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hey were right behind me.

No, no, no, because that was the worst possible place they could be.

Midmorning sunlight filtered through the trees, creating a latticework reflection on the windshield, but at this short of a distance, Ben’s deeply dimpled smile showed through with little effort. Even Ralph, and sure enough, Kolton Keiser, whom I’d only suspected was present but hadn’t confirmed it, could be seen from the backseat as he leaned forward, his blond hair and powdered blue eyes glowing from the darkness of the cab.

Ben never left home without Kolton—figuratively speaking, of course—and they were neighbors.

Why did they have to be right behind me?

All at once, their position in line made sense. Given Dad’s accuracy regarding our prior lack of encounters, their visits here were likely infrequent. Dad preferred to keep the most inexperienced drivers right behind the more seasoned drivers so they could copy what to do—that or one of the out-of-towners had suggested they go behind me, mistakenly believing we were high school buddies. Either way, I’d missed the discussion through the CB because my fumbling, shaking fingers accidentally hit the button to kill the communication.

I corrected that, hearing the others chatting, but not the boys.

Through the windshield, I watched as Kolton said something that made Ben laugh, and unable to think on the whys or whats of that without blowing a fuse, my startled eyes traveled to Hunter Armstrong’s in the driver’s seat. He was intimidating enough in his own right, but knowing he’d be the one following me down these twisty, hilly trails in that monstrous Jeep made me glad I was wearing a helmet so he didn’t catch my terrified gulp.

“Willa? Willa?”

I visibly jumped, turning around to face my dad’s eyes in his rearview mirror through his back windshield. “Yeah, sorry, what?”

“You didn’t have your CB on,” he stated, giving me the look .

“Bumped it on accident. What were you saying?”

Was that why the boys had been smiling and laughing? Had Dad shared something embarrassing?

“I said, ” Dad began, drawing out the word with enough impatience to rival a New York City traffic jam during rush hour, “to remember to use your engine for braking since the auto parts store didn’t have your pads in stock.”

A deep, gravelly voice cut in next. “She doesn’t have brakes?”

A slow shiver worked itself along my spine.

That would be Hunter Armstrong—not just because every person here had discovered this tidbit of info yesterday, but because, as I’d learned last night, no one had quite as deep of a bass as Hunter Armstrong.

“She has rears, and the quad’s a manual,” Dad countered, sounding defensive of the annoyed accusation that’d colored Hunter’s question. “Willa’s been driving that ATV since before she learned how to jump rope. That four-wheeler is basically an extension of her body, boy. Only the steeper hills are a concern, and there aren’t that many on the trail we’re taking today that can’t be bypassed. Any other questions? No? Let’s go.”

Since Dad hadn’t actually waited for anyone to chime in, I imagined an awkward silence filled the air as we all took off wordlessly.

The level of nervousness that saw me accidentally kill the comms couldn’t be maintained indefinitely. It was a physical impossibility.

My mind couldn’t focus on driving well enough not to make a fool of myself while spazzing over the very thing I’d been terrified of happening all day yesterday, so my brain tuned out my classmates’ presence as we snaked down the easy trail. Muscle memory took over, and soon I was grinning behind my face shield, standing as I crossed minor dips and bumps to let my knees absorb the shock rather than rely on the worn, tired suspension of the four-wheeler.

Come to think of it, the entire quad could probably use a twenty- point inspection after this trip. Bad brakes, bad suspension… My girl was getting on in years.

John’s voice crackled over the comms. “Woo, chickee, get it!”

The comment threw me from my rhythm, my knees shooting out from under me. My tailbone took the full brunt of the next three potholes, and I glanced over my shoulder as much as my helmet and chest plate allowed, only to catch sight of a certain gray Jeep and get nervous all over again.

It became a vicious cycle that only broke when we veered off the wide, relatively flat Trail Zero and entered Fourteen.

There would be no more attempting to ignore the boys’ existence now. With them behind me, I would be their spotter if we had any hills—or Dad would be since it wasn’t like he had to carry onto the next part of the trail to make room for a full-sized car. I could just pull off the path and tuck myself out of the way so he could spot for them.

Yeah, that seemed like a better plan than, as a girl, trying to give a car full of teenage boys advice on how to drive.

