“Oh, no. I didn’t see that. Thanks for saving me then.” I reach across the console and hug her shoulders, careful not to distract her from driving.

When I’m back in my seat, she glances over at me, a smile already blooming. “But dayum, did you ride that bull, girl! Whoo hoooo!” she yells out into the night through the rolled-down windows.

“And yeehaw!” I answer just as loudly.

Dare done.

We pull into the dorm parking lot with our lights off so security hopefully won’t see us, because bull riding wasn’t our only dare of the night.

Hours ago, I was the one who dared Tiffany to sneak out, so she’s got a successful dare done tonight too. As long as we can sneak back in after curfew without getting caught.

We park and get out, staying low between the cars. I’m not sure why, but it seems like the sneaky thing to do. We’re probably too loud as we shush each other, giggling quietly, but we manage to make it all the way inside the building and to our dorm room without getting busted.

As I lay in bed, my face scrubbed clean and in my PJs, I replay the night. Fuck, that was fun.

A tiny voice tries to butt in, telling me to be safe, take things seriously, and be good. It’s my dad’s voice, living in my head, quoting all the things he’s said to me an infinite number of times over the years. He still thinks of me as his good little girl.

But when I set his prerogatives on the scale against the exhilaration I feel doing things that are a little crazy, Dad loses every time. Mentally, I can tell him to shut up and do what I want, though I’d never tell him that in person. I love him way too much for that.

I just love doing daring things too.

Chapter 1

Elle - Four Years and 1500 Dares Later

“Ow!” I yelp right out of my sleep as Taylor Swift jolts me awake and causes me to bang my head against my headboard.

Rumbling irritably, I slap the alarm next to my bed. But it doesn’t go off. It gets even louder as it falls off the nightstand and into bed with me, Taylor sassily telling the guy she’s singing about that they’re never, ever getting back together. Great news, but I could really, really use another half hour of sleep before discussing your love life drama, Tay-Tay.

Grumbling, I mash the button again and Taylor goes up another octave, making my head pound. Why did I buy an alarm clock with such tiny buttons again?

It takes several more mashes and a well-placed karate chop to silence the alarm. I make a mental note to buy a new one because I might’ve actually just broken it, and if not, something with a big-ass snooze button would be nice.

“Gee, thanks—” I begin to growl but then stop, choked as I breathe in a . . . ball of cat fur? Hacking, I wipe at my mouth, disgusted and unfortunately not all that surprised. “Sophie!” I complain, “Have you been sitting on my chest while I sleep again?”

My black and white Persian cat, Sophie the Magnificent—and in her mind probably a lot of other titles—gives me an imperious, I-give-zero-fucks look from where she’s perched on my desk before licking her paws. If I didn’t know any better, I’d almost be tempted to think her incapable of being responsible for the fluffball that oh, so conveniently found its way into my mouth.

But looks can be deceiving.

Sophie can be a sweetheart most times, but she can also be my worst nightmare. Besides costing me a rather nice chair earlier in our relationship, I swear she hops on my chest while I’m asleep. The sweet side of me likes to think she’s guarding me, making sure I’m breathing all night. The not-so-sweet side is certain she’s trying to suck the life out of me.

But I know better than to expect further response from my feline companion, so I get up and stretch my arms. I mentally cycle through all the things I have to do to get ready for work. Shower, shave, makeup, get dressed, and then off to pick up my bestie, Tiffany Young, for carpooling, but I talk to Sophie the whole time. That’s one of the main reasons I have her—so that I don’t look like a lunatic talking to myself.

“If you keep leaving me hairballs for breakfast, you’re going to see me use up every last one of your nine lives—” My voice fails me as I step forward and fall into a tangled heap. “Dammit!”

Damn, am I usually this clumsy?

I glare balefully at Sophie, who’s still sitting pretty on my desk, but I can see the laughter in her eyes. She’s enjoying my morning clumsiness. I kick my feet, messily getting untangled from the pair of jeans I shed as I fell into bed last night. I know there’s a trail of clothing from the front door leading to this last puddle right here, meaning I’ll have to watch it so I don’t fall again. At least I managed to not knock last night’s wine glass off the nightstand with my alarm clock battle du jour.

Yeah, last night was epic. If you consider one and a half glasses of wine, my favorite book boyfriend, and falling asleep immediately after jilling off to be a great night. To be fair, sometimes, I do. Others, like now, I think I really, really need to get a release with a pulse. Wait, make that a heartbeat because Maximus, my battery-operated boyfriend, does have a pulse mode. A really good pulse mode.

“Don’t you dare laugh at me,” I warn Sophie, shooting her a murderous glare as I climb carefully to my feet. Meanwhile, she’s unperturbed by my death gaze, even offering a soft meow that belies her evil nature. “I swear someone’s got a voodoo hex—”

“Papa don’t preach—”

The music is back again. This time it’s my phone, and fate must be screwing with me today on the music choices.

Shit. I do not need this right now.

Part of me wants to blow it off and go about getting ready for work. But another part of me feels guilty for even thinking that. There are people you can ignore and people you can’t.

And if you don’t answer, he’s liable to get so worried he might send the “boys” to check on you.

Just the image of my two lumbering, overprotective hand holders, also known as my cousins, showing up at my door is enough to change my mind, and with a sigh, I press Accept.

“Dad,” I complain as my father, Daniel Stryker’s, handsome face appears on my phone’s screen. At forty-six, he’s what my best friend crassly likes to call a D-I-L-F. I have to constantly remind her that’s the last fucking thing I want to hear. Yuck.

His strict diet and workout regimen help him exude a youthfulness of a man almost half his age. If that weren’t enough, he’s a vice-president at Fox Industries, a multi-billion-dollar Fortune 500 Company, making him the most desirable middle-aged bachelor in the city. And that’s according to several magazines, not just his own ego.

I mean, it’s kinda nice to know I’ve got the genetics to age gracefully myself, but it’s also really, really strange when you have to use a bat to keep your female friends at bay. Surely, they can work their daddy issues out with someone who isn’t my actual dad, right?

“I’m trying to get ready for work. Is it important?”

“Ah!” Dad exclaims, ignoring my complaining, his handsome mug lighting up like a Christmas tree as my face appears on his screen. “There’s my beautiful little princess!” He suddenly recoils sharply from his screen, his face twisting in horror. “Damn, baby girl, Medusa’s got some competition going!” He pops a raspberry into his mouth, talking to me and prepping his breakfast at the same time.