tense, frustration radiating heat from his gaze like the eye of an oven. Nevertheless, the warmth didn’t pierce through my shield. After almost a decade of knowing him, I’ve insulated my walls against his weather changes. Nothing got in or out without my say-so. It was brilliant (for me) and a point of grievous annoyance (for him).

“Did you do it?” I asked, despite his clear success.

David Evans scoffed, mouth parted, and tongue poking the inside of his cheek. I’d bet good money that before knocking on my door, he’d contemplated if today was his last straw. Tried to determine if today was the day he let me win once and for all.

He raked his fingers through his hair, shoving the short brown strands off his forehead. The wrinkle between his brows resembles a well-traveled valley. David’s dark brown eyes looked even more like pits of despair when he was on the edge of giving up. I straightened with a bit of hope, my back becoming a lightning rod for the endgame. But, unfortunately, the guy wasn’t a quitter.

David held up a shiny dime. “Here’s your year 1915.”

I grabbed it to confirm the impossibility. Even tried to bend in case of fraud. He snorted at the gesture, and that was as much amusement as I’d get out of him tonight.

“No way!” I scratched at the metal, and a bit of polish came off the tip of my red nails. Not a metallic speck in sight. It was real. “How long did it take you?”

“Three hours,” he forced through gritted teeth.

A laugh slipped from my lips. “You dived in fountains for three hours? God, David. You’re something else.”

“No diving necessary. I used a net,” he said.

“Oh…smart.” My shoulders sagged. Though I appreciated his ingenuity, I would have preferred his complete dedication to wading. But I hadn’t proposed requirements for this dare, so that was on me. I’d do better next time.

I tilted my head to the side, considering. “Wait, if you used a net, why are you all wet?”

His jaw ticked once again. For a second, I didn’t think he’d tell me the actual reason.

“I…slipped,” David said through gritted teeth.

“I knew I should have stayed with you!” I shook my head, mourning the missed opportunity. “That lecture could have waited.”

“Did you at least take notes for me?” He looked like he didn’t want to ask, even though he had been asking since the semester started. In all three years at Westbrooke, I’d never had a class with David. But in our senior year, we shared two. It seemed like the university’s final attempt to break me.

“You may copy my notes later. Under supervision, of course,” I offered. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have meal-prepping to do and a discussion post to write.”

As soon as I tried to close the door, David used his hand to stop it. “I need to shower.”

I snorted, looking him up and down. Tiny puddles pooled underneath his grimy gray sneakers. Patches of dirt stained the hem of his blue jeans. He smelled like chemicals and wet asphalt. “Yes, you do. Who knows what filth’s in a university water fountain?”

He let out something that was one part sigh and the other part groan. “Now, Yara. Right. Now.”

I bit back a laugh after realizing what he was asking. His grip on the door loosened, but the desperation in his eyes remained firm.

“There’s no way I’m letting you track water and muck all over our nice rugs.” I crossed my arms over my chest. “Haven just cleansed the apartment. And you’re definitely carrying around enough bad karma to undo a day’s worth of goodwill. I mean, coins in fountains are wishes, right? You just stole someone’s wish.”

I didn’t believe in cleansing, karma, or wishes, but the irritation that appeared on David’s face made pretending worth it.

“You were the one who instigated a stolen wish,” he said, eyes dancing with amusement when I frowned at the statement. “So, where does that leave you?”

I shook my head. “You’ll have to do better than that if you want to guilt-trip me.”

“Yara,” David’s voice went at least two octaves lower. It was a method he’d fallen back on since realizing it scratched some unknown part of my brain I had no control over. I’d given that sensitive information away years ago, when I’d been too young and naïve to know better.

“Don’t make me beg.” His hand fell from the door. David knew keeping me would no longer require physical effort.

I almost readied myself to give him a taste of his own medicine. But the look in his eyes reminded me of why he’d thought of the net in the first place. It was the same reason he’d panicked whenever his water bottles got mixed up with the other guys on his team. And why he’d done everything he could each year (including camping outside the dean’s office for a night) to ensure he got a coveted single-bedroom on-campus housing. I could be a hardass, but I wasn’t heartless. Not completely, at least.

