Текст книги "Dare You To"
Автор книги: Katie McGarry
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Текущая страница: 9 (всего у книги 25 страниц)
Ryan
SITTING ON MY BED, I read the text message.
First the fight with Dad, then, at ten at night, Gwen sends me this: Beth Risk???
She waits on the other end for my reply. At least when I play baseball, I can catch the balls beings thrown at me. Dad and Gwen? I’m
getting the hell pounded out of me.
I shouldn’t answer Gwen. I should pretend I never read the message. She loves drama. I love baseball. She hated my games and I hated hers. We stopped kissing and touching and dating, yet somehow, like that night at the dugout, we’ve never stopped the games.
I text back: what about her?
The wait for her answer stretches into
eternity. I glance away from the phone as if that will make her respond faster. This summer, after Mark left, Mom repainted my room blue.
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She loves to redecorate as much as Dad
loves to build. They used to work together on projects, but that was before our world fell apart.
Gwen: you tell me
I hate texting. You never know what the
person is really trying to say. I take a risk. One that will make me an idiot and her dangling monkey if she ignores my request.
Me: call me
My heart picks up a few beats. Will she do it or will she leave me hanging? Since our
breakup, when we play the text game, I call her.
My cell rings and I smile. On the third ring, I answer. “Gwen.”
“Stone,” she says without much emotion.
“What’s going on?” It’s an awkward dance.
One I despise. We used to spend hours on the phone talking and now we overanalyze every word and pause.
“You knew who she was the entire time.”
There’s a hint of accusation in her voice.
I work at staying nonchalant. “And if I did?”
“You could have told me.”
I stare at the posters of my favorite teams.
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Why would I have told her that Beth is
Scott Risk’s niece? They share classes together.
They went to the same elementary school. She could have talked to Beth herself.
“Why did you nominate her?” she asks.
I hear ruffling. The sound is Gwen lying
back onto her pillows. She has five of them on her bed and she sleeps with every last one. I can picture her golden hair fanning out.
“You know how much homecoming queen
means to me,” she says.
I do. I used to listen as she rattled on about her dream of winning that sparkly tiara.
Actually, I faked interest, then pretended to listen. “You seconded the nomination.”
“Because I’d look like a sore loser if I
didn’t, and now I have to scramble for votes.
This would have been a lot easier if you told me sooner she was Scott Risk’s niece. Really, Ryan, I thought we were friends.”
“What do you care? No one knows her and
she doesn’t want friends.”
Her frustrated sigh sets my muscles on edge.
“She’s an instant celebrity and for some insane reason certain people think she’s cool. You nominated her and everyone at school knows HC TITLE-AUTHOR
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you’ve asked her out, so you give her
credibility. If you had told me who she was from the beginning, I could have done some damage control. Befriended her or something.
Because of you, she has a shot at winning.”
We broke up and I shouldn’t have to deal
with this. I go with the old standby answer:
“I’m sorry for ruining your life, Gwen. The next time I do anything I’ll be sure to get your permission.”
Gwen blurts out, “She’s not your type.”
I blink. “What?”
“Beth’s a little, I don’t know, freakish. I mean, she is kind of pretty if you like the weird my-life-is-a-dark-room sort of pretty. I guess I’m saying you won’t be able to give her the attention she needs. You know, because of baseball. I guess I’m just saying… not her.”
Not her. Anger strangles my gut. And we’re back to the conversation from the dugout—
baseball ruined our relationship. “We broke up and now you’re with Mike.”
I can hear Gwen’s smile. “But you promised we’d be friends. I’m being a good friend.”
Friends. I hate that word. “You’re right.
Beth is pretty.”
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“She has a nose ring.” Gwen’s lost the
smiling voice.
“I think it’s sexy.” I do.
“I heard she smokes cigarettes.”
“She’s trying to quit.” Yeah, I made that up.
“I heard she has a tattoo on the small of her back.”
