Текст книги "Dare You To"
Автор книги: Katie McGarry
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Текущая страница: 11 (всего у книги 25 страниц)
Ryan
TEN MINUTES AGO, I LEFT PRACTICE and found her gone. While I stood here losing my mind, deciding what to do, Beth was out having fun with her friends. I panicked, wondering if I should call Scott, the police, my dad. I
imagined Scott’s grief and thought about how angry my father would be when he learned I lost the niece of our town hero.
Mostly, I worried about Beth. Terrified
someone took her. Praying she wasn’t hurt or scared. Now I feel like a fool.
A few minutes ago, they pulled in and now Beth argues with the overrated tattooed punk I’ve seen before. I don’t dare move a muscle, because I’m terrified I’ll rip every single black hair out of Beth’s head. Planting myself firmly next to my Jeep, I watch as Beth and her
punked-out friend continue their heated
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discussion.
Beth played me like I’ve never been played before. I made a terrible mistake. I tried to like her. Screw Beth. Let her tank her life. She agreed to go to the party with me Friday. I won the dare. Deal done.
Beth bolts from the shitty car.
“Beth!” Tattoo Guy snags her by her belt
loop. “You’re not leaving. Not like this.”
I flinch, but force myself to stay still. She wants this guy. She left me to be with him.
“Then keep the promise you made to me,
Isaiah. Take me. Tonight.” Her eyes search him and the desperation clawing at her face makes watching the scene uncomfortable. Whatever answer she’s looking for, he doesn’t have. He turns his head away with his eyes cast down.
The other guy closes his door to the car and slowly approaches them, yet keeps his
distance.
Great, I’m back to the odds of two against one. That is, if I cared enough to step in.
Which I don’t.
Isaiah glances at the other guy. “You always said you wanted a home and now you’ve got one.”
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Beth blinks. “Not this home.”
I straighten. The attitude that makes her larger than life evaporates. She’s small. Very small. Especially when standing in front of two menacing guys. Not only does she appear
small, but she seems very…lost.
“Wait until you graduate. Just a couple more months. Noah and I talked and…”
With the name Noah, Beth’s head jerks and anger blazes from her blue eyes. “You
promised.”
“Beth.” The other guy, who I’m guessing
must be Noah, uses a calm tone that even I know will send her over the edge. “You belong in Groveton.”
In a flash of black, Beth races over to Noah.
Her hand darts out, and she strikes him across the face. The sound echoes against the walls of the warehouse. Beth’s chest heaves as she gasps for air. “Fuck you.”
I push off the Jeep. What the hell? Noah
gingerly touches his cheek, then inclines his head as if to release tension. “I was starting to feel left out after your little show back at the apartment complex.”
“This is your fault!” she screams. “You and HC TITLE-AUTHOR
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Echo and your new life. You turned Isaiah against me because you’re too scared to be real. You want to be fake. Just like your girl.”
Tattoo Guy—Isaiah—places his hand on
Beth’s arm and yanks her away from Noah.
Hell no. Punk or no punk, a girl is in serious trouble if she hits a guy and a guy should never touch a girl. My fingers tighten into a ball as I stalk over. “Get away from her.”
“Groveton,” Isaiah says as he ignores me.
“With your uncle. That is exactly where you need to be.” He points south, away from
Louisville, toward home. “That world can give you what I can’t. Not now. Just wait until graduation.”
“If you meant what you said,” she says in a low growl, “you’ll keep your promise now.”
A dark shadow seems to encompass the guy
and I quicken my pace. “I said get away from her.” My heart pounds in my chest. Two
against one. The odds are bad, but I’ll take them.
“Don’t you dare throw that in my face,”
Isaiah says to her, then rips his stare from Beth to focus on me. “This doesn’t involve you, man, so fuck off.”
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“The hell it doesn’t. She came here with
me and she’s going home with me. Anything that happens to her in between is my business.”
He angles his body toward me. “You say
that like she’s yours.”