“Okay.” I sighed. “But you have to be quick. Haven’s out. If she comes back and sees you, then I’m in for another cleanse and lecture about letting destructive energy into our space.”

“Deal.” He pushed past the threshold.

“Wait, hold on.” I waved my hands for him to stop.

“Seriously?” He leaned his head back as if the ceiling would answer all his prayers. “Yara, could you just—”

“You’re tracking in water.” I hurried to the bathroom, grabbing a stack of towels.

David looked pissed but kept his commentary to himself. I laid the towels on the ground one after another. With each one placed, David stepped forward as if he were traveling on a row of lily pads.

“Slow down, slow down,” I protested when he kept catching up to me.

“This is ridiculous,” he complained, but stopped on one towel to give me a slight lead.

“I’m not the one who tripped.” I glanced up at him.

David’s hands were on his waist. The position made his soaked t-shirt (which looked a size or two too small) stretch across his chest. The dull gray of his shirt highlighted the reddish undertones of his white skin. I could make out every tight curve of his muscles. Besides being impressive on the football field, David was an avid runner. We’d bumped into one another far too many times on the nature trails back in our hometown. His wardrobe had changed little since then. Thus, the too-small t-shirt.

“Are we waiting for an alien invasion or for the polar ice caps to stop melting?” David’s voice pulled me away from the foggy nature trails and a memory of him telling me to wait for him whenever the trail got too steep or too remote. He never believed in my ability to gouge an attacker’s pupils using my safety keychain (despite how often I used to ruin his day at our community center karate lessons when we were in seventh grade).

“You joke, but I think we’re closer to an alien invasion than not,” I teased. His scowl made me laugh. I still jumped into action, though.

Our towel bridge reached the bathroom mat laid out in front of the shower. I smiled, satisfied with the outcome. David seemed more pissed than ever. Although he won his dare, I felt like the victor tonight. His disapproval was catnip to me.

“You can use my soap in the caddy.” I pointed at a blue bottle.

“Lucky me,” he mumbled and went to remove his shirt.

“Whoa, whoa.” I slapped my hand over my eyes. He snorted.

“Well, you were taking so long to leave, I figured you wanted a peek,” he teased.

“You figured wrong.” I waved my hands, trying to feel my way out of the bathroom while keeping my eyes shut. David’s deep laugh tugged at my core. I slammed the door behind me only to have it open a few seconds later. He tossed a pile of clothes out.

“Excuse me?” I yelped when the clothes fell at my heels. “Are you some sort of speed undresser?”

He ignored my question. “Wash those.”

“I take ‘pleases’ and ‘thank you’s’ like a normal human.”

The door shut again. I huffed as the shower started, the curtain rings scraping across the rod.

I’d have to wash his clothes or listen to him complain and put them in the washer himself. If the clothes didn’t get in the wash now, that meant I’d have to endure his presence for even longer.

I took the L, complaining under my breath the whole time. Before picking up the wet (potentially cursed) pile, I grabbed a pair of disposable gloves from the kitchen.

“Slipped or catapulted?” I mumbled with a creased brow as I carted the dripping pieces into our small laundry area.

As usual, Haven still had a load in the wash. I switched her clothes over and poured an insane amount of detergent into the machine. I smiled at the thought of David walking around with not just his skin but clothes smelling like me…. Someone could interpret that in the wrong way.

And you’d like that, wouldn’t you? Especially if he ran into anyone from home.

I frowned. No. Absolutely not. I wanted a lot of things, but wanting to be seen as David’s and vice versa had never been one of them.

I’m not dense enough to deny attraction. He was good-looking in a way that snuck up on people. At first glance, he was strikingly average with his dark hair, strong nose, and crooked smile. Upon second glance, the dark in his eyes seemed like an ode to a Gothic hero, and the way he spoke, ever low and steady, was reminiscent of every villain from some canceled-before-its-time paranormal TV series. A third glance risked complete fascination. Luckily, I’ve seen all of his sides. And most of them I didn’t like. Looks like only got someone so far. And unfortunately for David, there were a plethora of kind lookers in the world.