Interesting. “I haven’t gotten that far, but I’ll let you know if I do since we’re friends and all.”
An image plays in my mind of lifting the
back of Beth’s shirt to reveal her skin, my caress causing her to smile. I bet her skin is smooth, like petals. My fingers fidget with the desire to touch Beth and my blood warms with the idea of her whispering my name. Damn.
The girl really does turn me on. I run a hand over my head, trying to rid my mind of the thought. What the hell?
“Ryan. I’m not kidding. She’s not your
type.”
“Then tell me who is.” I say it with more anger than intended, but I’m tired of the game.
“Not her, okay?” Gwen pleads.
The image of touching Beth taunts and
confuses me. Three quick raps on my door and HC TITLE-AUTHOR
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Mom enters. “I’ve gotta go.”
“`Night,” Gwen says with disappointment.
Mom wears a matching blue blazer and
skirt. She attended a women-only dinner with the mayor’s wife this evening. “Am I
interrupting?”
“No.” I toss my phone onto the bedside
table.
“You sounded a little upset.” Mom walks
over to my dresser, appraises her reflection in the mirror, then readjusts her pearl necklace. “I could hear you in the hallway.”
I shake my head. “Just Gwen.”
Her hands freeze on her necklace and a
smile curves her lips. “Are you together
again?”
“No.” Mom loved Gwen and I think the
breakup was hardest on her.
She continues her grooming. “You should
consider it. I heard that both you and Gwen were nominated for homecoming court.”
News travels at lightning speed in our town.
“Yeah.”
“You know, your father and I were
nominated for homecoming courts. Both fall and winter.”
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“Yep.” She mentioned it. A million times.
They won both times too. If her continued retelling of the events didn’t refresh my memory, the pictures hanging in the family room of them dancing with crowns on is a
good reminder.
“I also heard that Scott Risk’s niece was nominated.”
“Uh-huh.” If Mom knows everything, then
why is she bothering me?
“What are your thoughts on the niece? Her aunt, Allison Risk, has asked to be nominated for the empty seat on the church event
committee.”
And there’s my answer. Respectability. If Beth is an outcast, then Beth’s guardians will be considered bad parents. Mom wants the
prestige of nominating Scott Risk’s wife, but she doesn’t want the scandal of nominating the guardian of the “bad girl.” Both Mom and
Dad’s families have been members of this
community since the first foundations of home and church were laid hundreds of years ago.
The Stones are a legacy.
“She’s interesting.”
Mom turns. “Interesting. What does that
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mean?”
I shrug. It means that Beth’s in the way of my winning a dare. It means she tries my
patience. It means I want to see her tattoo.
“Interesting.”
Mom rubs her forehead in frustration. “Fine.
She’s interesting. If you discover another word, you know where to find me.”
Yep, I do. If in public, she’ll be right next to Dad. In private, the exact opposite of where Dad will be. Mom pauses at the door frame.
“And Ryan, I talked to Mrs. Rowe this
evening.”
I dip my head and briefly close my eyes. Not good. Not good at all. “Uh-huh.”
“She’s curious as to when you’ll be turning in your paperwork for the final writing
competition in Lexington.”
Damn. I raise my head, but my shoulders
stay slumped as I look at Mom. “I’m not doing it. It interferes with ball.”
Mom stiffens. “Was that your father’s
decision or yours?”
“Mine.” The word comes out fast. The last thing I want is for them to get into another twelve-round fight, especially over me.
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“I’m sure it was.” Mom gives a
dismissive wave.
Something inside me snaps. “Logan saw
Mark in Lexington a few weeks ago. He asked about us.”
Mom becomes uncharacteristically still.
“Logan knows, Mom. So does Chris.”
Fury flashes over her face. “If your father finds out you told anyone…If anyone in town finds out…”
“They won’t tell.”
She closes her eyes for a second as she
releases air. “Please remember what happens in this house stays in this house. Chris and Logan are your friends. They are not family.”
