Dare You To (Pushing the Limits, #2)(20)

She walks out of the shop and crosses her arms over her chest. Black hair. Nose ring. Slim figure with a hint of curves. White shirt with only four buttons clasped between her breasts and belly button, fancy blue jeans, and an eye roll the moment she sees me. My stomach drops as if I swallowed lead. This is possibly the worst day of my life.





Chapter 10

Beth

“IT’S NICE TO MEET       YOU,” Arrogant Taco Bell Boy says as if we never met. Maybe he      doesn’t remember. Jocks usually aren’t smart. Their muscles feast on their      brains.

“You have got to be f*cking kidding me.” I’m in hell. No      question about it. This bad version of the town from Deliverance is certainly hot as hell. The heat in      this forsaken place possesses a strangling haze that envelops me and seizes my      lungs.

Scott clears his throat. A subtle reminder that f*ck is no longer an acceptable word      for me in public. “I’d like you to meet Ryan Stone.”

Once upon a time, Scott used to say words like s’up and sick. Variants of f*ck were the only adjectives and adverbs in his      vocabulary. Now he sounds like a stuck-up, suit-wearing, cocky rich guy. Oh      wait, he is.

“Ryan’s volunteered to show you around at school      tomorrow.”

“Of course he has,” I mumble. “Because my life hasn’t sucked      enough in the past forty-eight hours.”

God must have decided He wasn’t done screwing with me yet.      He wasn’t done screwing with me when Scott blackmailed me into living here. He      wasn’t done screwing with me when Scott’s wife bought these tragically      conservative clothes. He wasn’t done screwing with me when Scott told me he was      enrolling me at the local redneck, Children of the Corn school. No, he wasn’t quite done screwing with      me yet. The damn icing on this cake is the conceited ass standing in front of      me. Ha f*cking ha. Joke’s on me. “I want my clothes back.”

“What?” Scott asks. Good—I messed with him without      cursing.

“He’s not dressed like a moron, so why should I?” I motion      to the designer jeans and starched Catholic-schoolgirl shirt disgracing my body.      Per Scott’s request to play nice with Allison, I stepped out of the dressing      room to look at this atrocity in the full-length mirror. When I returned, my      clothes were gone. Tonight, I’m searching for a pair of scissors and bleach.

Scott censures me by subtly shaking his head. I have close      to a whole year of this bull in front of me, and the woman I’m trying to protect      I can’t even see—my mom. A part of my brain tingles with panic. How is she? Did      her boyfriend hit her again? Is she worried about me?

“You’re going to love it here,” says Taco Bell Boy—I mean      Ryan.

“Sure I am.” My tone indicates I’m going to love this place      as much as I’d love getting shot in the head.

Scott clears his throat again and I wonder if he cares that      people will assume he’s diseased. “Ryan’s father owns a construction business in      town and he’s on the city council.” Underlying message to me: don’t screw this      moment up.

“Of course.” Of course. Story of my freaking life. Ryan’s      the rich boy that has everything. Daddy who owns the town. Daddy who owns the      business. Ryan, the boy who thinks he can do anything he wants because of      it.

Ryan flashes me an easygoing grin and it’s sort of      hypnotizing. As if he created it just for me. It’s a glorious grin. Perfect.      Peaceful. With a hint of dimples. It promises friendship and happiness and      laughter and it makes me want to smile back. My lips start to curve into an      answer and I stop myself abruptly.

Why do I do this to myself? Guys like him don’t go for girls      like me. I’m a toy to them. A game. And these types of guys, they all have the      same rules of play: smile, trick me into thinking that they like me, then toss      me to the side once I’ve been used. How many countless losers do I have to      stupidly make out with only to regret it in the morning? Over the past year—too      many.

But while listening to Ryan easily digress into a      conversation with Scott about baseball, I swear that I’m done with loser guys.      Done with feeling used. Just done.

And this time, I won’t break the promise—no matter how      lonely I get.