Take Me On (Pushing the Limits #4)(126)

What does it matter since he lied to me? We need to talk about it, but not now. Not when I’ve barely slept in almost two days and my mind’s a disoriented mess. He could explain basic addition and I’d drool like an idiot.

Sleep—I crave it, but can I have it? My thoughts shift back to the idea of someone pranking me. “Who would want to scare me?”

“You tell me.” He kneads his eyes, and for the first time I notice the dark circles beneath them. He’s tired, and as I sip the warm drink, I realize my exhaustion is contagious.

“I have no idea.” And the unknown terrifies me.





Lincoln

It’s crazy how you brought up feeling alone. I feel alone a lot. Oddly enough, I feel the most alone when I’m in a room full of people. Everyone I know is changing. Echo’s distant. Grace wants new friends. Even Natalie is spreading her wings.

To be fair, I’m changing, too. At times I feel like my skin is too tight on me. All the time, I fight the urge to cut my hair and buy new clothes. I mean, who exactly am I going to change into? I’m still me, but not.

~ Lila

Lila’s fingernail taps repeatedly against the table, like a machine gun firing off multiple rounds. “I’m too tired to deal with this now.” She slams her hand on the table, silencing any more discussion on her possible prankster.

She stands and I follow, wondering if the park ranger will allow me back into the camp. Otherwise, I’m screwed. “Can I come back in the morning?” Then I remember what time it is. “Late morning? Afternoon?”

Lila freezes the same way Meg does anytime she’s near the baby. Hell, Lila hates me.

“Will you stay? I told the police you would. You told the police you would. If you leave that would be like breaking the law or something, so you have to stay.”

I raise an eyebrow at her logic—or lack of logic—but there’s no way I’m blowing this opportunity. “I’ll stay.”

“Good. Because you have to.”

Lila leads me back into the living room and mumbles for me to stay put. Her footsteps are light down the hallway. The one-story house is the size of a mansion and decorated like one of Mom’s Better Homes and Gardens magazines. Nice and breakable shit—everywhere. After several abrupt sounds that indicate Lila must have accepted a wrestling match with an alligator, she reappears with blankets and a pillow.

“Do you mind sleeping on the couch?” she asks.

I’d sleep on nails in order to be near her. “No.”

She hands me the ingredients for a temporary bed.

“Thanks,” I say.

“You’re welcome.” Lila’s fingers draw toward the hem of her tank top, and I remind myself to breathe when I catch sight of the sun-kissed skin of her flat stomach. In seconds, she pulls at the hem and her belly button disappears.

“Well, good night,” she says while tucking her golden hair behind her ear.

“Night,” I respond. Should I hug her? Kiss her? Shake her hand? Get on my knees and start begging for forgiveness?

She shifts her footing but stays in place. “The bathroom is down the hall.”

“All right.”

“You can take a shower if you want.”

“Thanks,” I answer.

“You’re welcome.”

And we’ve already had this conversation. Lila sniffs as if her allergies bother her, and she lowers her head. I want to comfort her, but I have no clue how to tread on this territory. “Are you okay?”

“I don’t want to be alone,” she whispers. “Not even alone in a room. Isn’t that pathetic?”

“You could never be pathetic,” I say. Not the girl I’ve come to love from the letters. The girl who defended her best friend, even though taking that stand cost her other friendships. The girl who tells me exactly what she thinks of me, even when the truth hurts. The girl who dreams of being more—the girl who dreams of Florida.

Her lower lip trembles. “If you think that, then you don’t know me very well.”

I know her better than she realizes. I know the letters she writes to me late at night are more emotional than the ones written during the day, as if a lack of sleep inhibits reasoning. I ditch the blankets and pillow on the arm of the couch and plop myself onto the cushions. “Come here.”

Her gaze switches from the space on the couch to me. “I don’t understand.”

I snatch the extrahuge pillow and drop it on my lap. “Sleep here.”

Lila stretches the hem of her tank top over her hips as she moves toward me. When she sits, it’s with her thigh melting against mine. Her heat radiates past my jeans to my skin. Every single cell within my body sizzles to life. Play this right, Lincoln. She deserves a man, not a boy.

Without saying a word, Lila rests her head on the pillow and extends her legs on the couch. I drape the blanket over her body, and I love how she flips to her side, knees curled up in the fetal position.

Her eyelids flutter as she talks. “I’m sorry I slammed the door in your face.”

A lock of her hair strays onto her cheek. I shouldn’t, but I do it anyhow. With the same care I use when handling my nephew, I sweep the silky strands behind her ear. I’d give my left arm to comb my fingers through her hair until she falls asleep. “I deserved it.”