A simmering anger settles at the bottom of my stomach. How can she shut out her
emotions for her oldest son? “Don’t you miss him?”
“Yes.” Her immediate answer catches me off guard. “But there’s too much at stake.”
“What does that mean?” I ask.
Mom scans my room. Her eyes linger on my
posters. “I think I’m going to redo your room.
Blue isn’t your color.”
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Beth
THUMP, THUMP, THUMP. My eyes flash open
and my heart pumps in my ears. The cops. No, the boyfriend. Sometimes he knocks in the morning to confuse me into opening the door. I blink when I see the shadow of curtains against a window. Curtains. I’m not home. I inhale and the fresh oxygen mixes with the adrenaline in my bloodstream. Old habits die hard.
“Elisabeth,” Scott says from behind the
door. “Wake up.”
Shit. Six in the morning. Why can’t he leave me alone? The bus doesn’t arrive until seven-thirty. A half hour is plenty of time to get ready for school. I roll out of bed and pad on bare feet to the door. The bright light from the foyer hurts my eyes so I squint and barely
comprehend that Scott’s shoving a bag into my hand. “Here. I got your stuff.”
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I wipe the sleep from my eyes. Scott
wears the same T-shirt and jeans from last night. “What stuff?”
He drops his I-mean-business glare and my lips tug up. It’s a look he gave me when I was little, especially when I wouldn’t eat my vegetables or when I begged him to read to me.
Scott’s answering smile is hesitant. “I went by your aunt’s and picked up your clothes.
That Noah guy was there last night and he showed me what was yours. I’m sorry if I left anything behind. If you tell me something specific maybe I can swing by one day after work.”
I stare at the bag. My stuff. He got me my stuff and he talked to… “How’s Noah?”
The hesitant joy on his face fades. “We
didn’t have a heart-to-heart. Elisabeth, this doesn’t change any of my rules. I want you to settle here in Groveton and let your old life go.
Trust me on this one, okay, kid?”
Okay, kid. It’s what he always said to me, and I find myself nodding without realizing it.
A habit from childhood—a time when I
believed that Scott hung the moon and
commanded the sun. A bad habit for a teenager.
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I stop nodding. “I can wear my clothes?”
“Skin has to be covered and no rips in
indecent places. Push me on this and I’ll burn every stitch in that bag.” Scott inclines his head toward the kitchen. “Breakfast in thirty.”
I cradle the bag in my hands like a newborn.
My stuff. Mine. “Thanks.” The gratitude is stiff and awkward, but give me credit—I said it.
I SLIDE THE LOW-RISE, faded blue jeans to my hips and a contented sigh escapes my lips.
How I missed you, old friend. Jeans that hug a little too tight. Small rips on the thighs. The other pair, the pair I really love that has rips right below my ass, Scott would soak in
gasoline. I carefully fold them on a hanger and store them in the closet.
For the first time in two weeks, I feel like me. Black cotton tee that clings to my waist.
Silver hoop earrings in my ears. I change the hoop in my nose for a fake diamond stud. As I check myself out in the mirror, I revel in the lightness because I know the moment I step into that kitchen, I’ll grow heavy again.
Right at six-thirty, I enter the kitchen. The red breaking of dawn splatters across the sky.
Scott fries bacon at the stove and the smell HC TITLE-AUTHOR
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makes my mouth water. Allison is perfectly absent.
I take a seat at the bar that has a glass of orange juice and a plate. I assume the other place setting is for him. In between the plates is a stack of buttered toast and sausage patties.
“Is it turkey or tofu or whatever you try to pass off as food?”
Everything in this house is healthy. I pick up the toast and smell it. Hmm. White bread and it smells like butter. I stick out my tongue and barely lick it to see if it is. Scott laughs.
Embarrassed, I roll my tongue into my mouth and close my eyes in ecstasy. Mmm. Real
butter.
