Dare You To (Pushing the Limits #2)(14)

“Says the guy that tackles other dudes for fun,” I say. “Are you in or out?”

Tim’s lawn chair moves with him as he stands. As he reaches his full height, the chair plunges onto the bed of the truck with a loud clank. “In.”

CURLED FINGERS MISERABLY clutch metal and my back and thighs burn with pain. Seven guys, one 2,400-pound car, and one more inch to go.

“On three,” I say through clenched teeth.

“One…”

“Three,” yells Logan and I barely unwedge my fingers from the bumper of the two-door Chevy Aveo when the six other guys drop the car to the ground. The frame of the blue car bounces like a Slinky before coming to a rest.

“Sweet shocks,” says Logan.

Sweat soaks my shirt. Gasping for air, I bend over and place my hands on my knees. The rush of the win races through my veins and I laugh out loud.

Logan admires our handiwork. “Six feet over and nicely parallel parked between two trees.” Nicely meaning the front and rear bumpers currently kiss bark.

Tim’s chest heaves as if he’s experiencing a heart attack. “You’re a crazy son-of-a-bitch, Ry.” Pant. “How the hell is Rick going to move this piece of shit?”

“Chris, Logan, and I will stick around. Once he gets done freaking, we’ll lift the back end and move it so he can wedge out.”

Tim laughs while shaking his head. “I’ll see you at school on Monday.”

“Thanks, man.”

“Anytime. Let’s go, guys. I need a beer.”

I sag to the ground and lean against the tree near the bumper. Chris slides against the passenger door until his butt hits the dirt. We both stare at Logan, waiting for him to join us, but he’s busy studying the two oak trees pinning in our third baseman’s car.

In any circle that doesn’t involve me, Chris, and Lacy, Logan is known for silence and his constant state of boredom. At the moment, so-called silent, bored boy’s mind is spinning like a toddler on a sugar high. It’s ironic: at school, people think I’m the adrenaline junkie because I admire a good dare. Hell, I’m not looking for a high—I just like to win. Logan, on the other hand, thrives on the edge. Gotta love a guy like that.

I’m not the only one who’s noticed Logan’s insane infatuation with the tree. Chris eyes him warily. “What the hell are you doing, Junior?”

Logan winks at me. “Be back in a second, boss man.” He scrambles up the old oak tree.

Small dead limbs that can’t hold his weight fall through the branches and onto the ground.

Chris grows restless. He won’t admit it, but heights scare the shit out of him and Logan’s fear of nothing scares the shit out of him more.

“Get your ass back down here.”

“Okay,” calls Logan from somewhere high in the tree.

I shake my head. “You shouldn’t have said that.”

From above, tree limbs crackle and snap and leaves whoosh as if a strong breeze rushes through them. It’s not wind. It’s Logan, and one of these days he’s going to get himself killed. A swirl of dirt accompanies the thud on the ground. Logan’s body presses against my foot. On his back, with his black hair full of torn leaves, Logan convulses with laughter.

Obviously this isn’t the night he was meant to die. He turns his head to look at Chris. “Here.”

I kick Logan hard when I remove my foot from under his ass. “You’re the crazy son-of-a-bitch, not me.”

“Crazy?” Logan rolls over to sit up. “I’m not the one following a psycho chick into a parking lot for a phone number. Those guys could have kicked your ass.”

Damn. I hoped they had forgotten. “I could have taken them.” They would have eventually handed my ass to me, but I would have given them some bruises as payback. Two versus one are bad odds.

“Not the point,” says Logan.

“Since you mentioned it.” Chris takes his baseball cap off and holds it over his heart.

“I’m going to take this moment and remind everyone of the following—I won.”

“I won tonight. So we’re even again.”

Chris shoves his hat back on. “Doesn’t count.”

He’s right. It doesn’t. The only dares we keep track of are the ones we give to one another. “Enjoy the brief taste of victory. I’ll be winning next time.”

We lapse into silence, which is fine. Our silences are never uncomfortable. Unlike girls, guys don’t have to talk. Every now and then, we hear laughter or shouting from the party.

Every now and then, Chris and Lacy text. He likes to give her space, but doesn’t trust drunk guys near his girl.

Logan fiddles with a long branch that fell to the ground. “Dad and I headed into Lexington this morning to check out U of K.”

I hold my breath, hoping that the conversation doesn’t turn to where I think it’s heading. Logan’s had this visit scheduled for weeks. He’s a damn genius and will have every college knocking on his door next year, including the University of Kentucky. “How’d it go?”

“I saw Mark.”

I rub the back of my head and try to ignore the nagging ache inside. “How is he?”

“Fine. He asked about you. Your mom.” He pauses. “Your dad.”