Dare You To (Pushing the Limits, #2)(78)

“You called thirty seconds ago.”

She drops the ball back onto my dresser. “But I did call.”

The reality of the moment smacks me when she leans over and      taps the lava lamp that stopped working a year ago. Her smooth skin and tattoo      peek out when her top rides up. I inhale and focus on anything but touching her.      “Does your uncle know you’re here?”

“No.” Beth walks over to the computer. “What are you working      on?”

“A creative writing assignment.”

She pinches her lips as her head falls back. “Damn. Do we have      one? When is it due? Ah hell, Scott is going to rip me on this. And here I      thought I was finally keeping up.”

Crap. Until now, I didn’t have to tell anyone. “No, it’s not a      class assignment. It’s something...extra...yeah. Something Mrs. Rowe asked me to      do.”

Beth’s shoulders relax like she received a pardon from a death      sentence. “Can I read it?”

Besides my teacher, no one’s asked to read my stuff before and      I pause...long enough that Beth raises her eyebrows. If anyone’s going to read      this, I’d prefer it to be her. Something tells me she’d understand. “Sure.”

“Print it out for me.” Beth plops on my bed and curls up around      the pillows.

Her blue eyes survey me as she teases me with a slumberous      look. My jeans get tight and I want to join her on the bed, badly, but I’ll show      restraint even though she’s going to kill me in the process. “Plan on staying      for a while?”

“Did you have other plans?”

No. “I’m going to sleep soon. We do have school tomorrow.”

“I’ve shared a bed way smaller than this for the past two      years. Trust me, I’m the queen of not touching if that’s what you’re concerned      about. Go on, print it out.”

“Not touching and sharing with who?”

Beth chuckles and shakes her head at the same time. “Jealous      much? I think you were printing something out for me.”

Just go with it, Ryan. Like other      predators, Beth can smell fear. Without another word, I print out the pages and      she snatches them from my hand. I stare at her. She stares at me. “I’m not going      to read it with you watching me. That’s weird.”

“You’re in my room, Beth. You walked a half mile to get here.      On a Wednesday. In the middle of the night. Uninvited.” I should define for her      what weird is.

“Do you want me to go?”

“No.” I don’t. Somehow nothing has ever felt more right.

That evil smile slips onto her face. “Am I the first girl to be      in your bed?”

Yes. I take a deep breath and return to the computer. I’ve      dated girls. Been exclusive with a few and I’ve been respectful enough to      proceed slowly to each base. There are some bases I have yet to reach. A girl in      my bed being one of them. If she’s determined to be here, I’m determined to be      okay with it and not let the nerves show. I guess my zombie found a girl he      likes and wants to throttle at the same time.

*

“This is good, Ryan.” Beth’s distant voice snaps me out      of the story and my hands stop tapping on the keyboard.

“Thanks,” I say. Beth lies on her stomach, propped up on her      elbows. Her cleavage is beautifully exposed. My eyes avert to the floor.

“No, really. It’s good. Like this could be in a bookstore good.      I totally get this guy.”

Yeah, so do I. “I finaled in a state writing competition.” The      words come out naturally, as if I normally tell the world this sort of      thing.

Beth flips through the pages. “I can see why. Whoever judged      the winner must have been on meth not to choose you.”

I glance around the room, waiting for the lightning to hit. Did      she pay me a compliment? “The winner hasn’t been announced. There’s another      round of competition in a couple of weeks.”

“Oh,” she says. “Then I’m sure you’ll win.”

My stomach hollows out as I turn off my computer. Yeah, I’m      writing the short story, but I still haven’t signed up for the competition. How      can I? I’ve got games that day and Dad...

My thoughts trail off. I’m bowing out of a competition—an event      I could win. Would the rush of winning the writing competition be the same as      winning a baseball game or a dare? Guess I’ll never know.