Dare You To (Pushing the Limits #2)(8)

“SEE YOU TONIGHT, DAWG.” Chris kicks my foot as he walks past. He cradles his bat bag in one hand and Lacy’s hand in the other. Chris and I met Lacy when our schools combined in sixth grade. I liked her the day she skinned her knee playing football with the boys. Chris fell in love with her the day she pushed him on the playground after he tagged her out in baseball.

They’ve been a couple since sophomore year—the year he grew a pair and finally asked her out.

Lacy pulls a rubber band off her wrist and twists her brown hair into a messy bun. I love that she isn’t a girly girl. In order to keep up with me, Chris, and Logan, a girl has to have thick skin. Don’t get me wrong—she’s hot as hell, but Lacy doesn’t give a damn what others think of her. “We’re going to the party tonight.

I want conversation and people and dancing.

There is more to life than batting cages and dares.”

With our fingers frozen on unlacing our cleats, Logan and I snap up our heads. Chris’s face blanches. “That’s sacrilegious, Lace. Take it back.”

Next to me, Logan shoves his feet into his Nikes and tosses his cleats into his bag. “You don’t know the thrill of winning a good dare.”

“Dares aren’t fun,” she says, the reprimand thick in her tone. “They’re crazy. You set my car on fire.”

Logan holds up his hand. “I opened the window in time. In my defense, the upholstery is barely singed.”

Chris and I chuckle at the memory of Lacy screaming as she was doing forty on a curve.

The short story: a hamburger wrapper, a lighter, a stopwatch, and a dare. Logan accidentally dropped the blazing wrapper and it rolled under Lacy’s seat. One patented I’ll-kick-you-until-you-drop glare from Lacy shuts us both up. “I wish you’d get a girlfriend so she can drive your insane ass around.”

“I can’t.” Logan waggles his eyebrows. “I’m Ryan’s wingman.”

“Wingman.” She spits the word, then points a sparkly fingernail at both me and Logan, but I don’t miss how it lingers on me. “One of you needs to find a girl and commit. I’m tired of this testosterone bull.”

Lacy hates the string of girls I’ve dated over the summer. She’s terrified I’ll influence Chris to drop her, though she should know better. Chris reveres her as his own personal religion.

“You didn’t approve of the one I committed to last time,” I say. “Why should I try again?”

“Because you can do better than evil.”

I drop my tone. “Gwen’s not evil.” Gwen and I broke up, but there’s no reason to talk trash about her.

“Speak of the devil,” mumbles Logan.

“Hi, Ryan.” I turn my head to witness Gwen in all her glory. A blue cotton dress swishes around her tanned legs, and she wears a new-to-me pair of cowboy boots. Hand-curled

ringlets bounce at the ends of her long blond hair. Surrounded by her three best girlfriends, she floats right past, but keeps her green eyes locked on me.

“Gwen,” I say in return. Reaching the concession stand, she sweeps her hair over her shoulder as she refocuses her attention. I keep staring, trying to remember why we broke up.

“Drama!” Lacy purposely blocks my view of Gwen’s ass. “She was nothing but drama.

Remember? You said, ‘Lacy, there’s nothing real about her,’ and I said, ‘I know,’ and I happily threw an ‘I told you so’ in your face.

Then you said, ‘Don’t let me go back to her,’ and I said, ‘Can I rip off your balls if you attempt it,’ and you said…”

“No.” I said no because Lacy would actually do it, and I prefer my balls attached, but I did ask her to remind me of that conversation if I became weak. Logan and I should ask some girls to the movies next weekend. Hell, if Skater Girl had given me her number, I might even have considered calling her. God knows she was sexy as hell and when it comes to Gwen, a distraction always helps.

“Come on, Logan,” says Chris. “I’ll give you a ride home.”

Near the dugout, Dad wraps an arm around Mom as the two of them chat with Coach and a man dressed in a polo shirt and khakis. I wonder if anyone else notices how Mom leans slightly away from Dad’s body. Probably not.

Mom’s in homecoming-court mode, all smiles and laughs.

From over his shoulder, Dad indicates I should join them by giving me one of his rare I’m-proud-of-you smiles. It makes me unbalanced. Yeah, we won, but we win a lot.

It’s what state champions do. Why the outpouring of pride now?

As I said, Dad and I are clones, except for the age and the skin. Years of rain, sun, heat, and cold have seasoned his face. Owning a construction company requires a lot of time in the elements. “Ryan, this is Mr. Davis.”

Mr. Davis and I both offer our hands at the same time. He’s tall, thin, and possibly my father’s age, except Mr. Davis doesn’t look weathered. “Call me Rob. Congratulations on a well-played game. You have a hell of a fastball.”

“Thank you, sir.” I’ve heard it before. Mom tells everyone God gave me a gift, and while I’m not sure what I think of that, I won’t deny I’ve enjoyed the ride. Too bad Dad and I couldn’t garner any interest at pro baseball tryouts.

I’m used to meetings and introductions.