If You Dare Read online

  If You Dare

  Synopsis

  Lauren West is stuck. Stuck in her hometown over the holidays. Stuck in a Wi-Fi dead zone. Stuck watching her longtime crush make out with her ex-best-friend. The small town of Sunrise Falls thrives on gossip, and everyone’s talking about the mess she’s made of her life back in San Francisco. One festively decorated bar and two vodka tonics later, a game of truth or dare seems like just the thing to distract her. Until the dare to seduce the next woman who walks through the door brings her face-to-face with librarian Emma Prescott.

  Emma’s a good girl with a mind dirty enough to make a sex worker blush. A painful experience as a teenager has left her anxious and afraid of her own desire, but when gorgeous Lauren West kisses her senseless, Emma thinks maybe she’s finally found the perfect person to help her break free. That is, until Lauren comes clean about what really turns her on and reveals passions far darker than Emma ever anticipated.

  Reader Advisory: If You Dare contains explicit fantasies of non-consent.

  What Reviewers Say About Sandy Lowe’s Work

  Party of Three

  “In the world of erotica, Party of Three is like a day at the fair—cotton candy sweet with plenty of fun rides. It’ll leave you exhilarated and a bit out of breath. I sped through this book in one sitting because everything clicked. It’s sexy, cool, and funny all at once. If you’ve never considered reading an erotic romance, this is the perfect novel to get your feet wet. …When you want to spend a quiet night in and need something a little more raucous than a Hallmark channel rom-con, check out Party of Three.”—Lesbian Review

  “I really enjoyed this book. It was well written and gripping, and each section had good character development and a strong story arc. …I really enjoyed the author’s tone and writing style, and I look forward to her next book.”—Melina Bickard, Librarian, Waterloo Library (UK)

  “If you’re looking for a fun and light read with a few sharp bits, this is it. Of course it’s steamy hot, but it’s also pretty romantic in its own way. Come for the sex, stay for the romance or come for the romance, stay for the sex, either way you win.”—Jude in the Stars

  “If this is a taste of what’s to come, I am excited to see what’s next from Sandy Lowe.”—Les Rêveur

  “The book is broken down by each lady’s journey and each part gave all the emotions, sweetness, and smoking hot sexiness!”—Steph’s Romance Book Talk

  “One hell of a party!!! …A great read if you want fun, flirty, and a little erotica in an easy story that allows you to really experience the fun being had and the feelings of the characters.”—LESBIreviewed

  Girls on Campus—Edited by Sandy Lowe and Stacia Seaman

  “[U]nbelievably hot and the perfect book to keep on your bedside table. …This was an awesome book of short erotic stories. I loved that I got to read so many stories from so many of my favorite authors, but also got introduced to a few new ones to follow as well. …They were hot, and sweet, and romantic, and hot! Definitely worth it.”—Inked Rainbow Reads

  Escape to Pleasure: Lesbian Travel Erotica—Edited by Sandy Lowe and Victoria Villasenor

  “[A] very pleasurable read—especially whilst on holiday!”—Melina Bickard, Librarian, Waterloo Library (UK)

  “Irresistible”

  “A best friends to romance story line that is not only incredibly loving but also sexy and passionate. Almost like an awakening, this book is going to capture your heart.”—Les Rêveur

  If You Dare

  Brought to you by

  eBooks from Bold Strokes Books, Inc.

  http://www.boldstrokesbooks.com

  eBooks are not transferable. They cannot be sold, shared or given away as it is an infringement on the copyright of this work.

  Please respect the rights of the author and do not file share.

  If You Dare

  © 2020 By Sandy Lowe. All Rights Reserved.

  ISBN 13: 978-1-63555-586-8

  This Electronic Original Is Published By

  Bold Strokes Books, Inc.

  P.O. Box 249

  Valley Falls, NY 12185

  First Edition: December 2020

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission.