“No, it’s not turkey. It’s real. I’m tired of watching you not eat.” He places a plate of bacon and eggs between us as he sits. “If you’d try Allison’s cooking, you’d see it’s not half-bad.”
I bite into the toast and talk between bites.
“That’s the point. Food shouldn’t be half-bad.
It should be all good.”
Scott assesses my outfit before spooning
some scrambled eggs onto his plate. “I like the stud. When did you pierce your nose?”
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“When I turned fourteen.” I help myself
to bacon and sausage while staring at the eggs.
Scott made great eggs when I was a kid. Too bad I told him I hate them.
“Your mom wanted one. She talked about
driving into Louisville to get one several times.” Mom liked to talk to Scott while Scott raised me. She moved into Grandpa’s trailer when Dad knocked her up and her mom kicked her out. Scott was twelve when I was born.
My heart sinks. Mom never told me she
wanted a nose ring. She never even noticed when I pierced mine. Why it bothers me, I don’t know. Mom doesn’t tell me a lot of
things. I tap my fork against the counter. Screw it. I’m eating the eggs. Who knows when I’ll get another decent meal. Scott flashes a smug smile when I fork eggs on my plate.
“Is that a baseball thing?” I ask.
“What?”
“Ryan has that same I-know-everything
smirk when he thinks he’s one-upped me.”
Scott sips his orange juice. “Have you and Ryan been hanging out at school?”
I shrug. Hanging out. Annoying the piss out of each other. Same thing. “Kind of.”
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“He’s a good kid, Elisabeth. It would do
you good to make more friends like him.”
Noah’s a good guy. Isaiah is the best, but Scott doesn’t want to hear that. “I go by Beth.”
As if I hadn’t said anything, he asks another question. “How’s school?”
“I’m gonna fail.”
He stops eating and I shove food into my
mouth. I’m beginning to hate these silences.
“Are you trying?” he asks.
I contemplate my answer while savoring a
piece of bacon. On my last bite, I decide to go with the truth. “Yes. But I don’t expect you to believe me.”
He tosses his napkin onto his empty plate and stares at me with sincere blue eyes. We both have Grandma’s eyes. Dad did too, except Dad’s never looked kind. “I’m not smart. I can throw a ball, catch a ball, and hit a ball. It made me a rich man, but it’s better to be smart.”
“Too bad for me, I can’t do any of that.
Smart included.”
“Allison’s smart,” he says and he holds up his hand when I roll my eyes. “She’s real smart. Has a master’s in English. Let her help HC TITLE-AUTHOR
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you.”
“She hates me.”
Scott falls into one of his long silences again. “Let me handle that. You focus on
school.”
“Whatever.” I glance at the clock: six forty-five. We managed to have a conversation
without yelling for fifteen minutes. “Shouldn’t you be heading to work?”
“I’m working from home today. We’re going to do this every morning. I want you up at six and out here for breakfast by six-thirty.”
If he’s going to cook, I’m not going to argue.
“Okay.”
Scott gathers his dishes and goes to the sink.
“About last night.”
And things were going so well.… “Let’s not discuss last night.”
“You were shaking.”
I stand, feeling suddenly fidgety. “I should get my backpack together.”
“Has someone hurt you? Physically?”
The dishes. The dishes should go in the
dishwasher. I pick them up. “I really need help with Calculus. I want to drop it.” Why am I telling him this?
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Scott takes the dishes from me and I
don’t like being empty-handed. He places them on the counter and crosses his arms over his chest. “What happened after I left town? My dad was dead and buried. Did my brother take his place as residing bastard?”
I’m shaking again. It’s either that or we’re having an earthquake. My head jerks back
when the reality of what I let happen smacks me head-on like a Mack truck. I’m an idiot. He maneuvered expertly around my walls. “Fuck you.”
I expect Scott to yell at me or reprimand me.
Instead, he chuckles. “You’re still as stubborn as you were at four. Go get your stuff ready for school. I’ll drive you in today.”