“Isaiah,” Beth whispers. “Don’t.”
With only two feet between us, I take
another step with every muscle prepared for a fight. “She became mine the moment you laid a hand on her.”
He closes the gap and we’re standing toe-to-toe. His face inches from mine. Anger pulsates from his body. “She’s not yours. She’s mine and I don’t like how you treat her.”
A petite arm slides between our bodies.
“Isaiah,” says Beth. “Let it go.”
“How I treat her?” Is this guy high? “She doesn’t seem to want you.”
“Ryan, stop, please.” I’ve never heard Beth plead before and I want to look at her and confirm those words actually fell out of her mouth, but I don’t dare. I keep solid eye contact with the asshole in front of me.
An insane smile tugs at his lips. “You think she wants you? Is that what you think? That you’re some type of real man because you
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torture her at school? Because you spill her secrets? Because you humiliate her? You think she wants a guy that makes her cry?”
“Isaiah!” yells Beth.
His arm snaps back and so does mine. A
large figure surges from my left and instead of the hit I’m prepared to take as I throw, Noah pushes Isaiah into a car. “Back off, bro.”
“How could you!” I expect to see Beth’s
frigid, accusing stare in my direction. Instead, it’s fixed on Isaiah. Her entire body shakes and she rubs her left arm with her right hand. A continuous motion over and over again. “How could you tell him that?”
Isaiah blinks and the anger drains out of him. “Beth…”
She rushes to the Jeep. “Let’s go.”
She doesn’t have to tell me twice. I shove the keys in the ignition before I shut the door and roar out of the parking lot. Hitting the freeway, I click on my seat belt as Beth rests her head against the passenger window.
I search for the anger I felt earlier and try to find a way to blame her. She was the one that left. She was the one that spent time with those two guys. But the only thought turning in my HC TITLE-AUTHOR
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brain is the accusation Isaiah spat at me: I make her cry.
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Beth
LIVING IS LIKE BEING CHAINED at the bottom of a shallow pond with my eyes open and no air. I can see distorted images of happiness and light, even hear muffled laughter, but
everything is out of my reach as I lie in suffocating agony. If death is the opposite of living, then I hope death is like floating.
I’ve never fought with Isaiah and Noah like that. I never thought Isaiah would betray me, but he has. I trusted my best friend with secrets—secrets I’ve never told another living soul. He knows about my father, he knows
about my mother, he knows how many times a man has slapped a hand across my face…he
knows that Ryan, the way he offers friendship when I know he’s only playing me, hurts.
Resting my forehead against the glass of the passenger-side window, I watch the multiple HC TITLE-AUTHOR
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white lines in the middle of the road speed by. On the two-lane road leading to my uncle’s house, Ryan passes a tractor trailer, easily doing sixty in a forty-five. I sort of wish I had the courage to open the door and fall out.
It would hurt, but then the pain would be over when I died. All the pain. The
indescribable ache in my chest, the heaviness in my head, the hard lump in my throat—it would all be gone.
We’ve ridden in silence. I’m not sure if it’s been an uncomfortable silence as I am on the verge of numb. I’m striving for numb. I crave numb. I want to be high.
The Jeep veers to the left and we begin the trip down the long driveway. My stomach
growls. We never ate.
When he reaches the house, Ryan places the Jeep in park and immediately turns off the engine. I hate the country. With no lights, the woods and fields become the playground of my nightmares. My skin pricks at the thought of the devil waiting in the darkness to snatch me up and expel me into nothingness.
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everything. The latter would make him the upstanding kid that Scott wants me to be. It would also crush the remains of my life. Scott will send Mom to jail.
And me? I’ll want to die.
Four hours ago, pride would have never let me say the words, but there’s nothing left inside me. “I’m sorry.”
Frogs croak near the creek that borders
Scott’s farm. Ryan says nothing back and I don’t blame him. There really is nothing for him to say to a girl like me.
He examines the keys in his hands. “You
played me for a ride into Louisville.”
