Dare You To (Pushing the Limits, #2)(89)

In a dawdling, methodical movement, Beth holds out her wrist.      “Put it on me.”

“I’m a guy. I don’t know how to put ribbons in a girl’s      hair.”

Beth’s lips break into a smile that’s part wicked and part      laughter. “Tie it on my wrist. I’m not sure if you noticed, but I’m not exactly      the hair-ribbon kind of girl anymore.”

As I wrap the long strip of material around her wrist and do my      best to tie an acceptable knot, I suck up the courage to ask, “Are you      wowed?”

Her pause is debilitating. “Yes,” she says a little      breathlessly. “I’m wowed.”

Beth offers me a rare gift: blue eyes so soft I’m reminded of      the ocean, a smile so peaceful I think of heaven.

“Let’s go to dinner,” I say.

Beth’s expression grows too innocent. She bites her lower lip      and my eyes narrow on those lips. I ache to taste them again. In the back of my      mind, red flags rise, but I don’t care. I’d do anything to keep her looking at      me like that forever.

“Actually,” she says, “I have another idea.”

*

Two blocks from the strip mall, we enter well-defined      gang territory. I’ve heard rumors about the south side of the city, but never      believed them. I thought they were urban legends created by girls at sleepovers.      I’ve been on the main roads of this area a hundred times with my friends. I ate      at the fast-food restaurants and shared sit-down meals with my parents. I never      knew that behind the bright colors and manicured landscaping of the main strip      sat tiny boxed houses and freeway overpasses littered with graffiti.

On the front stoop, Isaiah laughs with two Latino guys, then      nods to my Jeep parked on the street behind his Mustang. They stop laughing. I      agree. I’m not seeing an ounce of humor in this scenario. “This place is no      good.”

“They’re my friends,” Beth says. “Scott ripped me away and I      never got a chance to say goodbye. You can stay in the car. Just give me twenty      minutes, thirty tops. And then we’ll go out. I swear.”

No way in hell is she going in there alone. I register the      threat level of the neighborhood and the guys on the porch. “I can’t protect you      here.”

“I’m not asking you to. You said you’d wait—”

I cut her off. “When you said you wanted to stop by and say      goodbye to some friends. That guy is wearing gang colors.”

She hits the back of her head against the seat. “Ryan. I’m      probably never going to see any of them again. Will you please just let me say      goodbye?”

Those words, never going to see again      and goodbye, are the only reasons I’m saying      this. “Then I’m going in with you.”

“Fine.” She hops out and I follow. She can live under whatever      delusion she wants, but she’s no safer here than I am and I’ll go down swinging      before anyone hurts her. We reach the front stoop and I see that Isaiah has      disappeared. Is it too much to hope that he’s called it a night? The inside of      the house is smaller than I expected, and I expected cramped.

The kitchen and living room are really one room put together      and separated by the angle of furniture. Teenagers sit everywhere—on the      furniture, on the floor. Others lean against walls. A haze of smoke lingers in      the room. Cigarette smoke. Other types of smoke.

I draw the stares of most everyone, but they continue their      conversations. The guys size me up. The girls’ eyes wander to my chest. Some      outright gawk lower. Beth entwines her hand with mine, then caresses her soft      fingers against my cheek, enticing me to drop my head to hers.

“Stay close to me,” she whispers. “Don’t talk and don’t stare.      Things will be better in the backyard.”

For days, I’ve dreamed of Beth being this close to me again,      but right now I can only focus on the multiple sets of eyes watching our every      movement. Beth turns, holds tighter to my fingers, and leads me through the      living room and out the back door of the kitchen.

Several strings of Christmas lights hang between three trees      scattered in the narrow yard. A patch of grass grows in the far corner. The rest      of it is a mix of weeds and dirt. In the middle of a ring of worn lawn chairs,      Isaiah talks to Noah, a redheaded girl tucked close to Noah, and one of the      Latino guys from the stoop.