After turning on the washing machine, I slipped into my room. Textbooks, notepads, and colored highlighters littered my desk. Before David’s knock, I’d been deep into studying, trying to get ahead start this semester, so I would have enough time to dedicate to my campus organization’s events. Even though the semester just started a couple of weeks ago, my calendar was full of expectations.

As president of Westbrooke’s chapter of the Black Women in Development (BWD), I had the honor of spearheading events for Black women on campus. Our organization worked to foster connections and encourage personal and professional growth through workshops, lectures, and events. And since this semester marked my final year before graduation, I wanted everything I did for the org to be big. I needed it to be big to solidify my place in its history.

My mom had been the president when she was on campus. She’d not only gotten the role as a sophomore but single-handedly put our chapter on the map with her incredible fundraising abilities and her (now staple) end-of-year balls.

My oldest sister, Aimee, had followed in her footsteps, making her mark by partnering with local hospitals to raise funds for research.

All the presidents before me at Westbrooke had done their part in making our chapter one of the most successful. They’d left their own unique marks. And then, I showed up.

Since becoming president, our chapter membership has been at an all-time low. Attendance at meetings was sparse. And I practically had to drag pledge members out of bed to attend events. The appeal of sorority rushing rang far louder and shone ten times brighter to new students.

I’d done everything in my power to bring the chapter back to life. Partnered with after-school programs, coordinated unhoused outreach, and silent auctions for art funds. But each endeavor had minimal success, and each semester felt like falling back down to the base of a mountain. I wouldn’t admit it out loud, but on most counts, this chapter was dead. For my senior year, I was going to do everything possible to defy the odds and breathe it back to life… or die trying.

“Do you always pick the same spot?”

I started and looked over to find a bare-chested David in my doorway. He had wrapped a fluffy pink towel (somewhat loosely, very risky) around his waist.

“What?” I cleared my throat and tried not to look as startled as I felt.

David gestured at the back of his head. “Your hair. You were picking at it.”

“No, I wasn’t.” I shot out of my seat, ignoring the churn of embarrassment in my stomach, and headed to the closet. “I might have a shirt for you.”

“I’m fine.”

I frowned, still rummaging through my clothes. “You’re half-naked. No one’s fine half-naked in a stranger’s room.”

“Is that what we are? After all these years? Strangers?” He was on the move now, near my dresser, where I kept most of my books. “That can’t be accurate.”

“Well, we’re not friends,” I countered, glancing his way for some sort of clarification.

“No, definitely not friends,” he agreed with a nod.

“Acquaintances, probably.” I pulled out a black oversized Halloween tee.

David didn’t accept the shirt when I held it toward him. I wiggled it, doing everything short of tugging it over his head myself. Washing and drying the clothes would take forty minutes to an hour. I didn’t think I could wait that long without falling into the trap of distraction. I’d started counting the freckles on his shoulders, for goodness’ sake. Ten on the right, eight on the left.

“Acquaintances don’t feel right either.” David gestured to my books. “Are these all film novelizations?”

I raised a brow, readying for some quip. “Yes…and?”

David shook his head. “Nothing. I’ve never known anyone who brought these, let alone read them. And from the looks of it–” He leaned in closer, inspecting cracked spines and peeling covers. “–enjoy them.”

See, this was why I never invited people into my room. Not even Haven got the chance to scan my belongings and cast judgment on their value.

I scoffed at David’s assumption. “There’s an entire market for them.”

“Maybe in the eighties,” he countered.

“I didn’t say booming. I said, market.”

He shrugged, unfazed by the bite in my tone. “What’s your color-coding system? These little circle stickers.”

I laughed, surprised he noted the inconsequential detail. “Really, David?”

“What?” He blinked, confused.

I squinted at him, searching for an ulterior motive, but there was none amidst his tired eyes and water-activated curls. “Purple’s my comfort reads, blue’s copies I’m willing to lend out, and red is ones I love but will never read again.”

“Why keep a book if you’re never going to reread it?” He seemed genuinely perplexed.

“Sentimental value.” I tossed the shirt over his shoulder. Somehow, some way, even after showering with my soap, he still mostly smelled of himself: pinewood and early morning runs. “Of course.”

David snorted. “Didn’t take you for the sentimental type. That’s… interesting.”

He said “interesting” as if it were a change in expectation. A disappointing awakening.

