Brazen Rush: Brazen Series Book 1

by Dean, Ali

  I can’t even touch the first part of that statement. Instead I narrow my eyes and remind him, “You only saw me crash head first. As far as you know, I don’t even know how to fall correctly.”

  His laughter dies and Beck offers me a sweet smile. One that makes me squirm in my seat. “Nah, I was watching you for an hour before that.”

  I stare at him. And then I stare some more. Is he messing with me? Yeah, he’s definitely messing with me. “No, there was no one else around, I would’ve noticed you.” If it was anyone else, I might have believed him but there’s no way I wouldn’t have felt the weight of his eyes on me. Right?

  Beck turns his gaze to the windshield and I follow. He’s got a perfect view of the park from here. Except only the back side of the half pipe.

  “So, you saw me standing on the platform up there for half an hour.”

  “It was more like twenty minutes, but yeah, I was watching.”

  I expected him to deny it and when I glance back over at him he’s watching me again. “That’s creepy, Beck.”

  Beck bites his lower lip in response, like he’s debating how much to say. “It was very suspenseful, actually. You kept taking a little step forward and then one back. Looking at the stairs, then turning to the vert again. I almost opened my door twenty times to talk you into it myself.”

  “Why didn’t you?”

  “I was curious what you’d do. If you’d started down the steps I would’ve come over.”

  “Still creepy,” I murmur, trying not to be embarrassed he’d witnessed that moment.

  “Whatever, I was finishing my coffee and it was entertaining. I can’t believe I’ve never seen you before. You’re incredible.”

  That statement, so bold and straightforward, has me throwing all my weight to the back of the seat.

  I look around, anywhere but into those freakishly bright blue eyes. “Did Beckett Steele just call me incredible?” Wait, he’s talking about my skateboarding, right?

  “Stop calling me that. It’s Beck. And come on, you know you can skate. You landed a 540 in the bowl before you hit the half pipe. I can count on one hand the number of women who can do that. I love the way you skate. Your style is just so…” He drifts off, like he’s really trying to find the exact right word. “I don’t know, it’s not something I’ve seen before.”

  Oh my God, I want to stay here forever and listen to Beck fawn over me. This is too much. I should really quit while I’m ahead because I’m bound to screw this up soon. Better to tuck this memory away for safekeeping so I can look back on it fondly for years to come.

  The clock on the dashboard tells me it’s almost nine now. “Look, I’m feeling a lot better. I took the bus here, so I can take it back. I don’t need to go to urgent care.”

  Beck narrows his eyes. “All right fine, I won’t make you go to urgent care, you do seem a lot better. But humor me. How many fingers am I holding up?”

  He puts up both hands.

  “Eight.”

  “Now?” He drops a hand and gives a peace sign.

  “Two.”

  “What’s your name?”

  “Jordan.”

  “What’s your phone number?”

  Now I’m the one narrowing my eyes. But I play along. Happily. As I recite my number, he pulls out his phone. “Okay, one more time.” This time as I tell him, he puts it in his phone. “I just texted you,” he tells me.

  “Oh, I left my phone over by my hoodie on top of the platform.”

  “I’ll get it,” he offers. “Just in case you get ideas at the top and want to drop in again.”

  I scoff. “Not today. I’m not that dumb.”

  He opens the door, tells me to wait, and I watch as Beck jogs over to the stairs up to the half pipe. There are a few people at the park now, no one on the pipe though. He leaps up the stairs taking two at a time, grabs my hoodie with my phone in it, and jogs back down. It’s all so surreal. It seems as if Beck likes me, really likes me. But that can’t be possible. He won the skateboarding world championships. He’s travelled all around the world for competitions and shoots. He’s been featured in magazines and films, and is considered one of the most influential young people in the country, with at least a million Instagram followers. And yet here he is, jogging back across the parking lot with my hoodie and phone. I open the passenger door and he hands them over.

  “All right, you passed the test to avoid urgent care. But I’d take it easy for a week or two. Don’t hit up the park. I’d ice that thing too.”

