The Dare (The Bet #3)(7)
Author: Rachel Van Dyken

Grandma put her hands on her hips. "Well, what are you two standing there for? We have to get out of here!" She threw two duffel bags at us and stomped into the room. "Now change."

"Change?" Beth and I said in unison.

Grandma reached for the box of half-eaten cookies and pulled one out, closing her eyes as she chewed. Several crumbs landed on her leopard scarf, acting like a tray underneath her mouth.

"Well?" Grandma opened her eyes and stared us both down. I wanted to duck behind Beth and or make a run for it, but something kept me in place — maybe curiosity, or possibly desperation. Whatever it was, it was annoying as hell.

"May I ask why you’re wearing…" Beth swallowed, "that?"

"Oh, this little thing?" Grandma chuckled then put up a hand and meowed. "I’m a cat."

"We noticed." I coughed to hide my laugh. "Aren’t we supposed to be incognito, though?"

"Cats have nine lives."

"Thank you, Wikipedia." Beth smiled tensely.

"People love cats, and people love me. It’s really the perfect plan. I’m famous too, you know. They won’t even notice you leaving through the back door once I walk into the lobby. I’m donating a horrendous amount of money to the Portland Zoo. They’ll think it’s a publicity stunt and well… now I don’t have to do my own press conference."

I was silent. Thinking. Wondering if she was insane or had finally fallen off that rocker and gotten a blunt head wound. I was about five seconds away from calling Travis and begging him to put his grandma in a home. She wasn’t only a danger to society but a danger to herself.

"Strip."

Well, if the catsuit hadn’t done it, that one word had.

I shook my head. "Strip?"

Grandma rolled her eyes and grabbed another cookie. "You can’t be incognito in a tux and a bridesmaid dress."

Okay, so catwoman had a point. I looked to Beth, but she was already digging through the duffel bag grandma had brought her. She pulled out a pair of jeans and a white t-shirt.

Following suit, I unzipped my own bag and found enough clothes to go to the tropics for at least two weeks on vacation. I pulled out a pair of board shorts. "And I’d need these because?"

"No questions," Grandma snapped.

"How did you get all of our clothes so /fast?" Beth asked. "I mean weren’t they at the Titus house? Or in my case, the rental car" Beth gasped. "The rental car!"

"Waiting outside." Grandma popped the cookie in her mouth and examined her nails. "Really," she chewed, "it’s as if you two don’t trust me. Grandma knows best, and that’s all you need to know."

"You’re wearing a catsuit," I pointed out.

Actually, it was more of a leopard jumpsuit with a long black tail, a leopard scarf that naturally matched, and a black beanie that looked a hell of a lot like something you’d see on a person just before they robbed you blind.

"Hurry up!" Grandma stomped her leopard heel and looked at her watch. It was also leopard. The woman probably had stock in the design.

Beth grumbled under her breath and stomped into the bathroom; within minutes she walked out and looked a bit like a guy’s dream come true. Her white t-shirt was snug across her chest, her skinny jeans ripped in all the right places, and black-and-white Converse sneakers that made her somehow look younger. Not that I’d say that aloud lest she remove my balls with her fist. Apparently age was a sore subject. Not that I imagined she was much older. Then again, I wasn’t a super good judge of anything lately, so I decided not speaking was probably a good call.

I went into the bathroom and threw on a black t-shirt and a pair of jeans I really don’t remember being that tight. In fact, the jeans didn’t look familiar at all. Whatever. I grabbed the cardigan and decided against the tie. By the time I emerged, we’d been in the hotel room for fifteen minutes with Grandma or crazy catlady.

"Alright." Grandma clapped her hands together, only it wasn’t loud because now she was wearing gloves. I had to look away. Looking directly at her was like reliving the time I did mushrooms in college. An experience I swore I’d never re-live.

"It’s time."

****

The elevator dinged at the lobby level. Grandma pressed play on her iPhone and turned to give us a wink, "Side door, a car’s waiting. I’ll see you in a few minutes. Now let Grandma have the spotlight."

The doors opened.

And "Lion King" started playing. Grandma strutted down the hall and turned the corner.

My mouth may have dropped open as she started moving her hips in a way no woman at eighty-six should know how to move — in perfect cadence with the music she danced. The reflection of cameras going off was our cue.

"Come on." I grabbed Beth’s hand and walked briskly toward the back door.

As Grandma said, the rental car was running, and a gentleman in a Hawaiian shirt was at the wheel. "Get in!"

Not needing to be told twice, Beth and I tumbled into the back seat and barely had time to buckle our seatbelts before the old man hit the accelerator, causing the Chevy Malibu to squeal in protest.

"Um," Beth clenched my hand, squeezing it so tight I almost lost feeling, "sir, where are you taking us?"

"Airport."

Beth released my hand, her body relaxing. "That’s a relief."

"Don’t I know it." The man went through a yellow light and hit the accelerator again, barely making it through the next.

"Mind slowing down?" I asked.

The man’s answer was to turn up the music. Just our luck. Britney Spears’s "Womanizer" started playing in the background and, of course, our insane driver knew every damn word.

Ten minutes later, we arrived at the airport. I wasn’t really sure why I was there other than to help Beth get her crap out of the car. I was officially taking back every thought about one-night stands I’d ever had. No one-night stand should end with your friend’s grandmother showing up in a catsuit. Not unless you’re high on some sort of illegal substance, which I was ninety-nine percent sure I wasn’t.

There was always that one percent, especially when Grandma Nadine was involved.

"Well," I handed Beth her bag, "it was fun."

As soon as the words were out of my mouth, I expected to be slapped.

Beth’s eyebrows arched.

I tried again. "I mean, last night. The cookies, the uh, exercise…" Oh God, I was making it worse. "And—"

"Just stop." Beth held up her hand. "And thanks for the reminder that I consumed that many calories in your presence then promptly puked in my shoe."