Dare You To (Pushing the Limits #2)(75)

Isaiah hops in an old Mustang and glares at me as he starts the engine. It turns over immediately with an angry rumble. He backs out and leaves the lot.

Beth kneads her fists against her eyes. A million questions float in my brain, but right now I’m only interested in salvaging us.

“I’m sorry.”

She slowly lowers her hands. “For what?”

That this run-down shithole is her previous life. That she doesn’t trust me enough to let me help her with her problems. That I’ve been stupid enough to think she was nothing more than a spoiled brat who freeloaded off her uncle. For being the ass she told me I was weeks ago.

“Mark was my best friend,” I tell her.

“When he left, I felt like he took part of me with him. When my Dad threw him out, I couldn’t understand why he wouldn’t stay and fight—if not for him, then for me.”

I’ve never told anyone that before. Not even Chris or Logan. Beth’s the first person to ever call me out on something so major—so personal. I deserve whatever wrath will come next.

With a weighty sigh, Beth deflates to the crumbling parking curb. “I get it.” She looks small and lost again and my heart rips from my chest.

I sit on the curb and everything in my world becomes right when she rests her head on my shoulder. Wrapping an arm around her, I briefly close my eyes as she inches her warm body next to mine. This is where Beth belongs—tucked in close to me.

“You were still an ass**le to Mark,” she says.

“Yeah.” The regret eats at my stomach. “But what do I do? It’s him or my dad. The two of them have drawn battle lines. I’m supposed to choose one or the other, but I need them both.”

Silence. A balmy breeze dances across the parking lot.

“She’s my mom,” Beth says with the same heaviness I’d heard in Scott’s voice when he talked about Beth as a child. “In case you were wondering.”

“I was.” But I wasn’t ready to push her. My fingers lightly trace her arm and I swear she presses closer to me. I’d love to kiss her right now. Not the type of kiss that makes her body come alive. The type of kiss that shows her how much I care—the type that involves my soul.

Beth lifts her head and I drop my arm. She needs her space and I need to learn how to give it.

“We suck at dating,” she says.

I chuckle. We do suck at it. Hoping for a perfect moment, I was going to wait until after dinner to give her what I’ve brought with me, but the one thing I’m learning with Beth is that perfection will never happen. I shove my hand into my pocket, pull out the thin satin strip of material, and dangle it in front of her. “This is my gift to you. This is my wow.”

Beth blinks once and her head slowly inclines to the left as she stares at the ribbon.

How do guys do it? How do they give gifts to the girls they have feelings for and stay sane? I want her to be wowed so she’ll stay on homecoming court, but more…I want this gift to prove that I know her and that I see beyond black hair and nose rings and cut-up jeans. I see her as she really is—I see Beth.

“You bought me a ribbon,” she whispers.

“How did you know?”

My mouth is dry. “I saw a picture of you when you were young in Scott’s office and you talked about it…in the barn.”

Her words were hypnotic. “Ribbons,” she said in a whimsical voice. “I still love ribbons.”

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 off 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.”