  My elation dwindles just a smidge as I realize his little lecture means he’s saying goodbye. Sure he got my number, but what does that even mean for a guy like Beck?

  “Right, I know. I’ll Google what to do. I can’t take it too easy though, I start classes tomorrow.”

  “Oh yeah? Where do you go?”

  “Summerside U.”

  “No way. Me too.”

  I have no filter, so I admit, “I know. You aren’t on campus much though with all the skateboarding stuff, right?”

  “I will be this year. I mean, I’ve had to take a lot of time off for travel but it’s been seven years on and off. I’m twenty-five, it’s time to get that degree already.”

  And the elation returns tenfold. I try to play it cool though. “Nice, well, thanks for helping me out today, Beck. I hope I’ll see you around campus soon.”

  “Wait, get back in, I’ll give you a ride.”

  “No way, you came here to skate and haven’t even done that yet. There’s a bus coming in a few minutes. Don’t worry about it.”

  “Nah, I was here riding yesterday and just slept in the parking lot.” He shoots me a big grin. I’m sure he’s telling the truth after seeing his van, but the dude is a skateboard addict just like me and he’s going to want to skate while he’s here.

  “I’m not getting in a van with a near stranger.”

  Beck takes a step forward until his body is only inches away. “Too late, you already did. Besides, you admitted I’m not entirely a stranger.” His voice is deeper somehow and heat flares in my belly.

  His eyes drop to my lips. Oh, hell no. I might have zero experience, but there’s no question in my mind what that look means. There’s intention in his eyes, and when they meet mine again, I see the same desire in his that I can’t deny in myself. He wants me. I think? Or maybe I just want him so badly I’m confused. I can’t form words so I nod and duck back into the passenger seat.

  With the windows down and the radio on, Beck drives us away from the beach and onto the interstate in silence. Once we roll up the windows, the AC is on and I’ve cooled off enough to talk. The easiest conversation topic for me is skateboarding, so I ask him about tips for riding a huge vert, and how to avoid a fall like that in the future. We talk skateboarding techniques for the entire twenty-minute drive to campus. It takes half the time that it would on the bus. When I tell him where to go, his grip tightens on the steering wheel. “You’re in the freshman dorms?”

  “Yeah.”

  “So, you’re a freshman?” he asks, his eyes darting from the road over to me.

  “Um, if I’m living in the freshman dorms don’t I have to be a freshman?”

  “You just look a little older. I thought maybe you were an RA.” A residential advisor?

  “I don’t look that old,” I argue. I’m kind of petite, but I’ve got some curves that say I’m not a kid.

  “I didn’t say old, just older than eighteen or nineteen. Did you take a gap year?”

  “No.” This probably wouldn’t be a good time to tell him I’m seventeen. Except as he pulls up outside the dorms he outright asks how old I am.

  Shit. “I’ll be eighteen next weekend.” I sound young and unsure as I answer him, but I force my eyes to meet his.

  His lips press together, and there’s an instant energy shift in the space between us. What had crackled earlier is now just a giant gap, growing larger by the second.

  I see it now too. Over seven years betw
een us. Yeah, if I thought the celebrity status thing made the chemistry between us seem unlikely, the little fact he’s at a different stage in life squashes any fantasy that much more conclusively. Maybe in ten years or even five the age difference wouldn’t be a big deal, but the truth of the matter is, he’s a real adult. He’s traveled the world, supported himself, seen and experienced way more than I probably ever will. And in terms of relationships? He’s light years ahead of me there; even if I don’t know the details, it doesn’t take much to be light years ahead of me in that realm. Legally I’m still a kid for a few more days, and this is my first time away from home. I’ve got a ton of growing up to do.

  The reality of all of this drops hard, and the easy friendliness we’d shared a moment ago is replaced by awkwardness.

  “Take care of yourself, Jordan. Hit up the student health clinic if that headache doesn’t go away soon.”

  “Thanks, Beck. I’m glad you were there.” I manage to hold back a flirty comment about him watching me, biting my tongue as I pull the passenger side door open. “Thanks for the ride.” It’s not enough, after how kind he was. We say a stiff goodbye. Beck is perfect. Too perfect. And a little tiny piece of me is actually relieved it was too good to be true.

