Dare You To (47 page)

He sighs. “She was so jumpy around the

cops that I figured she was hiding something. I would have said anything I had to in order to keep you. But I never used the word
heroin
with you or your mom and I never went into your mom’s apartment. I guessed that she had a secret and I bluffed.”

And I sort of feel like an idiot. A happy idiot, but an idiot nonetheless. “Well played.”

He smirks. “I think so.”

AT THE TWO-MINUTE WARNING, my hands

begin to sweat, including the one in the cast.

Indian summer in Kentucky has a strange way of making November feel like July. As we

walk to the open field behind the scoreboard, Ryan holds my hand and he doesn’t seem to care it’s cold and wet. People yell and scream
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from the bleachers and the announcer

informs the crowd that our team is at the first and ten—whatever the hell that means.

The other couples nominated for

homecoming court stand closer to the

lamppost, but I hesitate farther back and Ryan plays along.

“Gwen won’t bother you,” he says.

“I know.” He’s right. She won’t. Since Ryan and I returned to school, she’s been less than her normal stuck-up self, quiet and withdrawn.

She apologized to both me and Ryan. I

accepted it, but it doesn’t mean I have to like her or be near her. Perfectly groomed, Gwen stands off to the side of the group. I sort of feel bad for her. Guilt is a horrible emotion. I should know.

“We could go talk to Carly and Brent,” Ryan teases. “She’s a big fan of yours.”

I roll my eyes. “Carly and I were paired as lab partners today.”

“See, best friends already. Lacy will be

pissed someone is encroaching on her

territory.”

“That’s exactly what’s going to happen,” I say sarcastically.

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“Carly’s nice.”

“She’s chipper.”

“Same thing.”

“Nice is nice. Chipper is annoying.”

“We should double-date with them.”

My eyes almost pop out of my head. “Are

you kidding me? I’m about to walk out onto that football field and make a fool out of myself and you want me to consider double-dating with Mr. and Mrs. Chipper? Have you lost your mind?”

Ryan chuckles, then winks. “I just wanted to see you get aggravated.”

I wrinkle my nose. “You’re annoying.”

He lets go of my hand, slips his arms around my waist, and pulls me close to his strong body. “You’re beautiful.”

The corners of my lips turn up and I slide my right arm around his neck. “I miss touching you with both hands.”

“It’s weird seeing the ribbon on your other wrist,” he says.

I shiver when Ryan caresses the sensitive skin above my cast and rubs the small of my back. Joyous and devious warmth spreads

throughout my body. “I never take it off.”

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“I miss you in my bed,” he murmurs so

only I can hear.

My smile grows and Ryan’s face reddens.

“That’s not what I meant. I meant I miss

sleeping with you.”

I know what he means. “It’s a little hard to slip out with a broken hand.”

He lowers his head to mine and his hold on me tightens. “I’m sorry I didn’t protect you better.”

“Ryan, no. I would have died if it wasn’t for you.”

“It’s over now,” he whispers against my

mouth.

I expectantly part my lips for his kiss. “It is.”

“Mr. Stone. Ms. Risk,” calls the assistant principal. “A little more space between you and a lot more paying attention. It’s time for you to get onto the field.”

I deflate and wrap my hand on Ryan’s bent arm so he can escort me out underneath the glaring lights. I wanted Ryan to kiss me. I needed him to kiss me.

Over the PA system, our names are

announced and Ryan leads me to the fifty-yard line. People yell and scream, the loudest cheers
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coming from the section where we left

Lacy, Chris, and Logan.

“When you win,” says Ryan, “don’t forget

you said you’d keep that tiara on your pretty little head all night.”

My eyes widen as I realize how I can get

exactly what I want. We stop in the middle of the field and I turn to him. “Kiss me. Not just a peck. The real deal.”

Ryan glances around at the bleachers full of hundreds of people. “Excuse me?”

