Dare Me(7)

Oh, shit. My stomach twists into a giant knot as those words fall from my tongue.

Everyone begins hooting and hollering, and I can’t help but laugh along with them. “Remember, safe,” Emery reminds us. “And, friends, let’s be reasonable.”

“Reasonable,” Kinsley snorts. “Okay, let’s put our heads together, guys.” They lean in to the center of the small round pub table, and whisper-yell over the tops of empty drink glasses and finally all sit back in their chairs.

“Bad idea.” Zay shakes his head and purses his lips. “I don’t like it.”

“Well, if one of you disagrees, then maybe you should come up with something new,” I chime in and look at Zay, who looks irritated.

“Not in this lifetime.” Kinsley giggles. “You ready, Saige?”

I swallow hard against my dry throat. “No.”

Truth. Always choose truth. What was I thinking?

“Too bad.” She grabs a shot off the table. “You are going to go ask Holt Hamilton out for a drink.”

“What?” I snap at her. I look around the table like my friends have lost their damn minds. “I can’t ask him out for drinks. He’ll think it’s a date, and dating a superior is strictly prohibited per the company handbook. There’s this thing called ethics in the workplace, people. Have you all lost your minds? Are you all crazy? Are you trying to get me fired?” They all roar with laughter and my heart races.

“First of all,” Kinsley tips her head back and swallows the lemon drop shot, “it’s not against company policy to date a coworker. You cannot date your direct manager. Holt is not your direct manager.” She looks pleased, like she just solved a murder case.

“He owns the f*cking company,” I bark at her. “That pretty much qualifies as my manager.”

“Pipe down, little one.” Rowan pats my hand. “It’s just a drink, and purely innocent.”

I glower at him. “You said you’d have my back. This is not having my back, Ro.” I wipe my sweaty hands on my skirt.

“It’s all in pure fun.” His eyebrows dance at me. “Tell him we dared you if you have to.”

My frown deepens. “So I look like a thirteen-year-old? Hi, Mr. Hamilton. My friends over there dared me to ask you out. Will you have drinks with me? No thanks.” I cross my arms over my chest in defiance. Then, realizing that I probably look like I’m actually thirteen, I uncross them.

Zay chimes in, “I’ll bet one hundred dollars she won’t do it.”

“Chicken, Saige?” Kinsley kicks me under the table.

“I’m not a chicken, you *s,” I grumble. “I’m reasonable. This is not reasonable. I’d like to keep my job.”

Emery nudges me. “It’s all in fun, and I am dying to see the look on his face when you ask him.”

I glance at Holt, feeling anxiety building in my stomach. Suddenly, he turns in our general direction to find all of us watching him. His brows pinch together in a confused look, but he offers us all a polite smile and a little nod of his head.

Ugh . . .“Fine. I’ll do it.” I add my two whiny cents, “This is really stupid, though, and if I wasn’t already close to being three sheets to the wind, I’d just take the damn shot.” I fan my face. The heat from the alcohol or the stuffy bar is getting to me.

“Atta girl!” Rowan grabs my hand and helps me down from the tall barstool. My knees wobble, and I press a hand my cheek to cool the flush crawling across my face. Between my nerves and the alcohol, my stomach is twisting and turning.

“Just breathe,” Rowan whispers in my ear as he grips my hand tightly. “Just ask him if he’d be interested in grabbing a drink sometime.”

“And when he says no?”

“You just smile and come back to us.”

Zay clears his throat. “What if he says yes?”

I turn around to shoot him a death glare.

Emery answers, “Then just know that she asked out the hottest man alive, and he accepted. Win-win.” She offers me a reassuring smile.

“Hottest man alive?” Zay mumbles under his breath and pffts into his glass of beer.

“Yes!” Emery and Kinsley say simultaneously.

“I can’t do this,” I say, reaching for my chair. Nerves are getting the better of me, and my knees are literally knocking together.

“You can,” Rowan assures me. “Go.”

He gives me a little shove and lets go of my hand. I take a deep breath and begin putting one foot in front of the other. As I close the distance, Holt turns and sees me approaching. He’s leaning over a small tabletop, twirling a tumbler in his fingers. He smiles as I approach and stands up straight.

I take note of how he’s rolled up the sleeves of his blue dress shirt, and his tie is loosened and hanging from underneath his pressed collar. I like—wait, no—I love casual Holt. I take a deep breath and will myself not to faint.

“Ms. Phillips,” he says as I finally reach his table.

“Mr. Hamilton.” I force a smile and pray it looks sincere. He tips his head to the side just a bit, and I look between him and his guest, hoping I didn’t just interrupt something important.

But of course he’s gracious and introduces us. “Jack Morrison, this is Saige Phillips. Saige, Jack Morrison, a long-time friend of mine from college. Jack, Saige works for Jackson-Hamilton.” Jack has short brown hair and stands about the same height as Holt. While he’s decent looking, Holt is stunning.