Dare You To (Pushing the Limits, #2)(62)

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.

“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 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.”

His house. Please. That bastard Luke from my old school      “showed” me his house too. “I’m not f*cking 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 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.