  Credits

  Editor: Cindy Cresap

  Production Design: Susan Ramundo

  Cover Design by Tammy Seidick

  eBook Design by Toni Whitaker

  By the Author

  Party of Three

  If You Dare

  Acknowledgments

  They say that doctors make terrible patients. Well, editors make, if not terrible writers, then certainly neurotic ones. Mega thanks to the superlative team at Bold Strokes Books. You manage to make publishing look easy, and that’s never true, especially when the book is mine.

  Thank you to my editor, Cindy, for reading another billion really long sex scenes written by your coworker and not being weird about it. This book is better for all your wisdom.

  Thank you to my superstar romance writer beta readers Nell and Jaime for your excellent advice to ensure I had all the right parts in all the right places. Sending my draft felt a bit like sending Picasso a finger painting. Your kindness and enthusiasm made me feel less like a rookie.

  Thanks to Eden, who writes horrible kissing. Uh, I mean horror with kissing, and CGH, who writes the occasional to-do list. You guys are awesomely supportive friends. You still have to buy a copy, though.

  Thank you to erotica writing goddess, Meghan. You’re the writer I want to be when I grow up. I’m so lucky to have begged my way into a critique. There are some things that only the Queen of Sex can teach you.

  Lastly, thanks to Radclyffe. You deserve hazard pay for listening to my long and copious complaining about how this manuscript just wasn’t working, and then my longer, and even more copious, whining about why all your suggested revisions sucked. I mean, you’re only the most prolific author/editor/publisher of lesbian fiction ever. I have no idea why you thought you could help. Did I mention I’m neurotic? Sorry. At least it’s over now.

  Dedication

  For the one with whom I dared.

  Chapter One

  Christmas sucked, the small town of Sunrise Falls sucked, and the blame fell squarely on Santa’s jolly shoulders. As far as Lauren West was concerned, Santa could take his holiday cheer and shove it up his red polyester-covered ass.

  She swung the SUV rental car into the rutted lot of the Grumpy Goat and snagged the last spot, pulling between a Ford pickup so rusty the bed looked ready to collapse and a Subaru Crosstrek in eye-searing orange. Grumpy’s was the only bar in town, and mercifully, open on Christmas Day night. Nothing sold shots quite like a culturally mandated holiday with family you got whiplash avoiding the rest of the year. Bars and hospitals were sanctuaries on this holiest of holy days. Lauren didn’t have any family she wanted to stab with a decorative reindeer antler, but she needed a vodka tonic. Like needed needed. She wasn’t going to think about that. The baby Jesus’s birthday was today, which meant Lent was way off. If she swore off her vices this early, she’d never make it through April. She winced as her boots landed in two inches of muddy slush next to the car. Hello, December in upstate New York. Oh, how I haven’t missed you.

  Lauren spotted Roxie Courtland the instant she pushed through the door. Rox was hard to miss. Miles of bottle-blond hair piled as high as gravity and hair product would allow, and the shortest skirt of anyone in the place, rivaling even the gaggle of barely-legal
girls crowding the bar. She smiled. Old friends were the best friends.

  She kissed Rox on the cheek and dropped her ancient messenger bag on a chair at Roxie’s table. “You never change.”

  “Why would I change when it’s so much fun being who I already am?” Not satisfied with the cheek kiss, Roxie threw her arms around Lauren and pulled her in for a bear hug worthy of an actual bear.

  “That’s a point.” Lauren sank into the jasmine and hairspray scent that was Roxie. The scent of safety. Of friends that were as good as family. Of people you didn’t have to explain yourself to.

  “Want a drink?” Lauren let her go and fished in her bag for her wallet. She’d missed Roxie like an amputated limb since moving to the West Coast, but they weren’t the kind of people who actually admitted to missing each other.

  Roxie held up a highball glass with the requisite sprig of holly poking out the top. “I’m covered. You might want to wait for table service, though. Those chicks at the bar are a hundred pounds soaking wet, but what they lack in body fat, they make up for in elbows.”

  Lauren eyed them and weighed her odds. High heel wearing, hair tossing, fake-nice girls. The kind of girls who grew into the kind of women she used to work with. “I can take them. I’m going in.”

