Free Dare (Finding Love Book 1) by Emma Lynn Page A

“You’re blocking the doorway.”
    Slowly he enters the room; as if afraid he’ll spook me. Damn, how right that is. “I’m afraid I don’t live close to the campus.” He looks around the room, obviously uncomfortable. I inwardly snort. He’s uncomfortable? He grunts and turns to me, annoyance in his eyes. “Look, I’ll take you there, sound good?”
    Arching my brow in question, I look over his fading blue jeans with holes, his white V-neck shirt and bare feet. For some reason, the look is sexy. You should be questioning all of this. Why are you still here thinking about accepting a ride? Because a small part of me -very small - wants to do this. It feels electrifying and new. He clears his throat, and I blush, realizing I’ve been checking him out longer than I should have. “Fine, but that’s all.”
    He nods once, firmly, before heading over to his dresser. I stay put; watching on like this isn’t my reality. “Here, you’re going to need these.” He hands me a pair of soft, gray sweatpants.
    I stare at them as if they can bite me before looking at Dare. “Why?” I ask.
    He sighs deeply, his whole chest moving up then down. “Because, you can’t wear that,” he points to my skirt. “On my motorcycle.”
    I gape at him. A motorcycle? He wants to take me home on one of those? “Don’t you have a car?” I ask without thinking.
    I wince when he narrows his eyes. So calculating and distant. “My Convertible happens to be at my other home,” he says sarcastically.
    Rolling my eyes, I look away from him. “Okay, sorry. That was rude to ask. I just… I’ve never been on a motorcycle.”
    He snorts, and I look up at him, incredulous at his lack of empathy. “Of course you haven’t. You aren’t the type.” I’m about to snap at him that he doesn’t know what type of person I am, when he continues. “It isn’t that hard. You’ll be fine. Change and then we’ll go.” He sounds tired now, like the weight of the world lies on his shoulders.
    He saved me again so the least I can do is be thankful for this. “Alright, I’ll change. Bathroom?” I ask attentively.
    He points across the hall. “Straight ahead.”
    I slip past him, gaze ahead of me. It takes everything I have not to peek up at him, my curiosity always getting the best of me, but I prevail this time. After I change into his sweatpants and roll up the pant legs, I cautiously move out into the living room. His apartment is small, just the one bedroom, one bathroom. The kitchen and living room are open.  Like his bedroom, the rest of the rooms are void of personal items, and I can’t help but wonder about that.
    Dare is leaning against the counter, a mug of steaming coffee in hand. “Want one?” he offers, though it doesn’t really seem genuine.
    “No, thanks. I don’t drink coffee.” He doesn’t ask why, instead he puts his mug down and grabs his keys before throwing me another item. A leather jacket. “It’s almost nine, it’ll be in the eighties today,” I point out, holding the jacket close to me.
    He rolls his eyes, and I frown once again at his lack of warm hospitality. If he didn’t want to take care of me, he shouldn’t have taken me to his home. “It gets cold on a motorcycle, trust me.”
    I’m about to say that I don’t trust him, but stop. The thing is, I do trust him. Otherwise I would have run out of here the first chance I got. No, I stand here in his sweatpants, in his home, waiting for him to take me home on a motorcycle, because I trust him. The realization is racking, and I wonder how that can be.
    Not wanting to think about that revelation right now, I slide on the jacket and follow him out the door. He’s on the third floor, and luckily there's an elevator. It’s quiet as we go down, and I tap my fingers against my thighs, trying to ward off the awkwardness. “This is a nice elevator.” Mortification sweeps through me. Ugh! The elevator is nice? What is wrong with you?
    Dare snorts, his