“Yes.” And if my plan had worked, I would be gone, and my uncle would have blamed
him.
“You planned to meet with that guy instead of spending time with me.”
“Yes.” He deserves honesty and that is as honest an answer as I can give him.
He twirls the keys around his finger. “From the moment you walked into Taco Bell, you were nothing more than a dare. Chris and
Logan dared me to get your phone number and then I was dared to take you on a date.”
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The words sting, but I struggle to keep
the pain from surfacing. What more should I expect? He’s everything that’s right with the world. I’m everything wrong. Guys like him don’t go for girls like me.
“I almost got into a fight for you.”
“I know.” And I say those rare words again:
“I’m sorry.”
Ryan sticks the key into the ignition and starts the engine. “You owe me. I’ll pick you up at seven on Friday. No games this time. A simple night. We go to the party. We hang for an hour. I win my dare, then I take you home.
You go back to ignoring me. I’ll ignore you.”
“Fine.” I should be happy, but I’m not. This is what I thought I wanted. Behind the
numbness is an ache waiting to torture me. I open the door to the Jeep and close it without looking back.
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Ryan
STATE LAW KEEPS ME from pitching more than fifteen innings a week. I’m only brought in on Thursday games if our other two pitchers dig us a hole. Three innings ago, when Coach put me in, we were so far deep we couldn’t see daylight. Not that the rain helps.
It’s rained for two weeks. Two weeks’ worth of games have been called. Two weeks’ worth of parties have been canceled. Two weeks of me and Beth ignoring each other.
Everyone is anticipating that the rain will end tonight and the field party will finally take place tomorrow. I’m ready too—eager to win the dare and have Beth officially out of my life.
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the back of my neck. Pooled droplets drip from the brim of my hat. The ball’s slick. So is my hand. I hate playing in the rain, but guys in the majors do it all the time.
The intensity of the rain increases. I can barely read Logan’s signal. Out of habit, I peek at the runner on first, but I can’t see a damn thing. I wind back and the game-changing
sound of nature intervenes: thunder and
lightning.
“Off the field!” the umpire shouts.
My cleats sink in the mud as I walk to the dugout. This is the third rain delay of the game.
There won’t be another. The game is done.
“Great job, guys.” Coach claps each one of us on our soggy backs as we enter. “Drive home safely. Severe weather is moving
through.”
Rain beats against the roof. I don’t see the point of a roof if everything underneath it is wet. The seats. The equipment. Our bags. I quickly change shoes, tying my Nikes harder and faster than normal.
Knowing me better than anyone else, Chris wedges his large body onto the bench beside me. “We didn’t lose.”
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Rain cancellations don’t count. “We
didn’t win either.”
“You would have pulled us out.”
“Maybe.” I stand and sling my bag over my shoulder. “But I’ll never know.”
The rest of the team chatters, changes shoes, and waits in the dugout for the worst of the rain to end. I’m not in the mood for company and I’m already wet. The rain hammers my
back as I head to the parking lot.
“Hey!” Chris runs to catch me. “What’s your deal, dawg?”
“Nothing.”
“Don’t give me that shit,” he yells over the rain. “You’ve been a walking mood for two weeks.”
I open the door to my Jeep and toss my bag into the back. Beth. That’s what happened, but I can’t tell Chris that. I’m ending my losing streak tomorrow when the rain moves out and Beth comes with me to the party.
“Maybe he’ll tell me.” Standing next to
Chris, Lacy looks like a drowned rat with her hair plastered to her face. When the rain began an hour ago, she sought shelter in Chris’s car.
“Take me home, Ryan.”
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The last thing I want is to be trapped in a car with her. “I’m not your boyfriend.”
“No,” she yells as another clap of thunder vibrates in the sky. “You’re my friend.”
Lacy kisses Chris’s cheek and runs to the passenger side. I glance at Chris and he nods.
“She doesn’t want to be mad at you anymore.”
