Dare You To (Pushing the Limits, #2)(37)

“Are you trying to snag the niece to impress Scott or a f*ck to      impress your friends?”

A muscle in my jaw jumps and her all-seeing eyes catch it. I’ve      come to detest that wicked grin. Be nice. Even if she isn’t. Getting mad won’t      help me win her over. Plus, she’s not far off the mark. “There’s a field party      Friday night. It would be a good chance to meet people instead of blowing them      off.”

She leans in and I inhale the distinct scent of roses. “I’ll      let you in on a secret. I kind of enjoy blowing people off. It goes well with my      attitude of this-school-can-eat-shit-and-die.”

What the hell is wrong with this girl?

Beth relaxes back onto the bleacher. “I’ll ask again, what’s      the game, Jock Boy?”

“No game,” I say too quickly and try to slow it down. The door      to the locker rooms opens and I hear laughter as people enter the gym. I have      seconds to impress her before the bleachers fill. “You’re pretty, Beth.”      Suddenly it’s hard to look at her. She is pretty. More than pretty. I stare at      my shoes. Get a grip, Ryan. She’s a dare.

“I’m pretty?” Beth raises her voice and I glimpse the other      students climbing the bleachers and taking their seats. Their chatter stops and      they watch the two of us. This is not how this moment is supposed to go.

“I’m pretty,” she repeats loud enough for the entire gym to      hear. The evil sparkle in her eye informs me that she’s enjoying the social      lynching. “Is that the best line you can come up with? Let’s fast-forward this      entire conversation so you can stop wasting my time.” She holds up the palm of      her hand and even though the word is gone, I still see my defeat: can’t.

Tim Richardson imitates the whistle of a bomb dropping from the      sky and uses his hands to create the explosion. “Crash and burn, Ry. Good to      hear that the new girl has some standards. When you’re done playing with the      ballplayer, Beth, you can come play with me.”

“Back off, Tim,” I say in a low, clear warning. If Tim wants to      cut me down—fine, but he leaves Beth out of it. Girls will be treated with      respect.

“Don’t pretend you’re trying to defend me.” Beth’s eyes narrow.      “You’re pissed off that I’m not falling at your feet in worship like the rest of      this pathetic school.”

More laughter from the crowd. Idiots. She also put them      down.

“You can’t keep up,” she whispers. “Stay the hell away from      me.”

Screw this. I can do anything.

Coach Knox blows his whistle and the entire class turns to face      him. “Last order of business for the day. We need one senior girl and one senior      guy nominated for the homecoming court. We’ll start with guys.”

Several hands rise. I can’t keep up? She’s so wrong.

“Raise your hand if you want Tim Richardson.” Coach nods with      each hand he counts.

I’m the king at this school. I can win any dare, any time. Win      any game. If she wants to play, we’ll play. She doesn’t want the world to know      she’s Scott Risk’s niece. Skater Girl humiliated me and she’s about to learn      that turnabout is fair play.

“Now for the girls,” says Coach.

My hand rises in the air at the same time as everyone else’s,      but I’m not giving anybody else the opportunity to supply another name. “Beth      Risk.”

Hands drop. All gazes flicker between me and Beth. Her feet      fall off the seat, one right after another—clomp, clomp. “What did you say?”

“Did you say Risk?” asks Tim. “As in Scott Risk? As in the      baseball god who just moved back to our town?”

A wave of whispers crashes among the students sitting on the      bleachers, Beth’s name the topic of each hushed conversation. Ignoring Tim, I      face Beth. Her blue eyes blaze like twin flames from a blowtorch. Who’s not      keeping up now? “I nominate you, Beth Risk, for homecoming court.”

“No.” She shakes her head. “You can’t.”

“Yes.” I love winning. “I can.”

“I second it,” says Gwen with a bright smile plastered on her      face, and red flags rise. She’s wanted the homecoming crown since she was      three.

Beth jerks up and stamps her foot against the bleacher like a      toddler throwing a fit. “No, you can’t. Nominate yourself.”