I hate him. “I’ll take the bus.”
Scott turns his back to me and loads the
dishwasher. “I’m making pancakes tomorrow.”
“I won’t eat.”
He laughs again. “Yes, you will. Allison’s making goat cheese–tofu casserole tonight.”
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Ryan
I PULL MY JEEP into the student lot and park behind Chris’s car. He leans against the
bumper while Lacy stands a good three feet away from him near the hood. She holds her books close to her chest and snubs me by
angling her body toward the school when I shut off the engine. Not a good sign. I take a deep breath and ready myself. Lacy has a hell of a temper. My ears rang for two days after the last time I ticked her off.
Chris greets me when I open the door.
“She’s pissed at you, dawg.”
“I can see that.”
Before I can reach her, Lacy wheels around.
“A dare? You humiliated Beth in gym
yesterday over a dare? I’m trying to make friends with her and you and Chris and Logan have made her the target of a dare?”
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Dammit all to hell, Chris. “You sang like a little girl with her hand caught in the cookie jar, didn’t you?”
“Sorry,” he says, repentant. “Her tactics are brutal. The Marines could employ her.”
Lacy rushes between us, her hand waving in the air. “Don’t you laugh this off. You don’t know Beth. You don’t know what life was like for her. You don’t know what type of friend she was to me. You are ruining everything!”
I stare at her, shocked. Tears swim in her eyes. She’s not just angry. She’s upset. “It’s only a dare, Lace. I asked her out. She has the choice to say yes or no. I’m not hurting
anyone.”
“Yes, you are.” She glances away. “You’re hurting me.” The girl I consider one of my best friends bolts into school.
“I gotta go after her,” Chris says.
“I know.” I want him to.
“She’s wrong about this. Don’t worry
though, I think she’s PMS-ing.”
Yeah. Lacy is emotional at times, but a
nagging in my gut tells me that she could be right.
“Ryan?”
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Chris and I both turn to see Beth. My
heart stops. It’s her. Skater Girl from Taco Bell.
Gone are the trendy clothes. Back is her own style. Skin-hugging black shirt, jeans with holes. All knee-dropping curves. She looks every bit as sexy as she did the first night I met her.
“Can we talk for a second?” Sweet and
seductive, her voice purrs over my skin and I’m absolutely hypnotized. The girl must be a magician.
“Sure.” I wait for Chris to remember that he needs to go after his own girl, but he’s too busy admiring Beth’s ass to notice that Beth and I want him to leave. I give the blatant reminder.
“Lacy needs you.”
“Yeah,” says Chris like he’s waking from a dream. “Lacy. See you later, dawg. You too, Beth.”
She drums her fingers against her thigh as a dismissal. Chris wanders into the building while I try to understand Beth’s attitude switch.
Yesterday, the girl would have been the main suspect in my murder. This morning, she’s hot and friendly. Talk about mood swings.
Guilt becomes a whisper in my brain. I
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humiliated her at school. Time to make
amends. “Yesterday, in gym—”
“Whatever.” Beth cuts me off. “I was
thinking that you’re right. I should make friends and I’d really like you to be the one to help me.”
Can.
I suppress the smile edging onto my face.
No need to rub it in. Why couldn’t Lacy be here to see this? “You’ll go with me to the party on Friday?”
“Yes, but there’s a catch.”
“What type of catch?” I should be focusing more on the word catch, but I can’t when Beth nibbles on her bottom lip. I love those lips.
“My uncle is a little control-freakish and he’ll want to talk to you.”
This day keeps getting better. I win the dare and I get to talk to my hero. Plus, I get to spend time with Beth. Maybe Lacy’s right. Maybe there is more to her. “Sure. I can come by early on Friday.”
Beth readjusts the pack hanging on her
shoulder. “Actually, I was wondering if you could come over tonight and meet him. Maybe we could hang out after.”