  Chapter Five

  Beck

  Seventeen years old? Seventeen. Seven-fucking-teen. My stomach rolls as I force my eyes off her ass. I’m disgusted with myself. I’ve spent the last couple of hours obsessing over a chick who’s barely older than my baby sister.

  I’d blame it on her skateboarding, but that’s a cop-out. Just because she skates with maturity doesn’t mean shit. Some of the top female skateboarders in the world right now are thirteen or fourteen years old and I don’t have a single inappropriate thought seeing those kids skate, only admiration for their fearlessness.

  Sure, I was admiring Jordan for that reason too, but from the moment I spotted her in the park, there were a hell of a lot of inappropriate thoughts too. Not that I realized just how inappropriate they were until just now.

  I glance over, ensuring she’s reached the freshman dorms safely, and then I make myself drive away.

  Chapter Six

  Jordan

  I’m in such a daze when I walk up the sidewalk to my dorm, I don’t even realize my phone is ringing until I almost miss the call.

  My best friend making a fish face flashes on the screen.

  “Hey Phoebe.” Until the last few days, we rarely spoke on the phone since we saw each other practically every day. I still have to remind myself each time she calls that it’s not an emergency.

  “Jordan, you’re all over the internet!” she screams. So much for training myself not to panic with every phone call from Phoebe.

  I’ve just opened the doors to the dorm but I let them fall closed and take a step back. “What?” I heard her just fine, but that’s all I can manage to get out. Did someone catch a photo of me with Beck? He isn’t famous enough to have paparazzi following him, is he? What if they caught my fall? My parents are going to stop paying tuition and force me to come home if they see that!

  “I can’t believe you don’t have Instagram. What teenage girl in America doesn’t have Instagram?” She asks this like she’s already distracted by something else.

  “Are you with Wyatt?”

  “Yup, I’ll put you on speaker. Oh wait, no, let’s do FaceTime, then I can show you the video from his phone.”

  The video? Oh no. My legs are suddenly shaky and I drop to sit on the stairs leading up to the dorm. The call switches to a FaceTime ring and I answer. My two closest friends from Hartsville appear in front of me, faces squished together.

  “Shit, Jordan!” Phoebe yells with a new level of alarm. “What happened to you?” Her boyfriend scrutinizes me and it takes a second before I remember the bruise on my forehead. The video must not have been of the fall then, that’s a small comfort.

  “Oh, I fell at the skatepark this morning.”

  “Doing what? Oh shit, did you try the Riptide half pipe already?” Phoebe asks.

  “Yeah, but I don’t want to talk about that. Show me the video.”

  Wyatt looks down for a few seconds before filling the screen with an Instagram video from Taylor Sly. I recognize it immediately, and my shoulders sag with relief. It’s me in the bowl yesterday, when I landed a 540 and then skated away. My face is visible as I make my way across the bowl at high speed. I’ve seen videos of myself skating plenty of times, and it’s no surprise to find my tongue sticking out to the side. I’ve got no idea why I do that when I’m real focused, but I’m not even aware it’s happening. The video switches to slow motion when I catch air. No one’s caught me doing a 540 before, and it’s cool to see it like this. My long hair flies up behind me from underneath my helmet. One hand grabs my board, the other is raised in the air as I turn once, twice, and then land. There’s the sound of my board hitting the ground and then a guy muttering, “Shit, was that a 540?” I skate back across, up the other side, and then I’m off, looking once over my shoulder before riding down the sidewalk and away from the park.

  Phoebe’s face is back in the screen. “Okay, I want to know why you looked relieved when you saw the video. What did you think it was going to be?”

  I’ve never lied to Phoebe or Wyatt before, but I have the urge to do so now. Or at least to withhold information. “I mean, it’s just me skating,” I say, and it’s easier than I thought. “I didn’t know what you were referring to. It could have been when I crashed and got this bruise or of me taking a shower or something. Our dorm is coed, you know.”

  “The bathrooms are coed too?” Wyatt asks. The screen shows both of them again. “That’s not right.”