I hop into the Jeep and start it up. In Lacy-like style, she goes to work turning on the heat and switching the radio to her favorite country station before lowering the sound. “Did you and Beth have a fight?”
The windshield wipers whine at a fast rate as I pull out of the parking lot. I wonder what Lacy knows. I didn’t tell anyone that Beth and I went into Louisville. “Is that what she said?”
“No. I finally scored her home number the other week and her uncle told me you guys were out.”
I calculate how this affects the dare. “Did you tell Chris?”
“It’s not my business to tell. Did you take her into Louisville because of the dare?”
“Yes.”
“So the dare’s done. That’s why you’ve been ignoring her?”
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Silence. Why is Lacy making me feel
like a dick? Beth’s the one that screwed me over. She owes me this. “She treats you like crap, Lace. Why do you care?”
Lacy doesn’t live far from the community
ballpark. I ease into her drive and watch the hanging ferns on the front porch blowing in the wind.
“She was my friend.”
“Was! She was…”
Lacy holds both her hands out. “Stop. Listen to me. I’m not you. I’ve never been you. You walk into any situation and it’s automatically perfect. I’m not perfect. I never have been.”
What is she talking about? If Lace only
knew how broken my family is; how since
Mark left we’re slowing dying. “I’m not
perfect.”
“Will you shut up?! God, I can’t get you
guys to say crap half the time and then anytime I try to actually SAY something worth saying, one of you interrupts me. So shut up!”
I gesture with my hand for her to continue.
“No one liked me, Ryan. Daddy moved us to Groveton when I was four and I knew then
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playdate and put me in preschool and no
matter what, I was considered the outsider. I’m not you. I’m not Logan. I’m not Chris. I can’t trace my roots to the founding fathers. I can’t eat Sunday chicken with my grandma after
church because she doesn’t live on the next property over, but three states away.”
I rub the back of my head, unsure if I should speak and if I do, what to say. Lacy never seemed to care what people thought of her.
“We never treated you different.”
She sighs heavily. “Why do you think I’ve hung out with you since sixth grade? Do you think I love baseball that much?”
I chuckle. “Don’t let Chris hear you say you aren’t a diehard fan.”
“I love him,” she says, and I understand that means that she also loves anything he loves.
“Anyway, the whole point is, Beth liked me.
When Gwen was mean to me…”
My mouth opens to protest. She points at me and narrows her eyes. “Don’t say a word. One, I told you to shut up. Two, this is my
monologue and not yours. Three, she’s a bitch.
As I was saying, when Gwen played to her true self and dropped the I’m-pretending-to-be-HC TITLE-AUTHOR
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perfect-so-the-whole-world-will-love-me
act, she made my life hell. I was labeled weird before I entered kindergarten, yet Beth liked me.
“When Gwen made me cry, Beth held my
hand and told me that she loved me. When
Gwen’s friends told me I couldn’t play on the swings, Beth pushed them off and told me the swings were mine. Beth taught me what it
meant to have friends. I don’t know what the hell happened to her between third grade and now, but I owe her. Here’s the thing—I love you and I love her, but I swear to God I’ll kick your ass if you hurt her.”
Lacy has thrown out too much to process, so I focus on what I know. “You’ll kick my ass?”
She cracks a smile. “Okay, maybe not, but I will be pissed off and I don’t like being pissed off at you.”
I don’t like her being pissed off at me either.
“She’s coming with me to the party.”
Disappointment clouds her face. “Dare or
date?”
“Dare.” I don’t lie to friends. “But Beth knows it.”
“If she knows, doesn’t that break the rules?”
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I shrug. “We don’t have a rule book.”
The porch light flips on and the front door opens. Through the pouring rain, I barely see Lacy’s mom. I wave at her. A second later, she waves back.
“She thinks all Chris and I do is make out in cars.” Lacy’s hand flutters away any further discussion about her and Chris making out in cars, which is fine by me.
