Page 7 of Daring You

“Oh, hey,” I say when I open the door and lean on the jam. My arm slips, I stumble, but I recover enough to smile.

Then quickly lose it.

“Holy shit,” Ben says, in the exact moment I say, “What happened to you?”

His eyes are wide, but mine are wider as I take in the blood splatter on his cheek, his blackening eye. Ben’s shirt seems all twisted, his athletic shorts dusted with dirt. He looks like he just stepped off from a particularly bad tackle on the field.

“Are you okay?” I ask.

A wolf whistle pierces through my target focus, and I’ve completely forgotten I’m wearing the sexiest lingerie I’ve ever dared to don in my young life, but I don’t care. All I notice is that Ben’s hurt.

“Jesus—get inside,” he says and attempts to cover me with his arms.

He does a pretty good job, considering they’re the size of two separate barrels, but he’s pushing me back in aggressively, like he’s embarrassed.

“I can move my own legs, thank you,” I say, pushing him off. “What happened to you?”

“Me? What…” He gestures up and down my body. “What are you doing?”

I cross my arms, suddenly self-conscious of my non-existent chest. “You first.”

“I just finished a game. Got tackled pretty good.”

He’s lying. His throat bobs the way it does when he’s uncomfortable, and he begins to pace. But, realizing the limited square footage and how close it brings him to me, he backs off immediately and freezes in place.

“That’s not what happened,” I say. I’m trying to pretend that his reaction to my body isn’t gutting my stomach.

He runs a hand through his hair. “It’s…it’s nothing, Astor. Can I get you like a—a robe or something?”

Ben’s stuttering, which he never does, but I don’t think it’s because I’m turning him on. I’m making him uncomfortable. I’m at the most pivotal point in approaching a boy I like and I’m making him want to sprint in the other direction.

I’m going to throw up.

“I’m fine,” I say through the insane nausea clogging my throat. But to avoid any further humiliation, I sift through my bed sheets until I find my sleep shirt and toss it on.

“Okay, uh…” Ben’s looking in any direction but me. “What exactly was your text about?”

“I think that’s pretty obvious, don’t you?”

My voice cracks, and I hate it for such betrayal, but there’s nothing I can do about it now. Nor can I control the tears going hot in my eyes.

Finally, Ben looks at me. “Shit, Astor. I…”

“It’s fine, really.” I wave him off. “Message received. This was a stupid idea, anyway.”

“What—I mean, what made you decide now? Why tonight, of all nights?”

I’m not sure what he means by that. “Because we’ve been doing this back-and-forth for ages. I keep getting hot and cold signals from you, and I’m never sure what to do with them. And I like control. I wanted answers, and I figured this was the best way to go about it.”

His attention skates down my legs before meeting my eyes again. “Astor, you have no idea…”

“And now I know,” I say, steadier now. “Which is great. We can go our separate ways without any more confusion. No further questions about whether or not you like me—”

“Fuck.”

I startle at the sudden, lethal curse.

After a brief, molten stare, Ben prowls forward, hooks my neck, and takes my mouth for his own.

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