We reached the first hill of the day, and I sat there, waiting for the go-ahead from Dad and feeling the temperature getting to me. Full gear wasn’t so bad with the air streaming past while moving, but when we stopped, the heat from the engine seeped through my riding boots, making me sweat.

I released the handlebar to push my face shield up for a breath of fresh, cool air, only to jump out of my skin when a voice from right beside me asked, “Hey, you need a drink?”

“Ayee!” I yelped.

“What? Willa? Willa? Are you okay?” came Dad’s frantic voice. “Did you crash?”

John, who I’d already deduced was right behind the guys, must have had a clear line of sight, because he grabbed his receiver and said, with an annoying amount of amusement, “Nah, Rob, she’s fine.”

I clicked the button on my helmet to cut the communications, because my poor, overstimulated mind could only focus on one fire at a time, and it needed all its faculties here. Ben Pierce stood there, a smirk on his face as he held out an admittedly enticing bottle of water. Beads of condensation gathered on the sides, rolling down along the dips and grooves of the plastic before teasing over his tan fingers.

They must have a cooler of ice.

Ben gave the bottle a little wiggle. “Come on, Hunter insisted.”

Yeah, that information did nothing to help my brain restart.

“Uh, thanks,” I said, because manners had been hammered into me hard growing up, and they kicked in as default in scary or overwhelming situations. In middle school, a beast of a girl once got in my face in the locker room and called me a freak. The sudden, collective silence of all those girls rushing to get ready for gym was deafening.

I’d shouted, “Thanks,” in her face and made myself scarce. It’d confused her enough that she hadn’t followed up with physical violence, so that was a plus.

On reflex, my hand shot out to receive the offering, but I hadn’t been thinking ahead—because how could my brain be expected to function when it was scrambled eggs? When I tried to take a drink and hurry this awkward interaction to its conclusion, I realized how dumb I’d been. There was no way I’d get the lid off with my bulky gloves.

Ben noticed the problem as well, because his long fingers closed over mine. “Here, let me.”

My shoulders stiffened, and I barely dared to breathe, imagining I could feel the calluses on his fingers from long hours of football practice. Imagined, because the gloves were so thick they’d landed me in this situation to begin with.

Ben held my gaze as his other hand covered the lid and twisted, cracking the seal. “There.”

He didn’t release me immediately. Like last night, he held on long enough that when I tried to pull back, he tightened his grip, however briefly, and ensured I was fully aware of the fact he was “letting” me go when he eased off.

Yeah, I definitely needed the drink now.

I had to clear my throat to talk. “Thanks.”

He tilted his head, a secret smile dimpling his cheeks and knocking my heart off-kilter. “I’m far from an expert out here, but can you drink with your helmet on?”

Ah, no. No, I couldn’t. I sat there just silently staring at the bottle in my hand like it was an unsolvable equation.

“Here, I’ll get it,” Ben added, and then his fingers were brushing the sensitive skin of my throat as he fiddled with the chin strap.

My entire body flushed with heat while simultaneously freezing in place.

His affable grin shrank in conjunction with his brows lowering in concentration as the straps didn’t yield to his wishes. He stooped his considerable height down—way down considering I was even shorter than normal while sitting on the four-wheeler. Unable to see anything but him from this close, I looked at him. The pink tip of his tongue peeked out as he gauged the distance with the same calculating eye he got when lining up a pass or tackle.

With little warning, he fully dropped into a crouch.

“Better,” he claimed. “Now I can see.”

His dangerous fingers were back at my throat. With his better view, he’d probably be able to both feel and see my racing, fluttering pulse there, which was absolutely awesome.

Not.

A voice from behind yelled, “It’s not a freaking Gordian knot! How long does it take?”

That was Ralph, and his voice sounded clearer, as if he’d stuck his head out the window.

“I told you to bring her a fucking water, not grope her.”

I expected Ben to have at least some reaction. My heart had lodged in my throat at Hunter’s deep, irritated words, though mostly due to their implication.

Ben didn’t even twitch. His fingers continued to wiggle and brush, press and retreat.

It was driving me mad.

With my attention hyper focused on the sensations on my neck, I missed the sound of another door opening and shutting, realizing this little fact only when Kolton Keiser appeared in my peripherals.

