Chapter 1
Ivy
“Your turn, Ivy.”
Ugh, I hate this part.
It’s a rule we made years ago: no skipping, no backing out. Just one simple game. One wild, sometimes embarrassing, always meaningful dare. One by one, we take turns. And unfortunately, I’m up next.
It started back in high school with Harper and me—two painfully shy girls in the small town of Ashen Mills, desperate to push past the edges of our comfort zones. Olivia joined us when we met in college at UNT Dallas. From asking for extra sprinkles in a British accent to serenading the barista with a Disney song—the dares have always been our thing.
They’re more than a game now, though. They’re a way to remind each other to live. To be bold. To stop waiting around and just go for it.
And sure, now that we’re grown and allegedly mature, the stakes feel higher. The dares get bolder. Public, risky, and usually just mortifying enough to make me want to melt intothe floor.
Which is why I already know I’m in trouble.
Because Harper is grinning like she’s already picked the perfect dare.
And Olivia? She’s just sipping her drink with that quiet smirk that always means she’s in on the plan.
And me?
It’s pretty clear I’m today’s entertainment.
My stomach twists as I glance around the bustling city square. We’re only in New Orleans for the weekend, a quick spring break girls’ trip before reality sucks us back in. But it doesn’t matter where we are, when it’s my turn, I always feel the same: vulnerable.
I lift my glass of sweet tea and take a slow sip, hoping they’ll go easy on me. Last time, they dared me to photobomb a group selfie. The girls thought it was hilarious. The bridal party I interrupted? Not so much.
“Alright, Ivy.” Harper leans in, her eyes sparkling with trouble. “You ready?”
I force a weak smile. “Can I just buy someone a coffee? Compliment a stranger’s shoes?”
“Nope,” Olivia says, popping the p. “It’s gotta be harder than that.”
They scan the street, whispering as if they’re choosing a victim. My pulse thunders in my ears as I watch their expressions light up as if they’ve spotted something. Or someone.
“There.” Harper points across the street. “Go up to that guy and hold his hand.”
I follow her gaze and instantly regret it.
He’s standing near a street performer, one hand in his pocket, the other hanging loose at his side, as a guitarist strums a slow rock ballad. But it’s not the music that grabs me—it’s him.
Tall. Really tall. Dark hair, just messy enough to look like he didn’t try but still somehow perfect. Light stubble brushes his jawline, sharp but not too much. His black t-shirt clings to a broad chest, sleeves casually pushed up to reveal arms covered in ink; bold lines, intricate patterns that trail down to his wrists. Faded jeans ride low on his hips, and a pair of battered Vans finishes the look. He shifts slightly, relaxed and completely unbothered, like the kind of guy who doesn’t second-guess a single thing he does.
And the girls want me to go hold his hand.
“No way,” I blurt out, shaking my head. “Pick someone else.”
Harper grins. “Come on, Ivy. It’s harmless.”
“Are you insane?” My voice is half-whisper, half-squeak. “I don’t just…walk up to guys like that.”
“Exactly,” Olivia says, like I just proved her point.
Harper leans in, her tone hushed and coaxing. “He’s alone. It’s not like he’s with someone. Just walk up, take his hand for a few seconds, then walk away. That’s it.”
I try to swallow, but my mouth is dry. The thought of walking up to a complete stranger, especially this very specific stranger, and touching him makes my skin buzz with nerves. It’s not just that he’s hot. It’s that he looks like someone who lives in a different world. Confident. Edgy. Unreachable. A guy who would never see a girl like me.
