Dare You To (Pushing the Limits, #2)(15)

From above, tree limbs crackle and snap and leaves whoosh as if      a strong breeze rushes through them. It’s not wind. It’s Logan, and one of these      days he’s going to get himself killed. A swirl of dirt accompanies the thud on      the ground. Logan’s body presses against my foot. On his back, with his black      hair full of torn leaves, Logan convulses with laughter. Obviously this isn’t      the night he was meant to die. He turns his head to look at Chris. “Here.”

I kick Logan hard when I remove my foot from under his ass.      “You’re the crazy son-of-a-bitch, not me.”

“Crazy?” Logan rolls over to sit up. “I’m not the one following      a psycho chick into a parking lot for a phone number. Those guys could have      kicked your ass.”

Damn. I hoped they had forgotten. “I could have taken them.”      They would have eventually handed my ass to me, but I would have given them some      bruises as payback. Two versus one are bad odds.

“Not the point,” says Logan.

“Since you mentioned it.” Chris takes his baseball cap off and      holds it over his heart. “I’m going to take this moment and remind everyone of      the following—I won.”

“I won tonight. So we’re even again.”

Chris shoves his hat back on. “Doesn’t count.”

He’s right. It doesn’t. The only dares we keep track of are the      ones we give to one another. “Enjoy the brief taste of victory. I’ll be winning      next time.”

We lapse into silence, which is fine. Our silences are never      uncomfortable. Unlike girls, guys don’t have to talk. Every now and then, we      hear laughter or shouting from the party. Every now and then, Chris and Lacy      text. He likes to give her space, but doesn’t trust drunk guys near his      girl.

Logan fiddles with a long branch that fell to the ground. “Dad      and I headed into Lexington this morning to check out U of K.”

I hold my breath, hoping that the conversation doesn’t turn to      where I think it’s heading. Logan’s had this visit scheduled for weeks. He’s a      damn genius and will have every college knocking on his door next year,      including the University of Kentucky. “How’d it go?”

“I saw Mark.”

I rub the back of my head and try to ignore the nagging ache      inside. “How is he?”

“Fine. He asked about you. Your mom.” He pauses. “Your      dad.”

“He’s fine. That’s it?”

“No offense, but it was weird. I’m cool that he’s your brother      and that he’s made his choices, but I’m not sticking around to play head shrink      over your family problems, especially when he had an audience.”

“An audience?” I echo.

“Yeah,” says Logan. “His boyfriend, I guess.”

The twisting pressure usually only reserved for games pummels      my stomach. I pull my knees up and lower my head. “How do you know it was his      boyfriend?”

Logan’s face scrunches. “I dunno. He was standing next to      another dude.”

“It could have been a friend,” says Chris. “Did the guy look      gay?”

“Mark didn’t look gay, asswipe,” Logan snaps. “Who would have      guessed the damn defensive lineman had it for the home team. And sure, the other      dude could’ve been straight. But how the hell should I know?”

Listening to them discuss my gay brother’s possible gay      boyfriend is just as comfortable as convincing my mom over and over again that I      prefer girls and their girl parts. Nothing makes you think you might need years      of therapy like having to say the word breasts in      front of your mother. “Can we end this conversation?”

I consider walking back to Tim’s truck and collecting that      beer. I’ve only been shit-faced drunk twice in my life. Once when Mark told the      family he was gay. The second time when Dad kicked him out for that      announcement. Both incidents happened in the span of three days. Lessons      learned: don’t tell Dad you’re gay, and getting drunk doesn’t make anything      untrue. It just makes your head hurt in the morning.

With a loud crack, Logan breaks the twig in his hand. He’s      looking for courage, which means I’m going to hate the words coming out of his      mouth. “Mark was all cryptic, but he said you’d know what he meant. He said he      can’t come and he hoped you’d understand why.”