He made himself at home, propping his lean figure against the front left fender, the loose material of his basketball shorts close enough to brush my thigh.

His light eyes—blue right now beneath the sunny sky, though I’d seen them in various shades of gray and green depending on his mood or what he wore—gave me a slow, unapologetic once-over, from the tips of my riding boots to the top of my helmet.

At the end of that journey, he said, “Hi,” and continued to observe, perfectly content with life at the moment.

I felt inclined to fill the awkward silence. “Um, hi. I’m Willa. We go to school together.”

Kolton cocked his head, his blond locks just shy of kissing his eyes. “Yeah. I know. You come here often?”

Ben snorted, and I attempted to look down at him to see why, only to remember that he basically had me stuck in place, what with one of my hands occupied with the water, the other glued to the handlebar, and my head locked in position until he finished and released his hold on the straps.

I could only move my eyes, so I glanced back at Kolton. “Uh, yeah, about every weekend.” Then, I felt compelled to add, “But this is my first time driving out here. I wasn’t old enough before.”

He did a “not bad” shrug with just his face, but otherwise didn’t say anything.

“You have to have your probationary license, and I didn’t take driver’s ed, so I couldn’t get my learner’s permit until I turned seventeen,” I continued, yelling at myself for expounding on something he clearly wasn’t interested in, but unable to stop myself since my nerves were through the roof.

Did Ben and Kolton realize they used their football maneuvers to herd people like cattle in real life, or was it just muscle memory? I was physically and mentally boxed in.

Kolton straightened. “Hey. See, Ben? I’m not the only one in our grade who doesn’t have my license yet.”

Ben must have gotten the straps undone, because he used that softball-sized hand of his to grip the helmet’s chin and ease it up. It sat propped atop my head like the world’s bulkiest crown.

The cool air hit my temples and cheeks, and I felt naked in a way I hadn’t before. I blinked, throwing on a small smile. “Hi.”

Luckily, Ben didn’t wait for more than that. A grin quirked his lips. Straightening, he nudged my hand, guiding the bottle to my mouth.

Those golden-brown eyes did something to me, and I found my face tilting up, utterly transfixed on their hypnotizing stare. Not a care in the world was expended to ensure the water got where it was supposed to. I’d like to say it was because I trusted him, but it was entirely because he was just there.

“There you go, princess,” he cooed right as the cool water kissed my lips.

My brain internally liquified.

Meanwhile, Kolton scoffed and complained, “ Bruh .”

Ben, again, paid his friend no heed. When he felt me shift, he eased off, his hand still enclosed over mine. “Had enough?”

Almost certainly.

“Yes,” I rasped.

His cheeks dimpled. “Alright then.” He capped the water bottle and set it down. “Let me help you with—”

“Dude,” Kolton interrupted. “C’mon. She can probably do it ten times faster than you.”

Ben frowned, sliding the helmet back down over my face and ignoring his friend’s complaint as he went about trying to rethread the straps. “But then she’d have to take her gloves off.”

They were both in my line of view now since Ben had stood to help me with the water, and my eyes bounced between them, noting Kolton’s increased eye rolling the longer Ben took to complete his task. My cheeks grew pink, but at least the helmet hid my nerves.

Finally, Kolton had enough, because he knocked Ben’s hands aside and muttered, “Here, I’ll do it, sausage fingers.”

Ben’s dark brow arched, but he allowed his friend to take over the task. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

Kolton’s leaner fingers gripped the front of my helmet and turned me in his direction.

“Will you quit fucking manhandling her?” an angry, approaching voice shouted just as Kolton began blindly feeling around, his eyes squeezed shut in concentration. His motions were a bit rougher than Ben’s.

Hunter Armstrong halted just outside my peripherals, but my body could feel his looming presence towering over everyone but the trees.

“Hush,” Kolton said, either bravely or stupidly not afraid of the very real threat of telling Hunter Armstrong to shut up. “I almost got it.”

Then, Ralph’s voice rang out on Ben’s side, also out of view. “Hey, I didn’t want to be left out if this was a party. How’s it going in there, Willa ?”

Was that a jab at me or himself for not getting my name yesterday?

I licked my lips. “Uh, fine, but really, I can do these up myself. We need to move. There’s a line of—”

“You hush too,” Kolton murmured, still concentrating. “There’s a snap at the end. Do I just do the snap?”

