Once upon a time, a baby was born in the tiny town of Camden, New York to a mother and father who wanted a child very, very much. And as the child grew, his mother read him fairy tales every damn night before bed, filling his head with dashing princes and noblemen locked in castles, with daring quests and epic love.
Right before she closed the book and kissed him good night each evening, he’d ask, “What about me, Mama? Will there ever be a story aboutme?”
She’d smile her bright, confident smile and say, “I believe you have averyspecial future in store for you, Bri-bri. Ipromise, someday you’ll get the best story of all.”
And, thus comforted, the boy would fall asleep dreaming of the day he’d meet his destiny.
Sadly, nobody bothered to inform the poor, overly romantic idiot that his destiny was to always be the side character. The comic relief. The villain or the village idiot in some other hero’s piece.
And no one thought to warn him that his special talent, the thing at which he excelled most in life, would bemaking things awkward.
“That was painful to witness,” said a deep voice by my ear.
I glanced up and rolled my eyes when I saw the tall, dark-haired man walking beside me. “Of courseyouwere there to see the whole thing,” I muttered caustically. “If Brian Carr gets shot down by a guy and Darius Turnerisn’tthere to witness it, does it even happen?”
From high school crushes to… well, way-past-high-school crushes, to epic public breakups involving me wearing a gorilla suit, Dare had seen me crash and burn more times than I cared to remember.
Dare clutched a hand to his chest. “Bri-bri, you make it sound like I’m jinxing you or something.”
“Donotcall me that.” I knocked my shoulder into his arm and glared. “Youknowonly my mother gets away with it, not childhood next-door neighbors who live to torture me.”
Dare, predictably, laughed and flung his arm over my shoulder as we walked, so his bicep nearly strangled me and the giant black hiking watch on his wrist hung over my chest. I was not a small person, but being tucked into Dare’s freakin’armpitcertainly made me feel that way. It was annoying and comforting all at once.
“So glad I’m just the right height to be an armrest for you,” I grumbled.
“Me too!” Dare said happily. His bright-white smile flashing down at me made it hard to stay cranky, no matter how embarrassed I was, so I finally relented and wrapped my arm around his waist too, only because it made it easier to walk.
“Since when am I just yourchildhood next-door neighbor?” He poked my side. “Do childhood neighbors go to brunch at your parents’ house once a month?”
“Um,yeah,smartass,” I returned. “Sometimes.”
“Hmm. Well, do they give you the key to theirvery own housethe way I did?”
I rolled my eyes. “Yes, Darius, when their childhood neighbor is also the contractor who re-tiled their shower surround.”
Dare laughed. “Fine, but I bet they’d ask for it back, wouldn’t they?” He hip-checked me lightly. “You’re the only person besides my brother who has a key to my place.”
“I know,” I said, my lips twitching, because that knowledgedidgive me all the warm fuzzies. “And I swear I only roll around naked on your couch and steal socks out of your laundryoccasionally.”
Dare stutter-stepped, falling out of pace with me, and I almost fell.
“Oh my god, I’m kidding!” I laughed. “Your face right now!”
“I know you’re kidding.” Dare’s dark eyes narrowed. “Asshole. Anyway, do childhood neighbors bring you pints of coffee caramel crunch and watch eighty-seven hours of soul-crushing television with you when you’re having a bad day?”
He had me there. Completely. Because as many times as Dare had watched me crash and burn, he’d also sorted through the wreckage and saved my ass.
“Probably not,” I allowed. Then I added loftily, “ButMarried at First Sightisn’t soul crushing! It’s a thought-provoking series that challenges our ingrained cultural beliefs about what love really is. It’s very nuanced. And refined.”
“Mmm. That’s why you watched it while wearing a unicorn onesie?” Dare asked blandly. “And why you kicked your heel against the sofa, threw your spoon in the air, and yelled, ‘Ooooh, shit’s about to getgooood’ when they had the drunken catfight?”
“Ienjoychallenging ingrained cultural beliefs, Darius,” I sniffed.
Dare’s arm tightened around my shoulders. “I know you do, Bri-bri. And I enjoywatchingyou challenge them.”
I snorted.
Why was shit always soeasywith Dare? Why could it never be that easy with a guy I was actually interested in?
