#yaraxdavid

[deannagrey]

Just Dare Me: Chapter 2 (2/4)

(had to split these up 'cause of the character limit)

Part 1 - Part 3 - Part 4

Ari saved my ass with the rain warning. Halfway through the day, it felt like a full-on hurricane was passing through town. Everyone scrambled across campus, trying to get to their destinations without getting soaked to the bone. A few professors even canceled classes, citing some streets were too flooded for commuting.

I’d accidentally splashed through a deceivingly huge puddle after my second class of the day. The water and dirt ruined my pressed tan slacks. I almost cried in the bathroom at how my stain-removing stick wasn’t doing anything for me. It took longer than I’d like to admit for me to calm down and remind myself dry cleaning existed for a reason. Pushing away my need to look one hundred percent presentable was a feat that zapped most of my energy.

My initial spark from the morning faded to a strained ember by the end of the day. So it goes without saying that I didn’t exactly feel like showing up to David’s dare. Especially when I realized it’d be at a bar. A cowboy-themed bar.

I had a ride share drop me off in front of Ye-Haw Way a half hour before our meet-up time. The demographic of customers seemed diverse enough. Most who filtered in and out of the building wore some kind of cowboy motif. I snapped a photo of the blinking ‘giddy on in’ welcome sign to send to David. There was a slim to no chance Ye-Haw Way wasn’t his intended destination. But I still needed to try.

Yara: This the right place?

David: Congrats. You know how to use a GPS. Do you need help finding the door as well?

I blew out an annoyed breath and grabbed the wooden door handle. Once past the traditional door, I was met with a swinging one reminiscent of old-time Western bar entryways.

The inside of Ye-Haw Way was loud and packed. I raised my brow at the surprisingly colorful overhead lighting. There was a live band complete with banjo and fiddle player. The lead singer on stage was a woman with dark skin. She wore beads on the end of her braids and held onto the microphone like it was a life raft. Her voice reminded me of the older women in the choir from my church. She looked much younger but had an “old spirit” way about her in how she swayed back and forth.

It took me a second to re-focus on my main goal: finding David, finishing his dare, and getting the hell out of here. This place wasn’t as unwelcoming as I thought it’d be from the outside. I moved through the crowd easily enough. No one looked at me too weird even though I felt wildly out of place in my casual work wear.

David sat at the end of the bar. I paused for a second, taking in how his hair was a bit overgrown since the beginning of the semester. He wore his trademark jean jacket that was fraying on the shoulders. The cup sitting in front of him was empty and he stared into the glass like it held the answer to life’s greatest mysteries. He glanced up ever so often like he was looking for something he’d forgotten or something he needed.

When I finally decided to get closer, another girl beat me to the punch. She wore the cutest pair of pink cowboy boots I’ve ever seen paired with a pink mini skirt and corset. Her bubblegum hair was in waves that reached her back. I was close enough to hear she had a sweet voice to match her exterior.

Most of the guys nearby seemed to have eyes for her. But, for some reason, she didn’t seem interested in making eye contact with anyone except David. I didn’t blame her, his dark aesthetic would contrast hers brilliantly. They’d be the kind of pairing musicians wrote about. Mean guy, sweet girl, and fairytale romances. I lingered back just to see how things would play out.

Their exchange was brief. David didn’t look up once during it. His disinterest didn’t seem to deflate her ego, though. Instead, she left a piece of paper under his cup and skipped away to join some other girls on the dance floor.

“Not your type?” I teased as I settled the stool next to him. “Too good for your damaged soul? Did you not want to ruin her and bring her into your misery?”

He didn’t look up at my words either. But his brow quirked up, which was more animation than he’d given Cute Pink Girl.

“Didn’t come here looking for a type,” he said, simply and gestured to the bartender for a refill. “I’m seeing someone.”

My ears perked up a little, shocked at this tidbit of information. David and I didn’t have conversations about our lives outside of when we hung out. We were always too busy trying to wound each other’s pride.

“Really? Who’s the lucky lad or lass?” I asked, wincing at my phrasing. I was a little too hard not to sound interested in his dating life. In reality, the thought of someone being with David romantically seemed nearly impossible. Who’d lack that much self-preservation?

“Lad or lass?” David snorted. “I’m bisexual, Yara. Not a pirate.”

“There’s a difference?” I joked.

David shook his head, smiling a bit. “You really want to know?”

I scoffed. “I’m not dying for the information or anything.”

Though my breath did catch a little when he looked at me.

“Good. Can’t have your death on my hands. Covee would never forgive me.” He finished his drink with no indication he planned on answering my question. So, he planned on keeping this mystery person a secret? Fine by me.

“Let’s get this thing over with,” I said quickly. Suddenly, the warmth of the building wasn’t comforting anymore. I wanted to be back out in the rain because the cold felt more real than whatever was going on between us. Like David said last night, there was no word for our relationship. And not knowing where we stood felt like being surprised pricked by a needle.

“Sure you don’t want a drink first?” David stood from his stool but didn’t move from the bar.

I slipped off my seat too. Standing side-by-side, David was a few inches taller than me. I had to tilt my head to meet his gaze. Tonight his smelt of whisky and his eyes almost matched the color of it, too. The bright, overhead lights were doing wonders in smoothing out his darker features.

“I don’t drink,” I forced out in a hard tone. The softer David looked, the tougher I felt I needed to be.

“Another disappointment.” He frowned, feigning sadness. “Drunk Yara might actually be worth hanging out with.”

“If I was such a chore to hang around, you wouldn’t be blowing up my phone every other day,” I countered.

His expression changed. For a second, I thought I actually made a decent shot.

“Correct me if I’m wrong,” he said in a voice that indicated he never once believed that possibility. “But you’re the one who started texting me.”

My jaw tightened as I remembered our first back and forth. It’d been after I’d lost the beginning dare and couldn’t sleep without seeing his irritating smirk. I’d gotten his number from Covee’s boyfriend, Weston, and texted him at 2 AM with demands of a rematch. A little neurotic, sure. But he matched my energy so weren’t both of us to blame?