Blackout by Chris Myers

“Move on Jason before I kick your ass.”
    Jason wavers. “Aren’t you that guy who molested her? She must’ve liked it.”
    Nan glances up, her hands grasping the lawn chair, like she’s about to rise. She protected Dare at the accident.
    Dare’s fist curls on my waist, so I grasp it. “He’s not worth it,” I say, as if to tame the animal that’s grown in him—a far cry from the boy I once knew.
    Dare continues to warm me. His body heat soaks into me like a hot bath. My thighs quiver when I think about him on top of me, pressing his heat against me. I can’t go there with him. Daddy would have a fit. What if he’s the problem? He’s not, I remind myself.
    Jason stands a little taller when his friend walks up. “You should go.”
    “Lisa Skittleharp invited me,” Dare says. “Take it up with her.”
    Dare still runs with her? Then what’s Shannon to him?
    Lots of girls used to like him but that probably all changed after his many run-ins with the law. He’ll never go to college now, and most girls prefer money over raw animal magnetism, even if his pumps into me like a subwoofer playing rap.
    “I think I will go ask Lisa.” Muttering under his breath, Jason snarls then pushes through the knot of people dancing. He stomps over to the keg and kicks sand into the air. A few girls swear at him and brush off the grit from their bare-bikinied bellies. He tops off a beer and slugs it down.
    “You shouldn’t be here.” Dare places one hand on my back. “A girl with your condition could be seriously hurt by this pack of wild dogs, but then again, beach house girls like frat boys.”
    “There’re just college kids,” I shoot back, “and I’ll be one of them next year. I’m not that messed up.” What a lie that is.
    The intensity of his stare engulfs me in flames. “You’re pretty fucked up, Teal.”
    His words hurt because I like him, but how can I? He’s mean and bossy. He’s not the boy I worshipped when I was his lackey, though I’m giving him the wrong idea by allowing him to hold me.
    “You don’t know them like I do, and you aren’t in college yet. You shouldn’t be drinking.” He snatches the Solo cup from my hand and tosses the beer out.
    I push him back. “Dare, you’re not my mother.”
    “You need one. You always did. Of course, she’s dead now.”
    “She’s not,” I toss back at him.
    He shakes his thatch of wild hair at me. “What don’t you get? Someone died out there that day, and it was probably your mom.”
    “She didn’t.” Why am I so sure? It’s the most logical solution—all that blood, her conveniently leaving. I wobble on my legs, and he tightens his hold to brace me.
    “It had to be her,” Dare says, quieter now, like his words will break me and most likely will.
    His conviction cuts me, though they shouldn’t. Dad and I did just fine without her. “You aren’t the nice boy I used to hang out with. Now you’re an ass.”
    As my rebuttal slices through him, pain shadows his beautiful eyes. Now, we’re even for him throwing out my beer, but it doesn’t make me feel better.
    “A minute ago, you were into me,” he says, glowering.
    “A minute ago, you were almost nice.”
    The music slows to a waltz, and the violin sings while the mandolin is plucked in harmony.
    “You owe me a dance, Teal Covington, for all those saves.” His whisper feathers my ear and neck. He treats me like a child, yet he can’t let go of me.
    “No, I don’t.”
    His strong arms spool around my waist, pulling me close so that I smell a hint of cologne but mostly the scent of brush and open field, of something wild, and all Dare.
    “No, Dare.” I push him away.
    “Please,” he says into my ear. “I did save you, several times now, and I’m sorry for being an ass.”
    I exhale. “Just one.”
    “That’s all it takes.”
    I lean my head against his chest. It feels right and safe. I draw close to him, the beat of his steady heart pumping into my ear. My body melds to