Day Eight and Three Quarters
Dear Diary,
This mini-story about Dare should be fun to write. It’s not. In fact, it’s almost painful to record what happens next. Why? Because here’s where Dare transforms from a badass protector into a no-fun loser. Good thing he’s cute or I might call off our engagement.
Not that we’re officially getting married.
Yet.
Anyway, everyone’s well and gone when Dare turns to me. “Call-la,” he says in a sing-song voice.
The moment I get that particular tone, I know.
This won’t be good.
Sticking out my hip, I glare, glare, glare. “What’s the bad news?”
“Why should you say that?” While Dare asks that question, his features transform into the picture of gray eyes and gooey handsomeness. A distraction.
He can kiss my pixie butt. I still know something’s up.