I’d rather think about Beth. Who is she? The girl Lacy swears is a true friend? The girl with blond hair who loved ribbons and fancy
dresses? The girl who crawls underneath my skin and stays? The girl strong enough to tell me what she really thinks of me? The girl who looks so small and defenseless at times that I wonder if she can survive in the world on her own? Lacy may hate me for these words, but they have to be said. “Maybe Beth isn’t who you think she is.”
“Funny,” Lacy says. “I was about to say the same thing to you.”
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Beth
RYAN SWITCHES GEARS when the pavement
ends and the Jeep’s wheels hit gravel. The wind whips my hair into my face and neck, stinging me like the tiny tentacles of a jellyfish.
He turns on the headlights when the sun sets lower in the west, causing the woods
surrounding us to fall into shadows.
Besides the forced happy hellos we
exchanged under my aunt’s watchful eye, Ryan and I have said nothing to each other since he picked me up. The things he uttered to me two weeks ago still hurt—I was nothing more than a dare.
The offers of friendship, the smiles, the nice words—all games. Deep down I always knew
it, but part of me hoped for more. I allowed hope. Stupid Beth making another stupid
mistake. Story of my life.
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“You know, it’s rude to text while you’re out with someone else.” Ryan rests one hand on top of the steering wheel and leans cockily toward the door. “Especially when I saved you.”
I ignore Ryan and stare at my cell. Owing him, I agreed to spend one hour with him at the party. I never agreed to conversation.
The constant dipping and bobbing in his
Jeep makes reading Isaiah’s texts nearly
impossible. It’s the first time I’ve had the courage to open them. Every message says the same thing: I’m sorry.
So am I. I’m sorry I trusted him. I’m sorry he betrayed me. I’m sorry I thought I could read his texts without my heart throbbing as if a swarm of bees attacked it. I want the
heaviness to go away. I want the hurt to go away. How can I forgive him for telling Ryan my secret? How can I forgive him for forcing me to leave my mom?
And even worse, how can I talk to him now that I know he loves me and I know, beyond words, that I don’t feel the same way? My throat tightens. Isaiah’s my safe. He always has been. He’s that place where I fall when the HC TITLE-AUTHOR
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world tumbles into chaos. There were times I thought maybe we could be more, but
then…I’d freeze up entirely. Isaiah and I were meant to be friends and now I’m losing my only friend.
The phone vibrates in my hands. It’s as if he senses I’m finally on the other side. Call me.
Text me. Please.
I toss the cell onto the floorboard of Ryan’s Jeep. Texting Isaiah back will only increase the pain—for both of us.
Ryan concentrates on the road, looking deep in thought. I wish I had his life. No pain. No problems. Only lightness and freedom.
“You okay?” Ryan catches me staring. I
remind myself that the sincerity melting in his brown eyes isn’t real. Jocks are good at
pretending. His hair sticks out behind the baseball cap he wears backward. He shifts gears again and the muscles in his arms ripple with the motion. It’s kind of sexy. Not kind of—Ryan is sexy.
“Why are we on a dirt road? Did we
officially reach the end of civilization?”
“It’s a gravel road,” says Ryan. “This is the way to my house.”
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His house. Please. That bastard Luke
from my old school “showed” me his house
too. “I’m not fucking you.”
“And you talk so pretty. You must have had all the guys dangling from your fingertips in Louisville.” He flexes his fingers and regrips the steering wheel before speaking matter-of-factly. “This is the fastest way to the party.”
Ryan hates me and I don’t blame him. I hate me. What I hate more in this moment is that part of me likes Ryan. He stood up for me like the prince does for the princess in the fairy tales Scott used to read to me as a child. I’m not a princess, but Ryan is a knight. He just belongs to someone else.
“Are you sure you’re okay? You look pale.”
“I’m fine.” I hate how sharp the words come out. Fabulous. I yelled at him. Now I can feel like crap for that too.
