Crossing the Line (Pushing the Limits #1.1)(18)

“About four if I stick to the recommended posted limits.”

“It’s the law,” I remind him. “Like the get-a-ticket-if-you-break-it type of law.”

“A suggestion,” he responds.

Before I can compose my comeback, Lincoln breaks in through the radio. “Incoming.”

My chest tightens. They’re here. My eyes sweep the yard around my house and my pulse begins to beat in my ears.

I wipe my hands on the side of my jeans to dry them of sweat and lie flat on the ground. Movement out of the corner of my eye causes my breathing to hitch. Three forms skulk against the side of the house. One of them raises its hand in the air, waving for the other two to head toward the front porch.

The lone stray shadow creeps to my bedroom window. Asshole. This has to be Stephen.

I ready the paintball gun, the tank tucked into my shoulder. I align my sight and decide against the shoes, aiming for the heart. Let’s see how he feels after I sink a couple of balls into it.

Lincoln’s under strict instructions—he’ll shoot only after I fire, and Stephen is mine.

After a few seconds, Stephen raises his hand and rakes his fingers down my window.

It is so not your night tonight, buddy. Last night, I was terrified. Now, I feel empowered.

I pull the trigger. Pop, pop, pop, pop. The figure yelps and bends over as each ball pummels his body. Shouts from the front of the house tell me that Lincoln has hit his prey.

“They’re on the move. On the move.” Lincoln’s voice crackles on the radio.

His silhouette swings down from the tree in effortless grace, and once on the ground he takes off for the front of the house. I refocus on Stephen. His head whips back and forth, looking for his attacker in the bushes. “Who’s out there?”

I drift up from the ground. Still hidden by the rain of branches from the weeping willow, I plug two more balls into the ground, right near his feet.

“Hey!” he yells as he dances away from the paint.

With a snap, I flick on my flashlight and aim it at his face. He places his hand above his eyes in an effort to see who approaches. Paint smears his favorite shirt and jeans. Good. I aimed too low, though, and barely stained his two-hundred-and-fifty-dollar athletic shoes.

I toss the flashlight in his direction on the ground. He blinks twice when he recognizes me. “Lila?” Shock widens his eyes. “I can explain.”

This time I aim directly at his shoes. Pop. Pop. Light blue bleeds over his ex-white sneakers. “I’m going to Florida, Stephen. Do you have a problem with that?”

Headlights flash near the driveway. “Stephen!” yells Luke from the driver’s side. “Let’s go.”

When Stephen hesitates, Luke honks the horn and beats his hand against the door of his car. Stephen glances at me one more time. “Lila—”

“There’re still some white spots on your shoes.” I set my sight on his obsession again.

“I’ll call when you’ve regained sanity,” he huffs as he retreats to his moronic friends.

“I’m shooting you with a paintball gun at midnight,” I shout after him. “I think we left sane behind a couple of days ago.”

When the red taillights of Luke’s car disappear, I drop the paintball gun to the ground, flop down beside it and rest my arms on my bent knees.

From the front of the house, a shadow emerges. Yesterday, I would have lost it if I were outside in the dark with a large figure looming. In fact, yesterday I did just that. Funny how much can change in twenty-four hours.

“You okay?” asks Lincoln.

Let’s see, my best friend has moved on, I’ve conquered my fear of moving away, I shot my pranking ex-boyfriend with a paintball gun and I’m alone with a guy who causes my heart to stutter. “Yeah, I’m great.”

And I mean it. It’s a small yet humongous realization: I’m always going to be scared of something—spiders, the dark, being on my own—but I don’t have to let the fear be in control.

*

“...and when I came around the corner, he ran into the door of his car and slammed right onto the ground.” Lincoln’s shoulders move with his laughter as he recaps tonight’s events, and I giggle along with him. We lie next to each other on my bed: me in my pj’s of a tank top and shorts and Lincoln in a fresh pair of jeans and a T-shirt.

Our laughter fades and we both stare into the darkness. The chirping of the crickets from the other side of the window fills the silence. My muscles have that good, exhausted jellyfish feel. It’s two in the morning and even though I’m definitely tired enough for sleep, I’m not ready to give up this precious time with Lincoln.

As if reading my mind, he turns his head toward me. “Are you tired?”

“No.” I flip so that I’m facing him and traitorously yawn.

Lincoln chuckles and mirrors my position. He runs his fingers down my arm, starting at the edge of the strap of my tank and ending at the tip of my elbow. I shut my eyes with the exquisite tickle. I inch closer to him and happily sigh when he cups the curve of my waist. It’s a heavy, warm weight that creates the sensation of protection.

“You should go to sleep, Lila.” Good God, his voice is beautiful—deep and smooth.

I shake my head. “I can sleep tomorrow and the day after that. I only have you for a few more hours.” My stomach sinks and I open my eyes. “But you should sleep. You’ve got a long drive in front of you.”