I have to admit, I’m still riding high.

Completing that first stunt gave me the forward momentum I needed. Conquering my revulsion finishing that bowl of live worms, then getting Eric to come with the money has given me new confidence. I know now I can handle whatever they throw at me. As I wait for Dakota outside the Italian restaurant we were instructed to meet at, I can’t help but wonder if she experienced the same rush I did after the first stunt.

I remember the pressure of her arms around my waist, the feel of her body behind me, and the way she squeezed me when we got word, we’d passed the first challenge. Yes. She felt it, too.

The image of her wearing nothing but my shirt skims around the fringe of my consciousness. A woman wearing your shirt is like a flag on a body you’ve conquered. I haven’t conquered her… but I want to. Badly. No matter how many times I’ve tried to shut down that train of thought, she manages to pop up someplace else. Her smooth long legs. I wanted to tell her to take it off when we reached the garage where my motorcycle was parked, knowing I was still holding her bra with the rest of her clothes.

Sure, she would’ve slapped me, but it would have been worth it.

She might not be as bad as I thought she was either. She’s still prickly and sarcastic, but I’m sarcastic too, so it works. What really got to me was she’s willing to make a fool of herself, which I kinda admire. In my experience, even the girls who consider themselves free spirits will balk at the idea of going against socially acceptable behavior. Not her. She was fun. I had a good time with her. I stop myself short. Thinking about her this way is getting me nowhere. I shouldn’t be doing it.

I glance into the restaurant through the window. It doesn’t look crowded, but then it’s an out-of-the-way place without much foot traffic. I wonder why they sent us here.

“Hey Rich Boy,” she says, appearing behind me out of nowhere.

I jump. “You’ll give someone a heart attack, if you’re not careful.” What is it about this woman that brings out the worst in me. I’m not really an ass, but she turns me into one. Or maybe I’m an ass and I just didn’t know it?

She rolls her eyes. “Yeah okay, Grandpa.” She looks up at the sign with a frown. “What’s the deal with this place anyway? I’ve never heard of it.”

“Neither have I.” I shrug.

“Are we supposed to like, strip down, walk in and ask for service?” she smirks.

The idea has a certain appeal to it, and I raise an eyebrow. “Maybe you should give that a shot, see what happens.”

“No, thanks.”

Just then, our phones go off.

She pulls hers out with a sigh.

“Good thing I’m hungry,” I mutter as I slide my phone into my pocket.

“Do you know how much a thousand dollars’ worth of food is? And Italian food is so heavy. That much food could probably last me a whole month,” she whispers worriedly.

I look down at her anxious face. “Relax, we’ll order the most expensive stuff. That way, we can eat less.”

“I hope we can eat everything.”

“We’ll have to. I don’t care if my stomach bursts, I’m finishing every last drop.”

“They don’t expect us to pay for this, do they?” she asks with a frown.

“Didn’t you read the contract? They’ll reimburse us for expenses.”

“Right. I didn’t get a chance to yet. I hope you have the money, because my credit card is maxed out.”

“Yeah, I got it.” I go to the door and open it for her, and she steps inside. It’s a cozy little place. Cozy’s a good word for it too. The décor is homely and a bit faded. It has the feel of a family run business.

“All it needs is the guy on an accordion,” she whispers with a half-smile.

“Huh?”

“Lady and the Tramp.” She looks up and frowns at the blank expression on my face. “You know…the famous scene of Lady and Tramp sharing the bowl of spaghetti.”

I stare at her blankly.

“God. Did you even have a childhood?”

I’m about to fire off a retort when a server comes by to seat us. There are only ten, maybe twelve tables in the place and only two of them are currently in use. I have to wonder why we couldn’t just seat ourselves. I smile as we’re led to our table and a list of specials is rattled off. I stop just short of asking which specials are the most expensive.

I scan the wine list first. That’s where I’m hoping we’ll blow a great potion of the most money. They don’t have a bad wine list. Nothing too jaw-dropping, but respectable for such a small place.

“Wow, it’s a big menu,” Dakota murmurs to herself as she scans the dinner menu.

“Filet, lobster, seabass…” I read aloud. “Okay. We can handle this.”

“Can we?” She peers at me over the top of the menu with a frown.

“Oh, come on. Have a little fun. When’s the last time somebody told you to order the most expensive items on the menu?” I remember the neighborhood I dropped her off in. I remember the house. She’s not exactly dirt poor, but she’s definitely not rolling in it, and her credit cards are all maxed out.

“Fun? My stomach is churning with anxiety.” She looks around warily. “Are there cameras on us now?”

“I think we’d better get used to having cameras on us at all times. It’s easier to assume they’re always there,”

“Doesn’t it freak you out a little, though? The thought that there’s somebody watching us all the time. Not just one somebody, either, but a whole lot of them.”

I shrug. “Quite frankly. I don’t care. The whole damn world can watch if they want. I just want to win the money.”

“I suppose you’re used to people staring at you all the time.”

“Don’t tell me you’re not used to people looking at you all the time.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” she asks, eyes narrowed in suspicion.

“Jesus, are you always so quick take offence? All I meant was, you’re not exactly ugly. I’m sure you attract your fair share of attention.”

“Not exactly ugly? Stop, or I’ll have to climb across the table and bury my fork in your skull,” she warns, but I catch the slight glimpse of a smile before she hides it by raising the menu in front of her face.