“Didn’t take you for the questioning type,” I shot back. Caring about disappointing him wasn’t typically high on my priority list. But a pinch of frustration burrowed its way into my chest, making itself a nice, happy home.

“Just starting a conversation,” he said simply. “My questions are arbitrary and meaningless, like most during small talk.”

I laughed dryly. “We’re not having a conversation. You’re judging me while I wash your clothes, give you something warm to wear, and offer you something to drink.”

He raised a brow. “Did I miss that last part?”

“It was coming up. I’m making coffee. You want some?”

“It’s a little late for caffeine, don’t you think?” Thankfully, David finally tugged on the shirt. He looked funny with a towel as a bottom, but unless he wanted to wear my dolphin shorts, that’d have to do.

When I smiled at the thought of him squeezing into my shorts, he frowned at me.

“Why are you looking like that?” he asked, every word infused with suspicion.

I shook my head. “No reason. Was that a no on the coffee?”

David didn’t look like he believed my lie for a second, but said, “I’ll take some water.”

“Coming up.” I went to the door, pausing before I left to say, “Touch nothing. If you do, I’ll know.”

“Your sentimental clutter is safe with me.” He drew an X across his chest.

I made a noise of disapproval. He winked and waved me off. It took less than five minutes to turn on my machine and slip in a flavor pod. Once I got back into the room with his cup of water, David was lounging on my bed. He’d spread a blanket underneath him and rearranged the pillows so he remained propped up. He flipped through one of my sketchbooks that’d been on the bookshelf.

“Uh, excuse me?” I snatched the sketchbook from him. My heart hammered at him, of all people, seeing my random doodles.

I was no artist. In fact, I was whatever the opposite of an artist was. But on my worst days, when the thoughts were anvils, and I was on the verge of plucking at my hair for too long to hide the damage, I had to put pen to paper.

“I said, Don’t touch.” I pinned the book against my chest.

“You drew those?” He sat up a little straighter, which loosened his towel. I frowned at the sight. I felt as if I had swallowed ice, and it was stuck in my chest, melting painfully slowly. David’s brow raised as he studied how tightly I clung to my secret relaxation tool.

“None of your business. Now, here.” I shoved a glass of water in his direction, its contents almost spilling over the edge. He took it and barely mumbled, “Thank you.” I tossed a blanket over his legs before slipping my sketchbook into a drawer and sitting back down at my desk.

He chuckled, readjusting the blanket on his lap. “What was that for?”

“Your thighs were showing. No one wants to see that.”

“You sure? Because you seemed to look.”

Before I could respond, my phone buzzed. I glanced at the caller ID and winced.

“What?” David asked, smelling blood in the water.

“Nothing.” I shoved down the guilt about sending the call to voicemail and opened a fresh Word doc to start my homework. The phone buzzed again. The guilt grew limbs, ready to run laps across my stomach lining.

“You need to get that?” he asked.

I took a breath. “No…. maybe.”

“Don’t let me stop you.”

“Maybe you could go into the living room?”

“Sure. And greet Haven in a towel.” He nodded. I could see the wheels turning in his head. “What should I tell her happened?”

My expression darkened. “The truth.”

He tsked and looked up at the ceiling to think. “That’s no fun.”

“She’d believe nothing else,” I said, even though that might not be the case.

I’d been in this dare battle with David since our sophomore year. Haven and the rest of my friends became more curious about it with each passing semester. I couldn’t blame them. If one of them swore they hated a guy since middle school, but spent copious amounts of time with him, I’d be a skeptic, too.

But my dare battle with David was about principle. Something my friends didn’t understand. And I couldn’t blame them because I wasn’t the best at explaining it just yet.

“Promise you’ll be quiet?” I said when my phone buzzed with a few worried texts.

“I don’t like making promises, Yara. I’ve accepted a long time ago that I am regrettably human and thus, will most likely break them.”

“David, come on. Work with me. You owe me that much,” I insisted when I grabbed my phone. I needed to take this call, especially since it was Logan. Ignoring even a text from her triggered a spiral of shame I’d spend days trying to shake off.

“Fine. I will do everything I can to speak only if necessary.” His grin didn’t sit well with me. “In case of fire or flood.”

