Dare You To (Pushing the Limits, #2)(79)

When I turn back, Beth is stretched out on her back with her      head against the pillows. She’s kicked her shoes off and folded her hands on her      stomach. The belly button ring sparkles in the light. She stacked my story      neatly on the bedside table.

We’re dating. Friends who are dating and who will eventually      kiss. Four days could be considered eventually...yeah, I’m not stupid enough to believe that.

“I’m going to bed,” I say, giving her the opportunity to      leave.

“Do you normally sleep in all your clothes?” she asks.

No. I usually take off my shirt. “This is safer.”

“Okay.”

Okay. I flip off the light and climb into bed. Taking a cue      from Beth, I stay on top of the covers. The heat from her body warms mine. She’s      right. She can lie in bed without touching. I inhale and her sweet scent      envelops me.

Last year, our science teacher dispelled the myth that sex      crosses the minds of guys every seven seconds. I’m going to have to disagree      with him on that. My fingers itch with the need to caress Beth’s soft skin. I      want my lips whispering against hers.

“So, I have this friend,” she says into the darkness. “Isaiah.      You’ve met him.”

“Yeah.” My muscles tense and the images of her body moving      against mine disappear. I understand that dating means I’m leaving open the      possibility that she can see other guys, but I’m not fond of her discussing said      guys while she’s lying in my bed.

“He betrayed me and I don’t know what to do. In Louisville, he      was the only friend I had and when I came here he bought me my phone. We talked      every night or texted or both and he still calls every day and texts me a      million times. I refuse to answer him and I think our friendship is over and      then I talked to Scott tonight and the conversation didn’t go as I planned and I      don’t know....”

My skin prickles. It’s more than Beth being so close to me.      It’s more than the need and attraction raging in my body. Beth is on the verge      of telling me something. On the verge of stepping outside her wall. I urge her      on. “You don’t know what?”

“Everything was so much easier in Louisville,” she says softly.      The sadness in her voice is hard to miss. “I miss easy.”

“After my game, I’ll drop you off.” I hate the thought of it,      but I’m determined to win her over. “Then afterward, we’ll go to dinner and then      maybe a movie. What do you think?”

I hear her swallow. “I think I’d like that.”

I inhale. The clean, full intake of air feels as if it’s the      first breath I’ve taken in days.

“Sometimes,” she says, then pauses. It’s a heavy pause and her      struggle for words makes me want to comfort her. “Sometimes I just want...”

What does she want? I know what I want: for her to trust me,      for her to feel what I feel. But what I really want right now is for her to be      okay. I extend my arm across the bed in Beth’s direction, careful not to touch      her. “I’m here if you need me.”

One heartbeat. Another. Beth stays so perfectly still in the      darkness that part of me wonders if this entire evening was a dream.

Her body scratches against the comforter as she moves. One inch      in my direction. A hesitation. Then another inch. My blood tingles with      anticipation. This moment is huge—no doubt. I’m asking her to lean on me and      Beth is actually considering it.

Come on, Beth, you can trust me.      Finally, in a swift movement, she lays her head on my chest and curls the      rest of her body around me. Need slams into me and if her hand shifts down three      inches, she’ll know. I want to touch her, but do I dare? Her breath tickles my      chest as she whispers, “I like you, Ryan.”

I close my eyes and celebrate the words. She likes me. “I like      you too.” A lot.

I want her, but I refuse to let my lower body make the      decisions. Slowly, purposefully, I wrap one arm around her and lay my other hand      on my stomach right next to hers. This is my best attempt at friends-who-date      touching.

Parts of me want to caress the warm blush that appears on her      beautiful skin when I look at her with desire. Those same parts imagine me      placing a hand on her chin and tilting her head up so I can kiss her. Those      parts are currently trying to talk “logic” to my brain. Kissing could be good. I      loved kissing her full lips and I loved her soft moans. I could kiss her until      she forgets Isaiah. I could kiss her until I forget that I’m a virgin. My grip      on her shoulder tightens. She’s killing me. I’m killing myself. “Sandy Koufax      was left-handed like you. He was the youngest pitcher inducted into the Baseball      Hall of Fame.”