“I, Beth Risk, do double dog dare you to kiss me in front of all these people.”

Ryan’s eyes brighten and the arrogant smile that makes my heart trip over itself spreads across his face. “Are you forgetting dare etiquette? You have to dare before you can double dog dare.”

I roll my eyes. “Fine. I dare you to kiss me.”

“And if I do?”

“If I win homecoming, which I won’t, I’ll wear that damn tiara for a week straight.”

He cradles my face with both his hands. His lips whisper against mine and I ache for him to kiss me. My mind whines that he won’t do it, but then he nibbles on my lower lip. His mouth
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parts and the two of us move our lips

hungrily in time with one another.

In between gasps of air our names are called as the winners. I feel Ryan’s lips tug into a smile before he says one word: “Can.”

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633

Acknowledgments

To God—Isaiah 61:1

For Dave—Because I still own the first

baseball cap I ever saw you in.

Thank you to…

Kevan Lyon—everybody should have

someone like you in their corner. Your advice and guidance have been extremely valuable to me. Thank you. I will never forget that this all began with you.

Margo Lipschultz—Thank you for caring as

much about my characters as I do. You are absolutely brilliant and I’m a better writer because of you.

Everyone who has touched my books at

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Harlequin Teen, especially Natashya

Wilson. You guys have made this experience fantastically memorable!

Matt Baldwin and Mike Baldwin with

Future Pro: Thank you for welcoming me into your indoor training facility and for taking the time to answer my questions on baseball.

Angela Annalaro-Murphy—Thank you for

loving Beth first. It was your faith and

friendship that kept me writing.

Shannon Michael—How many times did I

end up on your back porch with my head in my hands wondering if I was headed in the right direction with the story? Thanks for the laughs and friendship.

Kristen Simmons—I couldn’t have done this without you. It’s amazing when I think of the laughter and tears we’ve shared since we met.

This book is for you.

Colette Ballard, Kelly Creagh, Bethany

Griffin, Kurt Hampe, and Bill Wolfe—you

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guys are more than a critique group. You’ve become family. Kelly and Bethany, thank you for holding my hand through my debut year.

Kurt and Bill, thank you for pointing out when

“a guy wouldn’t do that.” Colette, thank you for the endless hours of laughter, support, and extra reads.

Louisville Romance Writers: It was you

guys who first put me on the path toward

publication. Thank you for continuing to light the way.

Again, to my parents, my sister, my Mt.

Washington family, and my in-laws…I love

you.

My biggest thank-you is to the fantastic

authors I’ve met, the booksellers, the

librarians, the teachers, the book bloggers, and my readers. Thank you for taking the time to spread the word and for the messages, tweets, and emails you’ve sent to me. You remind me why I write.

To A, N, and P. You know who you are and

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you know that I love you more than my

own life.

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Don’t miss Isaiah’s story,

CRASH INTO YOU,

coming soon

from Katie McGarry

and Harlequin TEEN!

Turn the page

for an exclusive two-chapter sneak

preview….

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THE DRIVER’S SEAT of my Mustang is one of the few places where I find peace. I guess I could go on some tangent about how my older brothers influenced my love of cars, but I won’t, because it’s not true.

I get cars. I like the feel of them. The sound of them. My mind clears when I’m behind the wheel, and there’s something about the sound of an engine dropping into gear as I press on the gas that makes me feel…powerful.

No fear. No nausea. No brothers to boss me around. No parents to impress. Just me, the gas pedal, and the open road. And a big, fat, fluffy dress that reminds me of a flower. Shifting in this getup was a nightmare.

The fluff from the ball gown pops out of my brother Ethan’s old gym bag and I try to shove the overflowing lace back in as I exit the gas
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station bathroom. I wind through the aisles and out the automatic doors into the cold winter night. My parents would kill me if they knew I was in the south side of town, but this isn’t my destination. Just a pit stop. The county south of here contains backcountry roads that are flat for several miles. Perfect for maxing out the speedometer.