Ryan breezes past what I assume is his
house, a large one-story with a massive garage next to it, and switches gears again when we hit the grass. The Jeep jolts forward, tossing me in the seat like I’m on a roller coaster. I grab hold of the passenger grip on the ceiling and Ryan laughs. A crazy smile brightens his HC TITLE-AUTHOR
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face and once again, I find myself drawn in.
No longer leaning away from me, Ryan sits straight, one hand on the steering wheel, another shifting gears as we hurtle down a hill to a creek. The Jeep accelerates as if it were a snowball on the verge of an avalanche. I can see the possibilities. The crashing. The water.
The jostling. The dirt. My heart pumps faster in my chest and for the first time in weeks I feel alive.
The engine roars and he presses harder on the gas. The Jeep hits the rocks. Ryan and I both whoop and yell as water sprays the truck and smashes onto the windshield, making us blind. He pushes the Jeep forward, faster, past the creek, over the rocks. Daring to continue even when I have no idea what’s on the other side.
The windshield wipers spring to life,
clearing our view, and Ryan jerks the wheel to the right to miss a sprawling tree. He enters a clearing and kills the engine. I hear laughter and suck in a breath when I realize it’s
mine…and his. Together. It sounds nice. Kind of like music.
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that makes my stomach flip. He had it at
Taco Bell. He had it when Scott introduced us.
He does it with such ease and for a second I believe his smile is for me.
“You’re smiling,” he says.
I absently touch my face as if I’m surprised by the news.
“You should do that more. It’s pretty.” He pauses. “You’re pretty.”
My heart does this strange fluttering. Like it’s stopping and starting at the same time. Heat creeps up my neck and flushes my face. What the hell? I’m blushing again?
“I’m sorry.” Ryan keeps the enduring smile, but it turns a little repentant and his eyes cast down in a shy way.
“No, it was fun.” The most fun I’ve had in weeks. The most fun I’ve had sober in…my
mind ticks back and I come up empty. Life sucks sober.
“Yeah.” His eyes become distant and the
grin stays on his face, but I can tell it’s a little forced. He blinks and the smile becomes
natural again. “Yeah. The creek. I should have told you that was coming. Or slowed down.”
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longer than a second, I don’t know. The
uncharacteristic bashfulness causes me to feel inadequate and a little…girly? I lace my hands together and focus on them. “Really. It’s okay.
I had fun.”
“Beth?” He hesitates. “Can we start over?”
I eye him—head to toe. No one’s offered me a do-over before. I guess no one thought I was worth it. A strange tugging inside me lifts my lips and causes a floating sensation for about three seconds. Well aware that everything in life is short lived, I feel the smile drop and the heaviness return. Still, I accept the offer.
“Sure.”
The sound of a guy shouting catches our
attention. Further into the clearing is a circle of trucks with headlights on and a bonfire in the middle. Kids from school are everywhere.
What am I doing here?
“You ready?” he asks.
No, but I screwed everything up when I tried to run away. “I guess.”
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trucks. The whole setup has a Lord of the Flies quality. At least the movie version of the book.
Ryan and I wade through the knee-deep
grass and it crunches beneath my wannabe
Chuck Taylors. Some of the longer blades swat at me, slashing at the bare skin exposed by the rips in my jeans. I hate the country.
The closer we get to the party, the slower I walk and Ryan matches my pace. With each
step, he bridges the distance between us and a couple of times his fingers skim against mine.
Butterflies flutter through my blood and the stupid little girl part of me wants him to touch me.
The other part would slug him if he did.
“Parties make you uncomfortable?” he asks.
“When they make me feel like Daniel
stepping into the lion’s den.”
I try to suck in my smile when I hear the surprise in his voice. “You know the story?”
Thanks to my short stint in VBS with Lacy, I can recite the books of the Bible, New and Old Testament, and a few other random verses.
“Even the devil knows who God is.”
“You’re not the devil, Beth.”
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“Are you sure?”
That sweet smile graces his lips. “No.”
I laugh. It’s a good laugh. The type that digs deep down into my toes and tickles my insides.