“I think I’d smell a fire or see a flood coming.”

He shrugged. “You never know.”

“But you do know…” I let out an exasperated sigh when my phone vibrated again. “Fine. But I swear to God I’ll ruin you if you make the slightest noise. Swallow your sneezes and coughs. Sip your water without gulping. And scroll on your phone with the volume off.”

David nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”

I gave him one last look before pressing the call-back button.

“Everything okay?” It required focus to ensure my voice didn’t quiver with anxiety about the answer potentially being ‘no.’

“God, I was thinking I’d have to drive up there in the morning.” Logan breathed out a sigh of relief. Some of the tightness in my back uncoiled.

“I was busy with something, sorry.” David’s gaze weighed heavily on me. My cheeks burned, so I turned to face the window.

God, I should have said, screw any misunderstanding that might have happened with Haven. Having David hear my “younger sister voice” was potentially ten times more embarrassing.

“Mom wanted to make sure you remembered we got a table at Winsor’s, so wear something nice,” Logan said. “And preferably white and flowy. She wants photos with the dogwood trees.”

“Got it.” I pulled up my calendar and added a note to the already penciled dinner with Mom and my sisters.

“Minimal jewelry, no heels. Hair done or tucked away in a nice, neutral scarf.” Logan spoke in a monotone as if she were reading off a script. Knowing our mother, it was wise to take notes on whatever she said. Mom remembered everything and didn’t have the time or patience to expect anything less from others.

“The topic of discussion?” I dared to ask.

“Governors’ Ball, of course. Which means she’s going to run through everything. And everything in your case means graduation updates. I think it’s time you told her you didn’t get that internship in DC. Or New York. Or…well, you get my point. Honesty.”

I winced. My hand went to the back of my head immediately. I picked at a few strands of hair, waiting for Logan to continue. The springs of my bed creaked. I’d nearly forgotten about David’s presence until his hand nudged my wrist. I yanked my fingers away from my hair, ashamed at being caught for the second time tonight.

“Do you think my clothes are done?” he asked at a normal volume. I muted myself, but not fast enough.

“Who’s that?” Logan asked.

I glared at David. “I don’t know, asshole. Check.”

He didn’t move an inch.

“Oh, my God…” Logan sounded awake, alert, and amused for the first time in years. “Is that a guy? Yara, do you have a guy in your room?”

I unmuted and quickly confirmed. “It’s no one.”

David snorted once again, loud enough for her to hear.

“Uh, I think maybe I should leave you to it,” Logan offered, and I could practically hear the gossip travelling through the grapevine. The news would begin with our sisters and slowly spread to the most distant relatives, where a twice-removed cousin’s partner would form an opinion to be discussed at the next family gathering.

“No.” I quickly tried to think of something that would reel her back in. Something interesting enough to make her forget. “I can talk. Let’s talk. How’s grad school? Is that other TA still taking credit for your work?”

Her adventures as a TA were low-hanging fruit. An easy trigger to steer her into a rant.

“Not falling for that.” I could hear the smile in her voice. “You know you’ve just made the agenda, right?”

“Lo, come on,” I pleaded.

“See you next week,” she sang. “Love you!”

As soon as she hung up, I turned to David and promised, “You’re dead.”

He gave me a warm smile that was so gentle I had to do a double-take to remember what we were.

“You can thank me later,” he said.

“Excuse me?”

“You wanted off that call but were too afraid to speak up for yourself.” He considered. “Which is strange for you. I’ve never known you not to stand your ground.”

I frowned, unsettled by the observation and ammunition I’d just given him. “You don’t know me well enough to know what’s strange for me.”

David shook his head and leaned closer. My breath caught in my throat. Seriously, how did he smell so much like himself after being engulfed with my scent?

“I disagree. I think we both know one another better than most people in our lives.” His voice was almost too low for me to hear. “I’m going to find a word for us. Not strangers, acquaintances, or friends. There’s something more, and I’m going to find it.”

His promise rang in

my ears. The words weren’t warm but far from frigid, far from uncaring. David looked at me as if I were some mystery. I stared back, just as desperate to solve our puzzle.

__

Preorder They Wouldn’t Dare now on Amazon.