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I love my life. The girl is asking me out.
“Yeah, sure.” Damn. My mind becomes chaos as I remember my plans. “Wait. I would love to, but I have ball practice with the team and then pitch practice in Louisville tonight.”
She lowers her head. “Oh. Okay, I guess. If you can’t, you can’t, but tonight’s the only night Scott’s going to be home.”
I am not blowing off this change of heart. If she’s anything like Lacy, she could have a total mood reversal in three minutes. “I can come over after ball and meet your uncle and then you could ride with me into Louisville. We could go out to eat after practice. That is, if you’re okay with sitting through an hour of me pitching.”
She raises her head and flashes this glorious smile. “If you don’t mind.”
Mind? I can’t think of anything I want more.
I just won the dare.
STANDING ON SCOTT RISK’S front porch, I
yank the bill of my baseball hat and wipe my hands on my athletic pants. This is it. I’m about to walk into my hero’s home. Two
knocks and the door swings open. Staring back at me, wearing jeans and a T-shirt, is Scott HC TITLE-AUTHOR
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Risk.
“Good afternoon, Ryan.” His eyebrows rise to give the impression he’s surprised.
“Good afternoon.” I rub the back of my head when the tension starts to form in my neck. “Is, uh, Beth here?”
An easy grin spreads across his face. “She’d better be, but I did just piss her off. It might not be a bad idea to check to see if she snuck out the window.”
Having no idea what to say back, I shove my hands in my pockets. He laughs. “Elisabeth and I don’t work well together on her
homework. Come on in. She said you two
made plans, but I have to admit I was
wondering if she was messing with me.”
“Is she ready, Mr. Risk?” Amazed and
starstruck, I walk in. This place is huge.
“Call me Scott,” he says, then hollers,
“Elisabeth!”
Something hard smacks the door to our
right. “Fuck you!”
I sigh heavily and a knot forms between my shoulder blades. The pendulum swings on the mood spectrum. Guess we’re back to crazy.
Can’t wait to see what Friday night will bring.
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“You have company!”
Silence. The door squeaks as it slowly
opens.
“Hello, Ryan.” Beth rests her hip against the door frame and my heart stutters. She changed from the T-shirt to a black tank top, exposing a hint of beautiful cleavage. “See. I told you he stares.”
Damn. I do. And I did it right in front of Scott Risk.
Scott claps my back. “It’s okay. But try not to stare too hard in front of me. At some point I’ll stop finding it amusing and might have to kick your ass. And Elisabeth? Fuck isn’t allowed.”
She shrugs, clearly not caring what’s
allowed.
“Get yourself together,” Scott says to Beth.
“I’m going to talk to Ryan for a bit, then you can go.”
Beth glances at her clothes. “I am together.”
“I see skin. Lots of it. Come back out when there is less skin.”
She sighs and does this slow pivot. As she walks into her room her hips have this easy sway that makes me stare—once again.
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“I received something yesterday that
you’ll appreciate.” Scott crosses the foyer to the room opposite Beth’s and motions for me to follow.
The moment I enter the large office I’m in awe. Baseball. Everywhere. Jerseys in glass frames. Balls. Bats. Cards in display cases.
Scott pulls out a see-through box and hands it to me. My mouth gapes. “Babe Ruth. You have a baseball signed by Babe Ruth?”
“Yes.” Scott flashes a smile, the kind I
understand; this office is hallowed ground. The phone on his large mahogany desk rings. “Give me a sec.”
I start to head out when Scott stops me.
“Stay. This won’t take long.”
I love this man. I could spend hours in this office drooling over his stuff. Speaking in correct grammar and a business voice, Scott chats on the phone. I hover over a bat signed by Nolan Ryan. This could be my office
someday. Hell no. This will be me.
Across the room is a table of framed
pictures. Scott and Pete Rose. Scott and Albert Pujols. The picture frames are angled slightly toward the center of the table. Each person in HC TITLE-AUTHOR
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the frame more important than the last.
