A Dare
1275 Words
Naya looked at him and time exhaled.
Her breath caught. Her skin prickled like it had been touched. She stepped back slightly, searching for solid ground beneath the rush in her chest.
Cole didn't move.
He just watched her—eyes locked, calm and dangerous, like he could see through the black dress and into every thought she hadn't said out loud.
A low laugh slipped from him.
Not loud. Not bright. Just… deliberate.
Like he was already unwrapping her in his mind.
"I'm Cole," he said, voice rich and velvet-dark. "And you are?"
"Naya."
Her voice was too soft. Too exposed.
She hated how unsteady it sounded. But the way he looked at her—unblinking, unreadable—lit something reckless along her spine.
"Nice name," he said. "Suits you."
His gaze flicked toward the wine table where Dane and Jenny were then settled right back on her.
She crossed her arms, shielding the way her chest rose too fast. Her dress felt thinner. Bare.
He tilted his head, drinking her in slowly—openly—like he was memorizing her with intention.
A smirk curved his lips.
"You always snap pics of men you're into," he asked, voice teasing but edged with steel, "or am I just lucky tonight?"
Naya let out a breath—half laugh, half sigh—and looked away. Flustered. Her pulse skittered beneath her skin.
He saw it.
All of it.
And then he moved.
One slow step closer. Not close enough to touch, but close enough for their scents to tangle—deep spice and clean heat. Her lips parted without meaning to.
His hand lifted near her jaw.
Not touching. Not yet.
But her knees weakened anyway.
"Tell me something, Naya," he said, voice low and unhurried.
"What would've happened if we hadn't caught you taking that picture?"
Her throat tightened. She swallowed.
"Probably nothing."
He leaned in, eyes dropping to her mouth.
"That'd be a shame."
Her body tensed.
Not in fear.
In the coil of control she was seconds from losing.
She didn’t move.
Her body had gone quiet just to hear him.
He saw that too.
And his smirk deepened—like he knew exactly how to unmake her.
"You know…" His voice softened. Slowed. "Since you took my picture without my consent… I think you owe me."
Naya blinked.
Heat flushed behind her ribs.
"Owe you?"
He nodded. Easy.
"Yeah. A little something for the trouble."
His gaze dropped again—to her lips, the hollow of her throat.
Every glance was a fingerprint.
The air charged between them, pulsing.
Unavoidable.
Naya exhaled.
"God…"
He tilted his head, the gold at his wrist catching the light.
"Trust me?"
Quiet. Certain.
His eyes had gone darker now. Focused.
And she knew—
He wasn't asking for permission.
He already had it.
Then:
"Come here," he said.
Her breath stuttered. Her feet didn't move.
But her hand did.
She reached out.
He caught it—gently, but firmly. His palm warm. Sure. Possessive.
"Good girl," he murmured.
A shiver crawled down her back.
He turned, still holding her hand, leading her through the crowd without looking back.
His body moved like command, not request.
Lights flashed—violet, red, gold.
The bass thumped beneath her ribs.
His grip didn't loosen.
They stopped at the center of the floor. He turned toward her.
Close. Too close.
"You wanted something to feel?"
His breath brushed her ear.
"Let's see if we can make it last."
Then his hand slid to her waist.
Pulled her in.
And she let him.
Her body was tense—
Until it wasn't.
She moved with him. Unsure at first.
Her hands found his shoulders. Stayed.
He was warm beneath the fabric—strong. Steady.
He didn't rush her.
He just danced.
His chest brushed hers. His hips teased—just enough to make her breath hitch.
Every time he touched her, something flared low in her stomach.
Something unnamed.
She met his gaze.
He smiled. Low. Knowing.
Like he'd felt it too.
Their rhythm built—first cautious, then synced, then seamless.
Bodies in time with the beat. And something deeper.
His hand slid lower, to the small of her back.
His thumb stroked the silk—lazy, slow. Her skin burned beneath it.
The other hovered near her arm. Not quite touching.
Just a whisper. A threat of contact.
Naya’s chest rose too fast. Her heart was moving quicker than the music now.
Then the song changed.
New beat. Slower. Haunting.
And the voice—
She knew it.
Too well.
She turned her head.
And there she was.
Jenny.
Lit like a secret under stage lights, wine silk clinging to her frame, a smile barely held.
Moving beside Dane like the moment had been planned all along.
Naya bit her lip to stop the grin that pushed forward.
Jenny’s eyes caught hers across the floor—that look only best friends could read:
Don’t freak out. I’m freaking out.
Their whole childhood flashed between them in that one glance.
The song playing?
It wasn’t just any track.
It was Jenny’s.
Her voice.
That voice.
Not Jenny’s speaking voice—but her singing voice. The one the world had fallen in love with, without ever seeing her face.
Aria.
The anonymous girl with a million streams.
And now her song was playing—right here, right now. In a club. Loud. Surrounding them.
Jenny hadn’t planned this.
She wasn’t performing. She hadn’t even reached the dance floor yet.
But her secret had arrived before her.
And only Naya knew.
She remembered the nights they’d stayed up writing those lyrics. The studio sessions they never talked about. The deal they had—Jenny records in secret, Tony handles the releases, no one ever sees her face. Not even the artists she wrote for.
Aria was a ghost. A voice. That was the whole point.
And now?
She was playing over club speakers while Jenny smiled through it like it wasn’t her singing. Like her entire identity wasn’t vibrating through every speaker in the room.
Cole leaned in, his breath brushing Naya’s cheek.
"You good?"
"Yeah." Her voice trembled, but steadied. "Now I am."
Jenny laughed at something Dane said, then spun beneath his arm, her movements timed with the music like nothing was happening.
But her eyes kept flicking to Naya.
And Naya knew exactly what they were saying.
Keep dancing. Pretend you don’t know.
Don’t let them hear it in your face.
She turned back to Cole, her heart still pounding but different now.
Sharper. Protective.
"You love Aria too?" he asked, curiosity flickering.
The question caught her off guard.
Naya looked down. Then up.
"In a way," she said carefully.
She didn't elaborate.
"She's got range," she murmured.
Then from the back of the club, over the bass and clinking glasses, came a drunken bellow:
"WHEN I MEET ARIA, I'M MARRYING THAT WOMAN!"
The crowd near the bar erupted in laughter.
"You're already married, Fred!" someone yelled.
"SO? MY WIFE DON'T SING LIKE THAT!"
He slammed his glass on the table.
"That voice? That's wife material. Pain, poetry, and hips—THE TRINITY!"
Another guy hooted, "Sit your thirsty self down!"
Jenny, mid-spin, stumbled.
She caught herself quick—but her eyes flicked to Naya, wide and screaming: DID HE JUST—
Naya bit her lip hard, trying not to laugh.
Jenny turned back to Dane like nothing happened, but her ears were burning.
That was Aria-level chaos.
And Jenny had just danced straight through it.
Then Cole's breath brushed Naya's jaw.
Warm. Quiet.
"Hey…" he whispered.
"Look at me."
- Writer
