Dare You To (Pushing the Limits, #2)(68)

Not pot high. Ryan’s too straitlaced for that. Airy in      alcohol would be a better description.

Three beers. Isaiah would laugh his ass off. Three beers and      I’m floating. Guess that’s what happens when you stay sober for a couple of      weeks in a row.

Isaiah.

My chest aches.

“My best friend is pissed at me and I’m pissed at him.” I’m      the first to break the silence beyond the crack and hiss of beer cans popping      open and the rustle and cooing of birds in the rafters. “My only friend.”

In slow motion, Ryan rolls his head to look at me. He sits      on the ground with his torso sloppily supported by a stack of baled hay. A glaze      covers his light brown eyes. I give him major props. At six beers, the boy has      drunk me under the table. Correction—under bales of hay. “Which one?”

“Isaiah,” I say and my heart twists. “He’s the guy with the      tattoos.”

“Is the other one your boyfriend?”

I mean to chuckle. Instead, it comes out more of a snort and      a hiccup. Ryan laughs at me, but I’m so weightless I don’t care. “Noah? No, he’s      helplessly in love with some insane chick. Besides, Noah and I aren’t friends.      We’re more like siblings.”

“Really?” The disbelief oozes from Ryan. “You don’t resemble      each other.”

I wave my hand frantically in the air. “No. We’re not      related. Noah can’t stand me, but he loves me. Takes up for me. Like      siblings.”

Love. I purposely knock the back of my head against the      ground in frustration. Isaiah said he loved me. I search the cobwebbed corridors      of my emotions and try to imagine loving him back. All I find is a hollow      emptiness. Is that what love is? Emptiness?

Ryan narrows his eyes for a deep-in-thought expression, but      six beers in an hour tells me he probably spaced out. “So you don’t have a      boyfriend?”

“Nope.”

Ryan cracks open another beer. I start to protest as he has      infiltrated my stash, but decide against it. I want weightless, not puking. I      have to return to Scott’s in three hours and coherency will be required.

“Why is Isaiah mad at you?” he asks.

“He loves me,” I say without thinking, and immediately      regret it. “And other things.”

“Do you love him back?” That’s the fastest Ryan has      responded since his second beer.

I sigh heavily. Do I? “I’d throw myself in front of a bus to      push him out of the way.” If it would save him. If it would make him happy.      That’s love, right?

“I’d do that for most people, but it doesn’t mean that I      love them.”

“Oh.” Oh. Then I have no idea what love is.

“What other things?” he prods.

Other things? Oh yeah, Ryan asked why Isaiah is mad at me. I      shake my head back and forth, causing the straw to crackle. “You wouldn’t      understand. My problems...” My mom. “My family isn’t perfect. We have      problems.”

Ryan chuckles and sips his beer.

I rise on my elbows. “What’s so damn funny?”

Ryan tilts back the beer and I watch his throat move as he      swallows. He crushes the empty can in his hand. “Perfect. Family. Problems. Gay      brothers.”

We’re obviously not talking about me and Isaiah anymore.      “You’re drunk.”

“Good.” Even inebriated, the ache I saw earlier while he was      carrying me out of the Jeep darkens his eyes.

“Is that why you got defensive with the football *?” I      ask. “Because you have a gay brother?”

Ryan tosses the can near the other empty ones and rubs his      eyes. “Yes. And if you don’t mind, I’d prefer not to talk about it. Or talk at      all.”

“Fine.” I can do silence. My arms fall over my head as I      plop back onto the straw. Isaiah would let me talk. I could rattle on about      anything...ribbons and dresses, and he’d placate me when I questioned whether I      was too harsh with Noah. Sometimes I think about what life would be like if I      gave Echo a break. I mean, she does make Noah happy and Isaiah likes her.      Sometimes she’s cool.

“You’re talking,” says Ryan. “In fact, you’ve been talking      since you finished your first beer.”