What feels even better is the sound of him laughing right along with me.
“Come on. I promise they won’t eat you.
Half the girls here claim they’re vegetarians and I can take the guys.” He does the one thing I hoped for and dreaded: his hand tangles with mine and he tugs gently for me to follow.
I like the touch of his hand. It’s warm.
Strong. And I let the part of me that loved ribbons live for a few seconds and entwine my fingers with his. If I learned one thing from Vacation Bible School, it was that resurrection of the dead is possible.
Ryan walks toward a truck where Chris and Logan sit on the tailgate. They laugh loudly, then stop when they see me. Tucked between Chris’s legs, Lacy offers me a friendly smile.
“Did the mud call to you again, Ryan?” asks Lacy.
Ryan chuckles. “Yeah.”
Mud? How did Lacy know…I glance down
at my outfit. Mud—everywhere. Just great.
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“Hell,” says Chris. “You actually
convinced her to show. Did you give him your phone number too?”
I blink. “What?”
“You’re holding his damn hand.”
Right. I am. Stupid me. The bet. First the phone number. Then the date. The Jeep ride disoriented me into momentary forgetfulness.
Hurt pricks at my heart and I shove the little girl with ribbons into the dark recesses of my mind. Some things should never be reborn. I break free from his hand. So much for Ryan’s offer of starting over.
“Don’t let him snow you,” Chris says while running a finger down Lacy’s arm. “Ryan’s a charmer.”
Noah touches Echo like that. It’s obvious from school that Chris is in love with Lacy.
Some guys touch girls they love. Others touch girls they use. The worst touch girls they hurt. I stare at Chris and consider telling him to go fuck himself. Yet I can’t find the anger. I’m the moron that walked into this situation.
“Don’t let Chris get to you,” Ryan retorts.
“He’s pissed because crap comes out of both ends.”
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Chris gives a hearty laugh. Ryan slings
an arm around my shoulder and leads me from the group. Um—no. I may have fallen for the hand-holding before, but I’m not falling for anything else. “Get your arm off of me before I rip it off and beat the shit out of you with it.”
We’re heading for the bonfire. I feel small underneath his massive arm, like a girl, and such vulnerability makes me uncomfortable.
Instead of letting go, Ryan effortlessly tucks me under his shoulder. “When you kiss guys, do they drop dead from the venom that spews out of your mouth?”
“I wish, because I would have kissed you
days ago. I’m not kidding, get the hell off.”
“No.”
No? “Do you have a death wish?”
Ryan strides past the bonfire, and panic
sweeps through me when he guides me into the thick crowd of people dancing. “You owe me one hour. Remember?”
Rap pounds so loudly from a truck that the ground beneath us vibrates. Around us people dance. Shimmy. Shake. Laugh. They move in hypnotic rhythms. Skin against skin. Body against body.
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My stomach heaves and I’m
overwhelmed with the urge to vomit. “Screw you. I’m not doing this.”
Ryan bolts in front of me, stopping my
retreat. “How about a deal? One dance and your debt is paid.”
“I don’t dance.” True—I don’t. Truer? I’ve never danced with a guy.
He raises a skeptical eyebrow. “You don’t dance?”
“No.”
The firelight flickers against Ryan’s tan, giving his face a beautiful bronze glow. Gold shines in his hair. He’s gorgeous. Honestly he is, and he wants me to dance. Could this day get any worse?
Ryan steps closer and flashes an all-knowing smile that makes him adorable and me weak. I hate him and I hate myself for wanting him to touch me again.
The music changes from superfast to a bit slower. Its strong beat mimics the frantic pounding in my chest. Ryan rests a hand on my hip and his heat seeps into my skin and creeps into my bloodstream. He lowers his lips to my ear and his breath tickles the nape of my neck.
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“Dance with me, Beth.”
“No.” I’m definitely learning impaired. I whispered the reply. I might as well have screamed yes. This is a mistake, Beth. A huge, glaring mistake. Just run!
