The Dare - Elle Kennedy Page 0,100

planned for our date tonight, I have a feeling he’s gone completely overboard. And I can’t say I’d be mad at him. Truth is, I’ve never had a boyfriend on my birthday before, so I’m sort of looking forward to getting the full Hallmark movie treatment television promised me. More than anything, I’m excited about the prospect of Conor and me making memories.

Of course, getting dressed up requires a consultation with my beauty advisor. I text Sasha as I’m leaving class.

ME: Hot date tonight. Do my face?

She gives good face. One of her many shifting career aspirations over the last couple years has been to work as a makeup artist. At least as a way of supporting her music interests, and if that whole supervillain thing doesn’t work out.

By the time I reach my street on the walk home, she texts back.

HER: Why bother? Just going to ruin it sucking Conor’s dick.

HER: JK just got home, come on over.

ME: lol you said come.

HER: Mind out of the gutter, dirty girl.

ME: You started it.

I add a string of nonsensical but contextually explicit emojis, then pick up my dress from my apartment and take an Uber to Greek Row.

I do need to get better at balancing my time. Being totally absorbed in a couple cocoon has been fun, but I don’t want to neglect my friends. Sasha, especially. More than anyone else, she has supported me through the rough spots over the last few years. I probably would’ve had a total nervous breakdown and set my hair on fire more than once if it weren’t for her. But lately I feel like I have no idea what’s going on in her life, which is a sign that I’ve been taking more than I’ve given. Major friendship no-no on my part. I need to change that, asap.

The weather’s finally warming up, which means the typically quiet lawns of Greek Row on a weekday afternoon are more active. Porches are dotted with people studying. A few lounge chairs in the grass contain girls working on their tans for summer vacation. At the Sigma frat house, guys are playing beer pong in the driveway. I don’t pay much attention to their shouts and catcalls as I slide out of the Uber and plant my feet on the sidewalk.

The frat boys shower me with unimaginative variations on “show us your tits,” the typical garbage girls get from that house. Then something catches my attention.

“Hey superstar! Can we get a picture?”

“Can I have your autograph?”

“Where do I sign up for the live cam?”

That sounds…specific. Quite oddly so.

I keep my eyes straight ahead and don’t slow down as I hurry up the front path of the Kappa house. The best defense is not giving them the satisfaction of a response. Mulling it over, I chalk it up to a dumb joke. Abigail’s boyfriend likes to call me a “fat Marilyn Monroe,” so I assume that’s what the whole superstar gimme your autograph junk refers to.

Well, he and his douchey Sigma brothers can fuck right off. I happen to know that some men like curves, particularly men named Conor Edwards.

I can barely keep the smile off my face as I walk into the house. I can’t wait to see him tonight. I don’t know exactly when it happened, but I’m so gone for that guy. Just the thought of him makes me want to giggle like a preteen with her first crush.

Upstairs, Sasha has a beauty station set up for me at her desk when I enter her room. I toss my bag on her bed and hang my dress on the closet door. “You’re the best,” I inform her.

“Obviously. Go ahead and wash your face,” she says as she flips through eyeshadow palettes.

“Hey, I just want to make sure,” I call out, standing at the sink in the shared bathroom that connects with the bedroom next door. “There isn’t a surprise party scenario in play, right?”

“Not that I know of.”

I rinse and pat my face dry with a washcloth. When I return, Sasha has me sit at her desk then proceeds to smear me with moisturizer.

“I only ask because I think Conor feels like he has something to prove. So when I said we were just going to have a low-key hang at Malone’s, I wouldn’t be shocked if he spun that into some major event.”

“I don’t think so.” She hands me a tiny electric fan to dry my face.

Next comes the primer, which Sasha is always telling