  “No, but they aren’t locked. Guys could just wander in.”

  Wyatt turns to Phoebe. “See, babe? Yet another reason to support us moving in together.”

  “Hold on. Are you guys in bed right now?” I suddenly realize Wyatt is shirtless and Phoebe is in a thin sleep tank. “Did you guys just wake up? It’s almost noon there.”

  Phoebe shrugs. “Give us a break, it’s our honeymoon phase.”

  I groan, feigning disgust, but I’ve walked in on these two making out so many times it doesn’t faze me. “You’ve been together for six years. Honeymoon periods don’t last that long.”

  “Yes, but we’ve only been living together for three days.”

  Despite the lack of parental approval, my two besties ditched the college freshman dorms to live off campus together. I mean, their parents weren’t thrilled about it and tried to talk them out of it, but at the end of the day, we all know they’ve been destined for each other since birth. They grew up down the block from me as next-door neighbors and are going to college together an hour away from our hometown.

  “So, back to you being all over the internet,” Phoebe redirects the conversation. “The caption asks, ‘Does anyone know who this is?’ It was posted last night and already has a few thousand likes and hundreds of comments.”

  “Did you read the comments? Did anyone say it was me?”

  Wyatt answers, “Yeah, Tanner named you, but since you don’t have Instagram and he can’t tag you it’s not going anywhere.” Wyatt’s referring to a skateboarder we know from Connecticut.

  “You said ‘all over the internet’ – were you exaggerating or is it somewhere else?”

  “It’s going around Facebook too. You can share videos more easily there so people are spreading it around.”

  “I bet it’ll be on YouTube soon,” Wyatt adds.

  “You should really make an Insta page, Jordan. It was only a matter of time before something like this happened. Now that you’re at the skateboard capital of the world, you can’t hide anymore.”

  “I’m not hiding,” I tell her. “I just don’t want to get sucked into the social media orbit. It’s toxic and you know it. What’s the point? So I can get random people to tell me I’m good at this? I already know I’m good.” I say this with more confidence than
I have, and I know my friends see through me.

  “Let’s not argue,” Phoebe cuts off my rant, and she’s right. We’ve had this conversation, more than once. She tells me it could lead to opportunities. I remind her of the reality of women in skateboarding – there are barely any worthwhile opportunities that I would actually want to pursue.

  “There she is!” someone shouts from down the sidewalk. This part of campus has been dead since Beck dropped me off so I whip my head in the direction of the voice.

  Ellie and Zora are waving at me. I wave back and tell Phoebe and Wyatt, “I gotta run. My roommates’ friends just got here.”

  “Where are you, anyway?” Wyatt wonders.

  “Outside my dorm.”

  “Wait, don’t hang up, I want to meet them!” Phoebe calls.

  Ellie is already beside me. She’s panting and must have jogged. “I want to meet you too!” Ellie exclaims, grabbing the phone out of my hand. “Hi, I’m Ellie, and this is Zora.” She flashes the screen to our pink-hair friend who puts up a peace sign. “We’re Lucy’s BFFs from high school but last night we decided that Jordan’s going to be one of our BFFs now too. Are you her besties from back home?”

  With the conversation out of my hands now, I wonder how I manage to attract extraordinarily bubbly people who register zero on the shy scale. Ellie and Zora are similar in that way to Phoebe, but each with their own flavor of assertiveness. Wyatt is slightly more subdued, but his presence can be even more domineering when he has a strong opinion about something. I’m not exactly a pushover either, but amongst my friends, I’m the only one who can really fit the laid-back easy-going role. Maybe Lucy, but I can already see she’s got a maternal streak. And is probably more fun than I am.

  The truth is, sometimes I feel so consumed by skateboarding that I think it might be part of my personality. Skateboarding makes me feel like me. It’s like the sport was created just for me. It’s in my veins. It’s all I think about. I dream about it when I sleep and it’s the first thing I think about when I wake up. I couldn’t stop skateboarding. Ever. Maybe that makes me boring compared to my dynamic friends, but I couldn’t change it even if I wanted to.