Wallflower by Cookie O'Gorman (first color ebook reader .TXT) 📗

was a scary thing, flower.  I was afraid I wouldn't get to you in time."

I put a hand on his forearm.

"But you did," I said softly.  "If I forgot to say it, thank you, Dare."

"You're welcome, flower."

After we got out, Dare smiled down at me.  We were both dripping wet, but I smiled back.

"That was fun," I said.

"It was."  He nodded.  "But now, I really need you to take your clothes off."

I choked on air.  "Why?"

His lips formed a half-smile.  "So I can put them in the drier before you go home.  Did you think I meant something else?"

I gave him the stank eye.  "Couldn't you have led with that?"

Dare shrugged.  "I could've, but that would be less fun."

A few minutes later, we were back in the house.  Dare had given me some of his clothes to change into.  I came out of the bathroom in a shirt that hit me at mid-thigh and a pair of sweats that were fitted around the hips and butt area.  But I'd had to roll up the bottoms to account for our height difference.  My hair was still mostly wet, though I dried it as best I could, and I'd forgone shoes because they were drying near the front door.

I was sure Dare would laugh when he saw me.  But as I joined him on the couch in the living room, I could've sworn I saw his eyes soften.

"Thanks again," I said.  "For the clothes."

"No problem."  He laid his head back on the couch, closed his eyes.  "You look good in them."

Was he serious?

Outwardly, I scoffed.  But inside, I melted.

"The drying cycle takes about forty-five minutes," Dare went on.  "So I guess you're stuck with me a little longer."

I shrugged, settling back into the couch.

"I don't mind," I said.

His mouth eased into a smile.  "You don't?"

"Nope," I said, hugging one of the pillows to my chest.  "This gives us a chance to play one of my favorite games.  Truth or truth."

"Ugh, seriously?"

"Yeah,"  I said, my tone defensive, "it's a good way to pass the time.  Plus, we'll get to know each other better.  Plus, plus, I have so many questions."

He cracked an eye open.  "You know this means I get to ask you, too, right?"

I swallowed but gave him a nod.

"Okay," he sighed.  "Go ahead."

I nearly whooped out loud but managed to control myself.

"What's your real name?" I asked.

Dare groaned.  "Pass."

"You can't do that!  It's only the first question."

"And when I play this game, each person gets a pass," he said.  "That one's mine."

My brow furrowed.  "It can't be that bad, Dare.  Won't you just tell me?  Please?"

Dare watched me flutter my eyelashes at him and then muttered, "Alright, I'll tell you at the end of the game, flower.  But for now, it's a pass."

"I'll take that," I said.  "But can you give me a hint?"

He stared at me a moment.  "Why do you want to know so bad?"

I shrugged.  "I'm dying of curiosity.  Plus, I love names.  Real ones, fictional ones.  I just love them."

"Speaking of, what's up with your name?" Dare asked.  "Why is it so long?"

I tilted my head.  "Is that your first question for me?"

He nodded, and I bit back a smile.  Dare had given me an easy one, and he didn't even know it.

I listed them off on my fingers.  "Viola is the name my mom and dad came up with.  They liked it because it's pretty and unique, has letters that almost spell "I love you" as well as two of the same letters in my mom's name.  Martha and Carole are my grandmothers' names.  Rogue, of course, is from X-Men."

Dare blinked.  "Your parents literally named you after a mutant superhero?"

I nodded.  "She's my mom's favorite."

"That is so badass," he said.

"And then, of course, Kent is our last name," I finished.

Dare nodded.  "That's still a lot of names."

A shrug.  "My dad has nearly as many, and those are all family names, too.  Okay, time for my second question."

"Who's asking?" he joked.  "Viola, Martha, Carole or Rogue?"

"All of us."  I dismissed that with a wave.  "Now, why do you call me flower all the time?"

"Because you remind me of one."  A small smile appeared on his lips.  "You're soft and pretty but strong, too, like one of those flowers you find in a field."

"Did you just compare me to a weed?"

"More like a daisy," Dare said.  "My turn.  Favorite movie?"

"The ones with happy endings," I replied. "Why don't you believe in love?"

He shook his head slowly.  "Because it doesn't exist."

"How can you think that?"

"Okay, flower, since you asked."  Dare laid his head back against the couch again.  "I guess the answer is my parents.  They met young, got married, had me, and they were in love.  Like the most in love you could be—until they weren't."

I waited for him to go on.

"After fifteen years of marriage, they just quit on each other.  Just like that."  He snapped his fingers.  "Dad was hardly home because of his job, and Mom found out he was sleeping with his secretary."

Without meaning to I gasped, and he nodded.

"I know, what a cliché, right?" he said.  "But then he found out she was cheating with her therapist, the one she'd gone to see because of my father's neglect.  It got real ugly.  It was like they kept trying to see who could hurt the other one more.  My mom and dad went from love to hate and finally to indifference.  They separated the summer between eighth and ninth grade, and I couldn't have been happier."

"Was that why you started acting out?" I said.

"Yeah," Dare said.  "They were never around, so I