I blinked at him, unsure how to respond. Was he being serious?

Luckily, Hunter growled and shoved him aside. “You’re clueless. If you just do the snap, it’d fly off with the first accident she has. You have to feed it through the loops.”

Somehow, despite being bigger than Ben, Hunter secured the helmet in three quick, efficient moves, barely making contact with my skin. Hunter followed up the completion with a satisfied nod before stretching a long arm across to shove Ben while simultaneously nudging Kolton along.

I took two quick breaths to myself once they’d gone before fumbling for the communication button on my helmet, only to hear John reassuring my impatient dad that I was finished now.

Conscious of the large group with us who had witnessed that interaction, I wasted no time starting the engine and dropping into gear. With any luck, the guys would be too busy climbing back into their Jeep to watch me. Not letting myself think about the hill, muscle memory took over, and in no time, I popped up over the crest, leveling out so I could see the ground again. This particular hill led to a trail that traced the peak of a ridge. It had steep drop-offs on either side, but the view was nice. I straddled the ruts, keeping my tires just to the left of the grooves. They were deep enough that if a tire dropped into them, it’d probably toss me off the four-wheeler—not that I’d have far to fall at that angle, but it’d be embarrassing needing to get pulled back up onto higher ground.

“Willa’s clear,” Dad announced as I crowded close to him to make room for the guys.

The growling whine of an engine sounded, and soon enough, the nose of the gray Jeep popped up over the ridge, flashing a quick view of the undercarriage before it leveled out to show the guys through the windshield.

Several of them were grinning, which made me smile before I turned forward to concentrate on the path ahead.

The out-of-towners enjoyed the view, commending Dad over the radio for choosing this route. Dad was impressed by Hunter’s driving and said so. “You off-road a lot?”

“When I was younger,” was Hunter’s succinct reply.

“Well, it shows. You look like you’ve been doing it for years.”

Hunter didn’t reply to that, and for half a heartbeat, I worried Dad would scold him for poor manners. He might have, too, except my split concentration left me careless, and the slick inch of clay atop the dirt started to suck my right tire into the ruts when I got too close to the edge.

I released an embarrassing squeal while my body reacted on autopilot, turning the wheels in the opposite direction and laying on the throttle. There was a moment where the spinning tires fought gravity, like a cartoon character that’d just run straight off a cliff and remained suspended in midair, but the increased speed won out as the four-wheeler inched back over. The second I was safe, I released my death grip on the gas so I wouldn’t overcorrect and send the right tire into the same dilemma.

My heart rate slowed, and I heard Dad’s voice. “You okay, Willa?”

Great, they’d heard, and for the guys, seen all of that.

“Fine! I’m fine. Almost got stuck in the rut.”

“Man, Willa, you really nailed us,” Ben’s voice chimed in.

Confused, I turned around, instantly understanding the meaning of his comment.

The tread on my tires had spun up clods of the soft clay, and most of them had splattered against Hunter’s hood and windshield.

Cheeks aflame, I said, “Oh, sorry!”

I saw Kolton lean up between the two seats to grab the radio. “Don’t be! That shit was hilarious.”

Goodness, just when I didn’t think my cheeks could burn any brighter, Dad snapped, “Language.”

“Sorry, Willa’s dad.”

“Call me Robert.”

“Sorry, Robert.”

Others from the end of the line asked what happened, and I got to relive the entire embarrassing ordeal all over again, especially since Kolton seemed prone to embellishments when he recounted the story.

During that, Hunter’s door popped open as he exited to clear off the thick clods, knowing his windshield wipers wouldn’t be strong enough to handle them.

I jumped off to help, apologizing at least another dozen times as the other three hopped out to join us, using their half empty water bottles to clean the muddy slop off when it seemed like Hunter would use all his windshield fluid.

“Stop apologizing,” Hunter ordered. “I know you didn’t mean to, or you wouldn’t have let out such a girlie scream.”

“Oh, well, accident or not, I still caused it.”

Hunter tilted his head, his stone gray eyes studying me as if I’d said something novel. “It’s fine. No harm done.”

It felt like he’d torn me in two to examine my soul.

My question was, what had Hunter Armstrong seen?