Another restaurant?” I mutter, as I close the texting app and start getting dressed. What the hell do they want us to do now? Relive last night’s drama?

They don’t know about us paying the check after the fact, at least, I don’t think they do. I haven’t heard anything to the contrary, but if they’re giving us another stunt to perform, it can only mean we’re still in the game.

I wish I could call Trent to see what he thinks, but I know in my heart that I shouldn’t get too close to him. There’s just something there, something between us, but when all is said and done—he is the enemy. I’ll just wait until our meeting time. It’ll come soon enough. I have the feeling he’ll think along the same lines I do. Who would’ve thought I’d ever come to that conclusion? Not me, certainly. But we both independently decided to take the money to the restaurant.

I got a glimpse of his heart last night, and it’s in the right place. The look on his face when we came across each other with the money, when he realized that we had both taken the risk of being kicked out of the game. It was worth it to see the joy and relief on Mrs. Giacomo face when we explained what happened after she swore up and down not to ever let on that she knew it was all a stunt.

“Can you see me on the cover of a tabloid, telling the world about what really happens behind the scenes of that popular reality game show called Dare Me?” she joked.

The image made us both laugh. We left as friends. We promised to go back there for dinner, but that we were never spending that kind of money or eating that much again.

“I cater for weddings too,” she said slyly.

“No, we’re not,” we both began.

“You will,” she stated confidently.

I was so embarrassed I couldn’t look at Trent’s face.

I realize I’m humming as I curl my hair. There isn’t any dread in me, not like yesterday. I didn’t know what to expect yesterday. Not that I suddenly have a magic crystal ball telling me what tonight is going to bring, but now I know that I can handle it. We can handle it. No sweat.

The big problem will come later. How am I going to eliminate Trent when the time comes?

Half the other teams are already out of the game. I couldn’t believe it when I got the update last night. Another time I wanted to call Trent. I settled for calling Jenny, instead.

She took a break from the bar and took her cell to sit on the steps outside the back entrance. “Half the others didn’t have the balls you two have!” she crowed, and laughed loudly in my ear.

After I hung up I realized she’s right. I don’t know what their stunts were, but not everybody has my motivation.

I wonder what Trent’s motivation is…

“Nope,” I snarl into the mirror, putting down the curling iron and looking myself straight in the eye. “Don’t put yourself in his shoes. Don’t try to imagine what he’s in this for. Don’t humanize him. It’ll only make things more difficult when it comes time to crush him.”

I will crush him. I’m sure of it. There’s no other option.

The restaurant chosen for tonight’s stunt is a large chain, so it’s much busier than Mrs. Giacomo’s place. When I remember her Chef’s garlicky, buttery lobster, I want to knock all these clueless people’s heads together and ask why they’re wasting their money on generic garbage when they could be supporting such an amazing business. Maybe I should’ve brought my soapbox with me. I smile wryly at myself and look around for Trent.

When I catch sight of him waiting by the hostess stand, I have to remind myself again, what the stakes of the game are for me. Because God—he’s magnificent. Like heart-stoppingly, arrestingly magnificent. And he’s smiling at me, which doesn’t gain me any points with the hostess, or the three waitresses who have magically found a reason to linger near him

“Hey, you. Déjà vu?” he asks with a grin.

“I was wondering if this was maybe some sort of punishment,” I admit under my breath. “You know. For last night.”

“They can’t know. We wouldn’t still be in the game if they did. Don’t worry so much.”

When he smiles at me like this, my heart beats faster, and I feel almost light-headed with the rush of happiness. Everything is exactly as it should be.

“It’s just ten of us now,” he says, eyebrows raised, pleased. “They got rid of the weak ones early on.”

“Wusses,” I scoff, rolling my eyes.

We both laugh.

“Excuse me?” The hostess is not amused. She looks at me with a sour expression on her pretty face. She hates me for standing so close to him and sharing a laugh. It hits me that I like it. I like knowing she’s jealous. I like the idea that everyone here thinks I’m with him. That he belongs to me.

Our table is in the middle of the dining room. I can’t help but feel a little self-conscious as we sit. All right—very self-conscious. What are we going to have to do here? Trent’s trying hard to look confident, but something tells me he’s just as nervous as I am.

“Give it up,” I advise.

“Give what up?”

“The false bravado. You know you’re just as freaked out as I am.”

“If it makes you feel better,” he says dryly.

I grin at him. I’m in a good mood. “Oh, come down to Earth every once in awhile, or at least pretend to be a flawed human like the rest of us.”

The waitress comes by and I order iced tea.

Trent gets a beer. No wine tonight.

At least, I don’t think so. We still haven’t gotten further direction on what the actual stunt involves.

As if the organizers of the game were reading my mind, my phone buzzes suddenly. I scramble to pick it up off the table.

“Oh, boy,” I breathe, as I realize that mine is the only phone that went off.

“I didn’t get text,” he observes, looking at his phone. “What do they want you to do?”

My heart starts racing to the point of making me dizzy. My stomach tightens in a knot. I can’t breathe. My face flushes almost painfully hot. “You won’t believe it.” I can barely get those four words out. Oh, I’m going to die. I am going to die right here at this table. How can I say that sort of stuff in front of all these diners? How humiliating. What sort of sadists are we dealing with here?

He frowns. “So? What do you have to do?”

“Oh, Lord. I can’t believe I have to do this.” Millions of people are going to eventually see this. Mom might end up hearing about it from one of her friends. She’ll be so embarrassed, but it’s better she is alive and embarrassed than—Jesus, the other alternative is so painful I can’t even think it. Fine, the organizers can have their pound of flesh. I’ll do it. I’ll humiliate myself a thousand times if I need to.

