Dare You To (Pushing the Limits, #2)(66)

My back straightens. “What did you say?”

His lips turn up into a smirk. “Yeah,” he says. “You have a      problem with girls. You dumped Gwen and she’s hot. You gay, man?”

Rage ignites inside me and as my muscles tighten to rush      forward, delicate fingers wrap around my arm. “He’s not worth it,” Beth says in      a smooth voice.

Chris and Logan slide in between me and Tim, a barrier of skin,      muscle, and bone between me and the guy I want to pound.

Tim continues to taunt me. “Real men aren’t saved by      girls.”

“You’re drunk,” Logan announces to him in a bored voice.

From the other side of Logan, Tim holds out his hands. “Come      and get me, Ryan. Prove that you’re a man.”

My fists curl and I step closer. “I’m game, Tim. Let’s do      this.”

Chris pushes against my chest, but the pressure does nearly      nothing to hold me back. He yells at Beth, “Get him out of here!”

Her fingers intertwine with mine and that soft, feminine voice      breaks through the anger. “Let’s go.”

My eyes flick over to her. “Ryan,” she says. “Please.”

Her one please breaks through the      chaos disorienting my brain long enough to propel me in the opposite direction      of Tim. I tighten my grip on Beth’s hand and lead her back to my Jeep, but not      before snagging a six-pack of beer from a cooler.

Her fingers still clutch mine as we walk through the tall grass      without saying a word. I release her when we reach the Jeep and we both hop in.      My heart bleeds and anger courses in my veins. I turn on the engine and peel out      of the clearing.

My brother left.

My brother is gay and he left and he’s never coming back. My      father acts as if he never existed. My mother is miserable. My parents—people      who once loved each other—hate each other.

Driving alongside the creek, I wait for a shallow part before      crossing. I’ve tortured Beth enough. With this Jeep. With my presence. Isaiah      said I made her cry. My fingers tighten on the wheel. Beth’s right—I’m a      jerk.

I’ll take her home, then ride to the back field of my house.      And drink. By myself. Drinking may not undo history, but it will cause me to      forget for a few hours.

I jerk the wheel to the left when the rushing of the creek      slows to a trickle. Water barely laps the tires as I cross, but the moment I hit      the other side, I know I’m screwed. Mud.

Too much mud. Deep mud. I press on the gas and pull the wheel      to the right to try to force the front tires on solid ground before the back      ones sink, but it’s too late. The back tires whine and halt all forward      progress.

“Shit!” I slam my hand on the steering wheel. Knowing that      fighting will drag us deeper, I cut the engine. I’m stuck. I yank the hat from      my head and throw it to the floorboard. That sums everything up—I’m in deep and      I’m stuck.

My leg sinks a foot into the mud. Beth will be full of colorful      words when I tell her we’re going to have to walk. The mud acts like slow-drying      concrete, making each step nearly impossible. My jeans rub and slosh in the      filth. I’m a complete mess, but I don’t have to let Beth get this dirty.

I haven’t been much of a gentleman to her. In fact, I’ve been      the opposite. Not that her shining personality has made it easy. I open her door      and hold out my arms. “Come here.”

Her forehead furrows. “What?”

“I’m going to carry you out of the mud.”

She lifts an incredulous eyebrow. “The show’s over, Bat Boy.      You don’t have to be nice to me anymore.”

Not in the mood for her mouth or an argument, I slip my arms      underneath her knees and lift her out of the seat. She won’t be bitching me out      the entire walk home because I ruined her shoes.

“Wait!” Beth wiggles in my arms and reaches for the Jeep.

Can’t she permit me one nice act? “Dammit, Beth, let me help      you.”

Ignoring me, Beth leans into the passenger side. The back of      her shirt hitches up, exposing her smooth skin and Chinese symbols tattooed      along her spine. My eyes follow the path of the symbols until they disappear      into her jeans. Way too quickly for me, she leans back into my arms, two      six-packs of beer cradled against her chest.