Dare You To (Pushing the Limits #2)

Dare You To (Pushing the Limits #2) Page 33

How can I? I’ve got games that day and Dad…

My thoughts trail off. I’m bowing out of a competition—an event I could win. Would the rush of winning the writing competition be the same as winning a baseball game or a dare?

Guess I’ll never know.

When I turn back, Beth is stretched out on her back with her head against the pillows.

She’s kicked her shoes off and folded her hands on her stomach. The belly button ring sparkles in the light. She stacked my story neatly on the bedside table.

We’re dating. Friends who are dating and who will eventually kiss. Four days could be considered eventually…yeah, I’m not stupid enough to believe that.

“I’m going to bed,” I say, giving her the opportunity to leave.

“Do you normally sleep in all your clothes?” she asks.

No. I usually take off my shirt. “This is safer.”

“Okay.”

Okay. I flip off the light and climb into bed.

Taking a cue from Beth, I stay on top of the covers. The heat from her body warms mine.

She’s right. She can lie in bed without touching. I inhale and her sweet scent envelops me.

Last year, our science teacher dispelled the myth that sex crosses the minds of guys every seven seconds. I’m going to have to disagree with him on that. My fingers itch with the need to caress Beth’s soft skin. I want my lips whispering against hers.

“So, I have this friend,” she says into the darkness. “Isaiah. You’ve met him.”

“Yeah.” My muscles tense and the images of her body moving against mine disappear. I understand that dating means I’m leaving open the possibility that she can see other guys, but I’m not fond of her discussing said guys while she’s lying in my bed.

“He betrayed me and I don’t know what to do. In Louisville, he was the only friend I had and when I came here he bought me my phone.

We talked every night or texted or both and he still calls every day and texts me a million times. I refuse to answer him and I think our friendship is over and then I talked to Scott tonight and the conversation didn’t go as I planned and I don’t know.…”

My skin prickles. It’s more than Beth being so close to me. It’s more than the need and attraction raging in my body. Beth is on the verge of telling me something. On the verge of stepping outside her wall. I urge her on. “You don’t know what?”

“Everything was so much easier in Louisville,” she says softly. The sadness in her voice is hard to miss. “I miss easy.”

“After my game, I’ll drop you off.” I hate the thought of it, but I’m determined to win her over. “Then afterwards, we’ll go to dinner and then maybe a movie. What do you think?”

I hear her swallow. “I think I’d like that.”

I inhale. The clean, full intake of air feels as if it’s the first breath I’ve taken in days.

“Sometimes,” she says, then pauses. It’s a heavy pause and her struggle for words makes me want to comfort her. “Sometimes I just want…”

What does she want? I know what I want: for her to trust me, for her to feel what I feel.

But what I really want right now is for her to be okay. I extend my arm across the bed in Beth’s direction, careful not to touch her. “I’m here if you need me.”

One heartbeat. Another. Beth stays so perfectly still in the darkness that part of me wonders if this entire evening was a dream.

Her body scratches against the comforter as she moves. One inch in my direction. A hesitation. Then another inch. My blood tingles with anticipation. This moment is huge—no doubt. I’m asking her to lean on me and Beth is actually considering it.

Come on, Beth, you can trust me. Finally, in a swift movement, she lays her head on my chest and curls the rest of her body around me.

Needs slams into me and if her hand shifts down three inches, she’ll know. I want to touch her, but do I dare? Her breath tickles my chest as she whispers, “I like you, Ryan.”

I close my eyes and celebrate the words. She likes me. “I like you too.” A lot.

I want her, but I refuse to let my lower body make the decisions. Slowly, purposefully, I wrap one arm around her and lay my other hand on my stomach right next to hers. This is my best attempt at friends-who-date touching.

Parts of me want to caress the warm blush that appears on her beautiful skin when I look at her with desire. Those same parts imagine me placing a hand on her chin and tilting her head up so I can kiss her. Those parts are currently trying to talk “logic” to my brain.

Kissing could be good. I loved kissing her full lips and I loved her soft moans. I could kiss her until she forgets Isaiah. I could kiss her until I forget that I’m a virgin. My grip on her shoulder tightens. She’s killing me. I’m killing myself. “Sandy Koufax was left-handed like you. He was the youngest pitcher inducted into the Baseball Hall of Fame.”

“That’s possibly the most screwed-up thing I’ve ever heard you say,” she mumbles.

True, but it keeps my mind off kissing her.

“I’m not the one that talks in code.”

“You have me there.”

Beth’s body relaxes and molds into mine.

The silence stretches from seconds to minutes to longer and I wonder if she fell asleep. Part of me wishes I could sleep. Then I wouldn’t fantasize about touching her or kissing her or touching her some more. But then I also want to stay awake. I like this—holding her.

“Ryan?” she whispers.

“Yeah?” I whisper back.

“Can I stay? I set your alarm for four so I’ll be back before Scott misses me.”

I absently rub my hand up and down her back and she shifts closer to me. “Yeah.”