  Roxie saluted her and Lauren made her way into battle. By Christmas miracle, a spot opened up almost immediately, and she squeezed between Selena Gomez, pre-drug addiction, and her bestie, Winter Vacation Barbie. Lauren almost smirked. She didn’t, because what if these girls were actually nice? You never knew, and she tried not to judge. But her lips twitched.

  She waited the eternity it took the potbellied, prematurely balding bartender to make his way over to her. That bartenders were only ever hot in movies was a first world injustice, but still a damn shame.

  She ordered her drink, and Selena Gomez ordered a vodka gimlet. Lauren was impressed for the minute it took the girl to down a gulp and squeal, “Oh my God, Kara. You were so right. That’s gross.” They doubled over laughing and stumbled their way to the throw-rug-sized dance floor tucked into the corner of the room. Ah, the good ol’ days, when lime juice was your biggest problem and your best joke.

  She took her drink back to the table and plopped her butt down across from Roxie. “Thanks for meeting me.”

  “Hey, friends don’t ignore nine-one-one texts. You okay?” Roxie sipped from her glass and did an admirable job of keeping her eyes on Lauren and not the gangly, brown-eyed guy across the room Lauren had caught her eye-sexing.

  “Santa’s my problem. White-bearded, bell-ringing, carol-singing Santa Claus.”

  Roxie blinked. “You’ve lost me.”

  “Mom and I went to the YMCA Christmas dinner.” Lauren took a gulp of her drink and the burn of vodka down her throat made her eyes water. The bartender might not have been a Hemsworth brother, but he seemed to understand that if you were at a bar on Christmas Day, your drink ought to be stiff.

  “How was it? I tried to get Dad and Carleen to go, but you know how Carleen is about cooking on Christmas.” Roxie rolled her eyes, a gesture Lauren knew Roxie’d never dare make in front of her well-meaning but overbearing stepmother.

  “Awful. Everyone stared at me. I’m pretty sure Jessica Norman called me a home wrecking slutface. So, you know, holiday spirit, good cheer, peace, and all that.”

  Roxie winced. “Slutface? Who calls someone a slutface? What does that even mean? Is your face sluttier than the rest of you?”

  “Well, I’m pretty good with my mouth, but I prefer the use of my hands too. I’m ambidextrous you know.” Lauren wiggled her fingers.

  Roxie rolled her eyes again. “You should take that show on the road. Wit is such a comforting defense mechanism when your life’s in the toilet. Now, why am I here?”

  “Do you remember Douglas French?” Lauren asked, ignoring the rest of Roxie’s comment. She and Doug had been best friends in kindergarten. In the pre-boy-germs era, they’d bonded over a shared love of who could bounce the highest on the death trap of a trampoline in his parents’ backyard. It was a miracle they’d both lived. Roxie hadn’t transferred to Sunrise High until the tenth grade, and by then Doug had been the sophomore’s most eligible bachelor and far too popular to be hanging out with the likes of Lauren. No one was wealthy in Sunrise Falls, but some were poorer than others. Lauren and her mom had been the kind of poor people described as dirt. Trailer park, Salvation Army, food stamp trash. Being dirt trash tended to make you wildly unpopular at the age when a North Face jacket was the difference between cool and ostracized.

  “Doug? Sure. He’s the general contractor. He replaced the porch last year. Took over the business from his dad, I think,” Roxie said.

  “Well, apparently, he and Gayle have been dating. My Gayle.” Lauren charged on, well aware of what Roxie would say about her biggest crush and not giving her the chance. “He rigged the whole thing so that Gayle’s Secret Santa present was actually a gift from him. He got her diamond earrings. What kind of person buys a woman they’re dating diamond earrings, anyway?”

  “The really generous kind?” Roxie suggested.

  “Douchebags who want to buy love, that’s who. Then there was Santa hell-bent on making a bad situation worse. He basically forced them to kiss. Right there in public. In front of me. Everyone in the place goes aww, like Dougie’s just given her a basket of kittens instead of sucking on her face.”

  She finally ran out of steam and Roxie pounced. “Lauren, no. Just, no. Your Gayle obsession isn’t healthy.”

  “I’m not obsessed. I just like her.”

