Truth or Dare with the Bear
by
Tricia Owens
Smashwords Edition
Copyright 2012 Tricia Owens
Read other titles by Tricia Owens at
https://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/TriciaOwens
Truth or Dare with the Bear
Brett's booted foot slipped on a bed of leaves and moss. After a few seconds of wildly pin-wheeling his arms he managed to regain his balance and avoid falling onto his ass on the damp jungle floor. A twinge shot up his ankle though, a little 'screw you' for his clumsiness.
"Shit," he muttered as he tentatively rolled his foot.
"Did you sprain it?" asked a deep voice from somewhere to his left.
Startled, Brett spun around and found himself faced with a wall of twisted vines and leaves.
"Down here."
The dry voice led him to a dark, bear-like figure squatting beside a rotting log. The blue flannel shirt stretched over immense shoulders and the camera dangling from a pair of broad hands identified the creature as human, but only barely so.
"Oh, hey, Dr. Morrow," Brett greeted, relaxing. But only a little bit. "Nah, it's not sprained."
"I told you guys to call me Ross."
Brett nodded nervously. "Sorry."
Ross Morrow, PhD, was the last man Brett expected to be working under when he and his friends had signed up for this data collecting research trip in the Caribbean. For some reason Brett had assumed the brooding professor he'd glimpsed prowling the campus of the University of Colorado was an art teacher. He possessed that combustive mix of antisocial behavior and exaggerated intensity that Brett had learned to associate with creative types.
He also reminded Brett of a lumberjack. The man was huge, although he moved gracefully as if he'd taught himself how to control his size so as not to intimidate or inadvertently injure people. He towered over Brett's five feet nine by a good six inches and outweighed him by at least fifty pounds.
"You, uh, find a specimen?" Brett asked, although he didn't take a step closer to the foliage surrounding Ross. The man was a little like Big Foot -- better observed from a distance.
"Another of the same," Ross replied, his dark blue eyes staring intently at Brett. "Anolis distichus."
Brett nodded. He and his two friends along with Ross and two of his teaching assistants were documenting the varieties of Anolis lizard that had evolved on Anteros Island. The bright, multi-colored lizards had developed distinct morphological forms on the separate Caribbean islands on which they were found. Ross and his team had been on the island for two weeks recording the lizard species. It was fun, interesting work, but the jungle sorely lacked much social appeal. Brett's friends were growing restless for entertainment and that couldn't bode well for the near future.
"You'll need your hair cut when you return to the States."
The unexpected comment caught Brett off-guard. He reached up and self-consciously fingered the red bandana he'd wrapped around his head to keep his wavy brown hair out of his eyes. "I - I do?" This was more than Ross had said to him in two weeks in the jungle.
"It's long," Ross murmured. He raised his camera to his face, hiding his expression. "It looks good on you. But maybe that’s because I'm used to scruffy-looking grad students out in the field." He snapped a picture although Brett didn't see any lizards in sight.
"Uh, yeah. I guess I--"
"Go meet up with the TAs. They need a hand with cleaning camp."
"But I was on my way to--"
"Get out of here!" Ross barked.
Okay, this was why he didn't hang out much with Ross, Brett decided as he hurried away. The big man was strange and a little scary. Maybe that was what being a professor of biology did to someone.
Maybe it was time to consider changing his major.
~~~~~
"Crap! This water is cold!" Brett yelled as he hopped from foot to foot in the river.
"Quit being such a wuss!"Jeff said with a laugh. He drove his arm through the water, sending a wave of it towards Brett.
Brett squealed like a girl. "Fucker!"
After dunking his friend a few times, the water seemed to warm up and Brett was finally able to relax and scrub himself with the bar of soap he’d brought along. His hair was growing long. It was matted and gross. He grimaced as he rubbed the dirt and sweat out of it.
"Too bad we weren’t here earlier," Jeff remarked as he worked up lather on his chest. "Emily and Martine were taking their baths."
"Yeah, but Ross was keeping guard on the shore," said their other friend Greg who was squatting at the river’s edge washing dishes. "He would’ve broken your neck before you got a glimpse of tits or ass."
"Would’ve been worth it, man." Jeff soaped up his pits. "You think he’s sticking it to Martine? She’s European and hairy. Seems his type. "
He and Greg laughed. Brett joined in so he wouldn’t stand out.
"You wonder if hunters mistake him for Sasquatch when he goes camping?" Greg mused.
"I wouldn’t be surprised," Brett said, shaking his head. "That guy is built like a monster and sorta looks like one."
Branches snapped. Brett whipped his head around in time to catch Ross turning away from the other side of the river, a dripping canteen in hand. Shit. Had Ross heard them?
Jeff razzed him for it and Brett played it off. But as he was drying himself he wished he’d kept his big mouth shut.
~~~~~
Brett froze in the dark, two bodies bumping into him from behind. "This is stupid. I can't do this. I'm not twelve years old anymore."
"You have to!" Greg hissed, his breath reeking of beef jerky and marijuana. "Rules are rules, Brett. You can't chicken out now!"
"Screw the rules," Brett muttered, sinking down into the darkness behind Ross's tent. "If I get caught he's going to kill me."
Jeff pushed his shoulder none too gently. "Hey, that's your fault. You shoulda said 'truth'. Now you have to follow through."
Brett shook his head, the movement slightly dizzying. "This is fucking stupid," he repeated. Greg started giggling behind him. Brett wanted to smack him.
He had no one to blame but himself, of course. Damn Greg for whipping out his contraband weed and insisting Jeff and Brett join him for a smoke. Never mind that if Ross or one of the TAs found out they'd all be sacked. That had been Rule Three in their contract: no drugs on the trail.
So much for Rule Three. The three biology students had gone through the small bag in the blink of an eye and idiotically decided to start a game of Truth or Dare. Bad move.
Brett's turn had come up and only because he hadn't possessed the faculties to answer coherently, he'd stupidly blurted out 'dare'. Jeff had burst into hysterical laughter even before he'd voiced Brett's mission: steal a pair of Ross's underwear.
"I'm telling you, he's going to murder me," Brett insisted. "Ross isn't a normal prof. He could crush my skull with his bare hands."
A second hand pushed at his shoulder. "Go, Brett, go," Jeff urged. His voice started to rise. "Do it or I'm gonna make a lot of noise and wake Ross up."
"Alright, already!" Pissed, Brett crept around the corner of the pup tent, Jeff and Greg right behind. He paused at the zippered opening. The tent was still and dark -- it should be since it was three in the morning and the jungle foliage blocked out the moonlight -- but the nylon walls were thin and any sound he made might be enough to wake up his bear of a professor. His heart pounding, Brett reached for the zipper on the opening of the tent.
He had trouble focusing as he tugged at the zip. "Fuck!" he muttered as the zipper jerked and pinched the webbing between his thumb and forefinger. He shook out his hand and sucked at the bruised skin.