This is all for her. Nothing is too much for her.

I have to do it fast, or else risk forfeiting. It’s like standing at the edge of a pool I know is filled with cold water. I can either stand here and look at it, dreading going in, or I can jump in all at once and get it over with.

I look around me. The crowd is all roughly in the early-twenties to late-forties age range. Thankfully, no kids. I’ll never see any of these people again, so what does it matter what they think of me? Hopefully they’ll forget all about it by tomorrow.

“I can’t tell you the last time I got laid,” I say, eyes darting around.

Trent’s jaw drops. “Excuse me?”

“I said, it’s been so long since I got laid. Forever. I’ve been dying for a nice, slow, deep screw for the longest time.” God, I’m terrible at this. Absolutely the worst. I’m not even any good at sexy talk while I’m in the act.

His eyes meet mine and the lightbulb goes off. And a huge, massive, blinding smile spreads across his face.

Oh, goody.

“Tell me more,” he prompts, sitting back in his chair. “Tell me all about it, sweet Dakota.”

“I hate you,” I whisper.

“I know.” He’s smiling big enough to split his face.

I clear my throat and clasp my hands together under the table to keep them from shaking. I haven’t gotten any attention from the other tables yet. “I mean, what’s a girl gotta do to get a nice, deep dicking every once in awhile?” I ask, my voice raising in both volume and pitch.

“You like it deep?” he asks, raising an eyebrow.

“As deep as possible. Who doesn’t? I love it…” I turn my head away, just a little, so I don’t have to look at him. “I love it from behind, so I can take it as deep as it’ll go.”

He clears his throat and shifts in his chair.

Oh, no. He is not getting an erection right now! I’m in hell. It’s official. Why don’t I just die and get it over with?

“What else do you like?” he asks, his voice is growly and filled with something I’ve never heard in it before.

“Sometimes, I like to be tied up,” I announce.

This gets the attention of two tables, on either side of us. One of them is a middle-aged couple who look slightly amused, but in a, I can’t wait to share this with my book club, sort of way. The other couple are around my age, and the girl raises a glass of wine in my direction.

My cheeks are so hot, I’d swear they’re on fire.

“What’s that do for you?” Trent asks.

I notice the way his jaw clenches when he speaks, like he’s struggling with something. “I don’t know. I guess it’s something about feeling helpless. I like feeling as if I don’t have a choice but to submit to whatever a man wants to do to me. It gets me off … especially when I know it’s getting him off, seeing me totally helpless. Like he can do anything he wants to my body.”

Now, everybody in a two-table radius is in on it. I’ll be lucky if I don’t get arrested for public lewdness.

“What sort of things do you want him to do?” Trent practically growls.

“The man who has me tied up?” I ask, playing for time.

He nods slowly, his eyes never leaving mine.

Oh, sweet Jesus, he’s getting more and more turned on by this. And the kicker is, so am I. I feel myself getting wet just from the way he’s looking at me. “I love it when he looks at me while he strokes himself. That’s such a rush, when I watch a guy pleasure himself while he’s looking at my body, my … pussy.”

“My God,” he whispers, fists clenched. “Are your legs open wide?”

I swallow hard. “Yes.” I don’t know what I’m more interested in—what I’m doing to him, or the volume of murmuring going on around me. I can feel the weight of dozens of eyes on me and I want to shrink away from them, but I don’t want to shrink away from him.

His phone buzzes, but he doesn’t pick it up right away.

“Don’t you want to see what that’s about?” I ask, breathless.

He pries his eyes from mine and glances at the screen, and I get the pleasure of seeing him flush for the first time.

“Oh, no,” I murmur. It can’t be anything good.

“Put your foot on the table.”

“What?” I stare at him incredulously. I can’t believe the way my heart is pounding in my chest when he looks at me the way he does.

His eyes are stormy, smoldering, like I’ve never seen them before. “You heard me. Hurry. We don’t have much time.”

I have no choice but to slide out of my flat and raise my leg until my foot is on the table in front of him.

Using the knife on the table, Trent saws off my tights and flings it on the floor.

Thank God and all the angels I got a pedicure not long ago.

Without saying a word, or breaking eye contact, he lifts my foot in one hand, and takes my big toe into his mouth.

Sheer reflex makes me pull back, but he’s too strong.

He holds my foot in place while his tongue swirls around my toe, then his cheeks hollow out as he sucks it! The whole time he keeps eyes locked with mine.

I can neither help the deep sigh that slides from my mouth when I watch him, or the fresh flood of warmth soaking into my panties. I just about resist the urge to drape myself over the chair and give in-

“What is the meaning of this?”

We both look up and see a man in a suit has rushed over to us. His face is almost purple with rage. “What do you think you’re doing?” he screams.

“I—we’re—”

“Out,” He cuts me off. “Both out! Now!” He waits until I get my foot back in my shoe, then follows closely as we hurry through the dining room to the front door. All eyes are still on us. A few shake their heads, a few mutter choice words about how disgusting we are.

I should be embarrassed. I know I should be. What we just did was extremely improper.

Completely inappropriate.

And the sexiest thing ever!

My knees are shaking so hard, I can barely walk, and it’s not from shame or nerves. It’s from the memory of the look on his face, the way he measured his words, and the way his velvety tongue swirled around my toe before he drew it into his hot, wet mouth, and sucked as if it was sugar.  

The pleasure he took from it was mind-blowing.

I’m so flustered I almost miss the incoming text message.

Trent doesn’t. Standing outside the restaurant, he reads it aloud, “Congratulations. You are now one of six remaining teams. The jackpot has reached $300,000.”

When our eyes meet, it’s clear that neither of us cares about that.

Not right now, anyway.