When I get to the middle, I see a wedding picture of Scott and his wife and my respect for the man grows. He values his family.
I frown when I spot the small 4
x
7
photograph. It’s of a child and Scott. At least I think it’s Scott. I pick it up. He’s young and looks dorky wearing the old-school version of the Bullitt County High baseball uniform. He holds a girl. Barely out of toddler years. Maybe five. Entwined and pinned everywhere in her long blond hair are pink ribbons. The white fluffy dress makes her look like a princess. She has her arms squeezed tight around Scott’s neck. Her smile is contagious and her eyes are the deep blue of an ocean, almost exactly like…
“Elisabeth loved ribbons,” Scott says behind me. “Bought them for her every chance I
could.”
No way. “This is Beth?”
He takes the frame from me and gently
places it back as the very center picture on the table. “Yes.”
He says it with the heaviness of a man
mourning. Hell, I guess he is grieving. Beth is HC TITLE-AUTHOR
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a far cry from the happy child in that photo.
Scott’s lighthearted tone returns. “I picked Allison up from a dinner last night and ran into your mom. She said you finaled in a state writing competition.”
My eyes flicker away. Dad must love that
everyone in town now knows. “Yeah.”
“Your dad said you’re bent on going pro out of school, but there are a lot of colleges that would die to have a pitcher with your potential.
Especially if you have academic talent.”
“Thanks.” I don’t know what else to say.
“Want to tell me what’s going on with you and my niece?”
I freeze. And that is what I call throwing a changeup. Scott loses his easygoing grin and I notice he shares Beth’s eyes. He doesn’t blink either. Time to man up. “I asked her out.”
Because of a dare. “And she said yes. She said that you’d want to meet me first.”
“Where are you taking her tonight?”
“To my pitch-coaching lesson, then to
wherever she chooses to eat. There’s a…” Taco Bell—I should skip that one. “McDonald’s and an Applebee’s nearby.”
Scott nods as if he’s processing how to
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perform brain surgery. “Where are you
taking her Friday?”
“Not far. Actually, it’ll border your property and my dad’s. My best friend lives on the other side of you and we invite friends over to hang out.”
Scott fights amusement and tenses at the
same time. “You’re taking my niece to a field party.”
I swallow.
“I grew up fifteen miles from Groveton,”
says Scott. “I know what a field party is, having attended more than a few myself.”
Busted. “I thought it would be a good
opportunity for her to spend time with my friends.”
Scott rubs his jawline. “I don’t know.”
I have to give him more. Lots more. “I like Beth. She’s pretty.” Yeah, she is. “She’s more than pretty. She’s not like any girl I’ve ever met before. Beth keeps me on the edge. With her, I have no idea what’s coming next and I find that…” Amazing. Thrilling. “Fun.”
Scott says nothing back and I’m glad. Until I said the words—words I thought I was creating to impress him—I had no idea they were true.
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A sexy voice, one I know all too well,
causes my stomach to levitate like I’m at the top of a roller coaster, then plummet. Beth heard every word. “You’re kidding.”
“It’s impolite to eavesdrop.” Scott keeps his back to her and his eyes glued on me.
“I didn’t say fucking kidding,” she responds.
He inclines his head to the right as if to agree that was a major concession. “When?”
“When what?” I ask.
“When are you picking her up on Friday?”
“Seven.”
“I want her home by nine tonight. Midnight on Friday.”
“Yes, sir.”
Scott turns to Beth. “What are you going to do while he’s practicing?”
“Watch.”
Scott dips his head in disbelief.
Beth sighs heavily. “Fine. I’ll do homework.
I’ll become studious and add ‘big fat dork’ to my ‘freak’ label. It’s what you want, right?”
“It’s all I dream about. Go on. Enjoy
yourselves.” He enters the foyer and Beth’s lips twist into that evil smirk. What the hell did I walk myself into?
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