Dare You To (Pushing the Limits #2)(58)

“Wait!” Beth wiggles in my arms and reaches for the Jeep.

Can’t she permit me one nice act? “Dammit, Beth, let me help you.”

Ignoring me, Beth leans into the passenger side. The back of her shirt hitches up, exposing her smooth skin and Chinese symbols tattooed along her spine. My eyes follow the path of the symbols until they disappear into her jeans.

Way too quickly for me, she leans back into my arms, two six-packs of beer cradled against her chest.

My eyes flicker from the beer to Beth.

She shrugs. “Six wasn’t enough.”

For me, it’s plenty. I don’t want a drinking partner tonight and if I did, it wouldn’t be her. I kick the door shut and wade out of the mud.

Beth’s light. Weighs one hundred; maybe one-o-five wet.

“You’re obsessed with touching me,” she says.

I jostle Beth to shut her up. The beer cans clank together as she juggles them to prevent them from falling out of her lap. “Readjusting”

Beth did shut her up, but it positioned her head closer to mine. I stare straight ahead and try not to focus on the sweet scent of roses drifting from her hair.

“You are obsessed with touching me. You could have put me down forever ago.”

Withdrawn into my own head, I hadn’t noticed that we’d entered her uncle’s woods.

“Sorry.”

I place Beth on her feet, snatch both six-packs from her hands, and stalk in the direction of her house. Scott all but bought billboard signs announcing that alcohol was off-limits for Beth.

Lucky for her, I drove along the creek toward Scott’s property. Otherwise, it could have been one hell of a walk—for her.

Something tells me she’s not the outdoorsy type.

She stays a few steps behind and I appreciate the silence. Fall crickets chirp and a slight breeze rustles through the leaves on the trees. Right over the next hill is Scott’s pasture and his back barn. A twig snaps behind me as Beth rushes to my side. “Where are we going?”

“I’m taking you home.”

A light grip pulls on my biceps. “The hell you are.”

I stop, not because Beth’s touch halts me, but because I find her attempt to physically stop me amusing. “You’ve fulfilled your obligation. You came to the party, now I’m taking you home. We’re done. I don’t have to look at you. You don’t have to look at me.”

Beth bites her lower lip. “I thought we were starting over.”

What the hell? Isn’t this what she wanted— to be left alone? “You hate me.”

Beth says nothing, neither confirming nor denying what I said, and the thought that my words are true causes my heart to clench.

Screw it. I don’t have to understand her. I don’t need her. I turn my back to her and push forward—through the tall grass of the pasture, toward the red barn.

“Have you ever drunk alone?” she asks.

I freeze. When I don’t answer, she continues, “It sucks. I did it once—when I was fourteen.

It makes you feel worse. Alone. My friend…”

She falters. “My best friend and I agreed that we’d never drink alone again. We promised we’d have each other’s backs.”

It’s weird to hear Beth talk so openly and part of me wishes she’d go back to being foulmouthed and rude. She seems less human then. “Is there a reason why you’re telling me this?”

The grass rustles as she fidgets. “Six of those beers are mine and I have a little more than four hours to curfew. I guess I’m saying we could call a truce for tonight and neither one of us have to be alone.”

“Your uncle Scott would crucify me.”

“What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him.”

I glance over my shoulder and watch as she weaves through the flowing grains to reach me.

“I swear I have more to lose than you do.

He won’t know.”

Mud spots her face, cakes in her hair, and stains her clothes. Half of that mud Beth gained on our trip in. I should have told her what she looked like before we went to the party, but Beth was laughing. Smiling. I selfishly held on to the moment.

On top of that, Isaiah said I made her cry. I assess the small beauty in front of me. There’s more to her, I know there is. I saw it in her eyes when she laughed with me in the Jeep.

Felt it in her touch as we danced.

I must be losing my mind. “One beer.”

Beth

STRAW IS SOFT TO LIE ON.

Sort of scratchy.

Comfortable.

Great for weightlessness.

It smells musty and dusty and dirty. The corners of my lips flinch in a moment of joy.

Musty. Dusty. And dirty. Those words flow well together. Staring at the shadows from the light created by the camping lantern Ryan found in the corner of Scott’s barn, I inhale deeply. I’m finally high.

Not pot high. Ryan’s too straitlaced for that.

Airy in alcohol would be a better description.

Three beers. Isaiah would laugh his ass off.

Three beers and I’m floating. Guess that’s what happens when you stay sober for a couple of weeks in a row.

Isaiah.

My chest aches.

“My best friend is pissed at me and I’m pissed at him.” I’m the first to break the silence beyond the crack and hiss of beer cans popping open and the rustle and cooing of birds in the rafters. “My only friend.”