Beth nuzzles her head against my chest like a cat curling into a ball for sleep. Her arm presses into me and I let myself cheat for one second when I bunch her hair in my hand and kiss the top of her head. I could tell myself that friends who date do this, but it’s way too late and I’m way too tired for lying.

Beth

THIRTY MINUTES OF observing Ryan squirm on the couch across from Scott was enough to atone for allowing Ryan to drag me to the marathon game at the ballpark. Scott finally let me go with Ryan only after he threatened to kill Ryan if he returned me with any marks on my body.

I’m not sure if I’ll ever admit it to Ryan, but this has been my best Saturday since being sentenced to hell. On the drive into Louisville, Ryan explained baseball. Most of it I knew, but Ryan somehow made it interesting. The sport came alive when he described a game that’s more than a bat and a ball and some bases. He said it involved teamwork and trust.

As I sit on the bleachers and watch the game, I appreciate the gracefulness of his team’s movements. A network of signals and glances and unsaid understandings.

What I really find amazing is Ryan. The raw intensity in the way he moves. The strength of his broad shoulders and the power that explodes from his body when he throws the ball. Ryan is a force all his own. A force that pulls me in. An attraction that curls warmth into my body. He possesses a simple touch that’s strong enough to hold me together yet soft enough to make me shiver.

We’re friends. Just friends. I sigh. Even as a friend, he deserves better than me. He seems hell-bent on liking me. Hell-bent on dating me.

Why? What does he gain by being with a girl that everyone else has thrown away?

Chris pops a ball into left field and the other team catches it for the third out. Ryan stands in the dugout and winks at me before taking the field. My answering smile forms in spite of myself. You’re setting yourself up for a world of hurt, Beth. Like when I set myself up with Luke at fifteen. Luke called me pretty. Luke said all the right words. Then again, Luke never brought me to a place as public as this.

Maybe Scott is right. I have a clean slate.

Maybe I should take advantage of it. Maybe I should enjoy the ride while it lasts. After all, I’ll be leaving with Mom soon. Each day that she remains with Trent is one day closer to her death. Today, after the game, Mom and I will work out a plan to leave, but until then, maybe I should enjoy what’s in front of me.

Ryan likes me or at least he thinks he does.

Why am I in such a rush to move on to the next guy who’ll treat me like Luke did or the way Trent treats Mom?

I can be the girl who shows Ryan a few things. The girl who doesn’t laugh when he blushes. I can be the girl who, in the future, when he’s been married to the good girl and has three babies clinging to his leg, he can remember and smile at the memories. Then

he’ll look at his wife and be grateful I left when I did. Grateful he didn’t end up with me.

“Are you Ryan’s girlfriend?” A tall guy plops next to me on the bleachers and watches as Ryan throws the ball. This dude is close.

Super close. Not touching close, but he has broken the unspoken barrier of how close complete strangers should be to each other.

The skin on my arm prickles. “And you are?”

He turns his head and gives me a smile that reminds me of Ryan’s. In fact, he looks a lot like Ryan, just a little older. “Mark. I’m his older brother.”

Hello. Could this be the brother Ryan was all torn up over in the barn? But curiosity gives way to nerves. I’ve never met a guy’s family and I don’t know a thing about etiquette. “Nice to meet you.” There, isn’t that what proper girls say?

“Are you sure? I’ve seen worms on hooks happier than you.”

My lips twist up. “I’m Beth and we’re just friends.” Friends who are dating, but I don’t need to broadcast my insecurities.

“Huh,” he drawls. “Ryan doesn’t bring friends to games. He calls people distractions.”

Not sure how to respond, I focus on the game. Mark lowers his voice. “Am I making you uncomfortable?”

I might as well be honest. It’s not like I could pass as respectable for long. “Guys who invade my personal space generally make me uncomfortable, but I don’t blame you. Ryan has space issues too. Must be genetic.”

Mark laughs and it’s a boisterous laughter that causes people to stare—even Ryan from the mound. Ryan’s eyes flicker between his brother and me. A shadow crosses his face as he focuses on Mark. Not liking the hurt he’s wearing, I give him a halfhearted wave and he gives me his heart-stopping smile in return.

Heat creeps along the back of my neck and marks my face.

“Yeah,” says Mark. “You two are just friends.”

“I didn’t ask for your opinion,” I mutter.

Mark laughs again, but not as loudly. “My mother must hate you.”

I should be insulted, but I’m not. If she ever met me, she probably would. “Don’t know.”

“That’s okay. I like you.”

“You don’t know me.”

Mark gestures to the scoreboard. “We’ve got a few more innings to rectify that. So, tell me, how did you meet my brother?”

Ryan

UNLACING MY CLEATS, I STARE at the bleachers.

Mark is here and he’s talking to Beth. Actually, he’s laughing with Beth. Jealousy lurches inside me and I’m pissed at both of them. I’ve texted and called Mark for months and I got shit. Beth smiles once and he’s rattling like he’s on a talk show. And to top it all off, Mark’s talked to her for a whole twenty minutes and Beth’s already laughing. It took me weeks to get her to laugh with me.