  “In an I’ll be the one in the tree outside your window watching you undress kind of way.”

  “If I’m going to be there when she’s naked, I definitely want to be closer than that. I’m not a creeper, I’m just…”

  “Obsessed with a straight girl who doesn’t know you exist?” Roxie said.

  “Gayle isn’t straight.” Lauren refused, as always, to budge on this point.

  Roxie’s head dropped into her hands like a hammer. “How many times have we had this conversation?”

  “At least twenty million.” Lauren took another sip of her drink. She’d marry the bartender later, if she was still standing.

  “You need to move on. All you do when you come home is follow Gayle-fucking-Wentworth around like a duckling. It has to stop. You need an actual life, with someone who actually wants to sleep with you, Ms. Slutface. If only Jess Norman knew the truth.”

  Lauren stabbed the sip stirrer into the bottom of her glass. First, Sunrise Falls was the farthest place from home. Maybe she’d had the misfortune to grow up here. Maybe, for some reason she would never understand, her mom still wanted to live in the shithole of America. But it would never be home. Second, Jessica Norman had narcissistic personality disorder and wouldn’t know the truth if it hit her on the head. Third, Lauren could have all the sex she wanted. It just so happened she wanted it with Gayle. Was that a crime? Some people might even say it was romantic.

  She stabbed her glass so hard the plastic stirrer bent in the middle. “How long have they been dating?”

  “Eight months,” Roxie said, gentler now.

  She didn’t get it. She’d known Gayle was bi, but Lauren had been the recipient of Gayle’s very passionate, very sexy kiss. No woman kissed like that if they weren’t into you.

  “Why?” Lauren wasn’t stupid. She knew if romance was in the cards for her and Gayle it would’ve happened a long time ago. But their kiss was right around the time Lauren left for California. She’d always kept the flame alive, hoped more than a little that when she came back to visit her mom, Gayle would kiss her again. That she’d get the I have to feel your body over mine quivers. But Gayle had been nothing but polite and friendly the couple of times Lauren had dragged herself back. Polite was the worst. Give her anger, give her pissed off Gayle who was mad she’d moved across the country instead of kissing her every day for the rest of her life. Politeness, though, had all
the hallmarks of being a stranger.

  “Because she likes him,” Roxie said. “You need to find someone who likes you like that. You’d look good in diamond earrings.”

  Lauren shrugged. “Dating’s too complicated and casual sex just leaves you disappointed.”

  Roxie shot a look at the brown-eyed guy again. “Casual sex doesn’t have to leave you disappointed.”

  Lauren turned in her seat to study him. “That guy’s the splitting image of Ashton Kutcher’s character on That ’70s Show. He needs a decent haircut.”

  Roxie just smiled.

  “You going to ask him out?”

  “I’m thinking about it,” Roxie said. “Can you ask someone out on Christmas Day? Is that right, do you think?”

  “Every made-for-TV movie ever says yes,” Lauren said.

  Roxie’s phone pinged on the table by her glass and she glanced at it. “Dad’s drunk again. I’m so not going home now.”

  Roxie’s dad, Simon, wasn’t exactly an alcoholic. Not in a fuck-up-your-life kind of way. But he got pretty shit-faced on a regular basis. Luckily, he was an adorably happy drunk who just wanted cuddles and intense conversations about the meaning of life. He was completely harmless, really. But after twenty-five years of long conversations, Lauren figured Rox was due a break.

  “Want another?” Lauren picked up her empty glass.

  “I’ll get this one. I have to pee anyway,” Roxie said.

  As she walked away, Lauren zeroed back in on Gayle and the total abyss that was her love life. On the way she’d managed to screw up everything back home in San Francisco and earn herself the slutface moniker. She’d hurt a man she’d respected, gotten herself fired from her dream job, and wound up back in the last place she wanted to be. Her only goal since the age of ten had been to escape this town and the poverty no one ever let her forget. And yet somehow, here she was, sitting in Grumpy’s, tipsy on one drink, single, broke, and wanting eyeball replacement surgery after watching her biggest crush make out with her ex-best-friend from kindergarten.