Page 2 of Dream Chaser (The New York Knights Players Club #4)

Nonetheless, the hard edges are gone from the twins’ faces, and I feel like I have just won the playoffs. I find myself smiling as I flip them off and then … smash on the gas.

“Iz?” Mom says my name with warranted apprehension.

“I love you, Mom. Chat soon.”

“Don’t give them too much of a hassle,” she says on a laugh.

“I will.” I laugh as I hit the screen, ending the call.

“Morning, boys.” I smile, even though they can’t see it or hear me. “Enjoying the scenic route?”

I stomp the gas and hang a right. My phone immediately rings.

I hit accept . “Enjoying the scenic route?”

“No detours,” Matthew replies.

I flick on my blinker like this is some civilized errand run and not what it actually is—a game of cat and mouse on slush-covered dirt roads. “This is, technically, a shortcut.”

“You are technically a menace,” CJ mutters in the background.

So I do what any self-respecting little cousin with a lead foot would do—I stomp on the gas again.

The Jeep bucks forward like it’s just been challenged to a duel, tires spitting half-frozen mud across the windshield of the Escalade.

I’m laughing before I even hit the first bend, the one that loops behind old man Guilder’s tractor shed and dips low enough to rattle my teeth.

It’s sloppy and icy, and it’s exactly what I needed to shake off the winter blues.

“Izzy! That road isn’t plowed!” Matthew barks.

“Neither is your attitude,” I shoot back, bouncing in my seat as the Jeep clears a rut and fishtails before gripping again.

CJ is swearing now, full-on dad voice mode. “You’re gonna get stuck. Or flip. Or launch into a drainage ditch?—”

But I’m already cutting through the service path that heads down to the field behind the brewery, then skimming past the snow-dusted sunflower field.

I know these roads like the lyrics to a Maggie Rogers song—every pothole, every stretch of packed ice.

And I know that little wooden bridge by the cemetery holds just enough weight for a Jeep, not an Escalade.

Sure enough, I glance back to see the SUV screech to a stop and hear CJ and Matthew arguing through the speakers. I grin as I hit end call .

I pull into the back lot, my thermos in hand, coffee still hot. I hop out, boots soaked to the ankle, hair a wild mess, half of it fallen out of my bun from bouncing around. The sky’s still that dull gray, but I swear it looks a little brighter now.

I re-box the hats and straighten up a bit as I wait for the inevitable.

They pull in four minutes later, mud-splattered and tight-jawed. Matthew storms out like he’s my dad and not the kid I used to play manhunt with every summer.

“You could’ve died, Iz.”

“And you could’ve just trusted me to drive in my own town,” I say, taking a slow, obnoxious sip of coffee. “But here we are.”

CJ throws his hands in the air. “One day, we’re putting a damn tracker on you.”

I toss them each a hand warmer from my coat pocket. “One day, you’ll admit I drive better than both of you and that this Jeep is magic. I win.”

“In a death race against common sense? Yeah, you crushed it,” Matthew growls and stomps off toward the brewery.

I raise my cup like a trophy. “And that, gentlemen, is how you beat a security detail.”

That’s when the back door opens and Skinner slides out, trying not to smile. I can see it twitching at the corner of his mouth, though.

The man struts toward CJ and me like he owns the damn sky and smiles at me like he could own more than that.

I don’t even flinch anymore. That’s the problem—he’s become too familiar, too loudly present in my life.

“You conducting a symphony or starting a cult?” he asks, eyeballing the mug I still have raised.

CJ takes this moment to pull my hat down over my eyes. “Knowing her, probably both.”

Skinner chuckles. “I don’t know whether to be impressed or concerned.”

“I’m building an empire.” I laugh, fixing my hat as I call to … CJ’s back. “One checklist and panic spiral at a time.”

Skinner plucks the coffee out of my hand and takes a sip without asking.

“I will poison you,” I say, attempting to grab it back.

“You won’t. You like me too much.”

I roll my eyes. “You confuse tolerate with fond of . It’s cute.” But my heart skips. It skips , and that’s new.

We end up walking side by side to the brewery door, and when we reach it, he steps forward to open the door. “After you.”

“I’m capable of … oof,” I stagger back after slamming into him because he moved to block my attempt at getting to it first.

“Goddamn,” he freaking says, groans, whatever … before waving his hand before me. “Ladies first.”

The urge to smack him in the back of the head because I swear he was looking at my chest when he said ladies is strong, but not stronger than the will to mindfully drive that demon out of my head.

Demon? Yes, demon. He might as well have horns growing out of his thick skull after every disgusting thing he’s done to my body … in my dreams, of course.

I stand unmoving, firm and tall, as I cross my arms and look up at him. “Go ahead, then.”

“What?” He chuckles.

“Wasn’t it just you less than two hours ago asking me for a crop top?”

His eyes twinkle, and he smiles. “How many times in the past two hours have you pictured me in it?”

“Asshat,” I grumble as I storm past him.

“More of a boob man myself.” He snickers from behind me.

I look over my shoulder and find his eyes glued to my ass. Liar . “Not today, Satan.”

“No?” He smirks as his eyes travel up my body until he finally meets my eyes. “Tomorrow’s kind of packed, but I think I could squeeze you?—”

“That’s the problem with you jocks.” I inwardly snicker at myself before saying, “Thinking isn’t really your strong suit.”

He sucks in a breath between his teeth and holds his hand over his chest. “Ouch.”

I stop, turn, cross my arms, and look up into his seriously hypnotizing moss green eyes. “Why are you following me, and will you please make it stop?”