Two college-age guys in jeans and nice

winter coats chat as one pumps gas into a 2011

Corvette Coupe. She’s impressive. Four

hundred and thirty horses are compacted into that precious V-8 engine, but she’s not as pretty as the older models. Most cars aren’t.

On the opposite side of the pump, I insert my credit card and unscrew the gas cap. My baby only receives the best gas. It may be more expensive, but it treats her engine right.

I suck in a breath, and the cold air feels good in my lungs. My stomach had settled when I left the country club and the nausea rolled away when I turned over the engine. I’d made it through the speech with shaking hands and a trembling voice. When it was over, my mother cried and my father hugged me. That alone was worth the trips into the bathroom beforehand.

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The guys stop talking and I glance over

to see them staring at my baby. “I like your Vet,” I say and decide to test them. “V-8?” Of course it has a V-8, but some guys have no idea what sweet cargo they own under the hood.

The owner nods. “3LT. Got her last week.

Nice Mustang. Is it your boyfriend’s?”

Loaded question. “She’s mine.”

“Nice,” he says again. “Have you ever raced her?”

I shake my head no. It feels strange to talk to guys. I’m the girl who hangs on the periphery.

The other girls who attend the most expensive private school in the state don’t want to discuss cars, and most guys get intimidated when I know more about their cars than they do. When it comes to any other type of conversation, my tongue often becomes paralyzed.

“Would you like to race?” he asks.

Our gas nozzles clink off at the same exact time and my heart flutters in my chest with a mixture of anxiety and adrenaline. I’m not sure if I want to faint or laugh. “Where?”

He inclines his head away from the safety of the freeway and down the four-lane road—

deeper into the south end. I’ve heard rumors of
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illegal drag races, but I thought they were just that—rumors. “Are you for real?”

“It doesn’t get any more real than where I’d be taking you. Stick with us and we’ll help you get a nice race.”

I have four brothers, and one is the type that mothers warn their daughters against. In other words, I’m not that naive, but to be honest, his proposal intrigues me. But I’m also sure this is how horror movies begin.

Or the best action flicks on the face of the planet.

I scan the guy’s car out of the corner of my eye. A University of Louisville student parking tag hangs on the rearview mirror along with a maroon-and-gold tassel. Only my school has those God-awful colors.

But to be safe… “Where did you go to high school?” I ask.

“Worthington Private,” he says with the

arrogance most guys from my school use when saying the word
private
.

“I go there.” And I don’t bother hiding my grin.

Neither do they. The car owner continues to be the spokesman for his duo. “What year are
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you?”

“A junior.”

“We graduated last year.”

“Cool,” I say. Very cool. My brother would be a year behind him, but West has made it his business for people to love him. “Do you know West Young?”

“Yeah.” He brightens. This guy thinks he is so close to scoring. “Do you guys party

together?”

I laugh and I can’t stop myself. “No. He’s my brother.”

Their smiles melt quicker than a snow cone on a summer’s afternoon. “You’re his baby sister?”

“I prefer to be called Rachel. And you are?”

He runs a hand over his face. “Going to get my ass kicked by your brothers. Forget I said anything about racing or that we even saw each other.”

As he inches to his car, I spring over the small concrete barrier. I only meant to make sure the guy would keep his distance, not sprint for Alaska. “Wait. I want to race.”

“Your brothers don’t play around when it

comes to you, and aren’t you supposed to be
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sickly or something?”

Stupid, stupid brothers and stupid, stupid rumors and stupid, stupid hospital visits when I stupid, stupidly was so panicked my freshman year I had to stay overnight twice. “Obviously the whole sick thing is wrong and if you don’t take me to the drag race, I’ll tell West about tonight.” No, I won’t, but I’ll try bluffing.

Owner Guy looks over at his friend hovering near the passenger door. His friend shrugs. “I bet she’ll keep her mouth shut.”