Page 50 of A Bittersweet Summer

“Then I don’t mind giving a quick lesson.”

When I finally find myself swinging my leg over the four-wheeler, mindful of the cooler Wes has strapped to the back, my heart thunders in my chest.

When I sit, my thighs brush against the backs of his, sending a jolt of awareness through my bloodstream. The rumble of the machine does nothing to calm my rapidly beating heart. I wipe my hands on my jeans, keeping them at the sides of my thighs.

Wes tips backward, leaning until his back brushes my chest. “You’re going to have to hold onto me,” he says over the noise.

Slowly, I wrap my arms around him, feeling the sturdy muscles beneath his sweatshirt. He feels warm—that scent he wore at Lennon’s party clinging to his skin and clothes.

“You ready?” he shouts, and then we are off.

Mud kicks up in every direction as we speed down the lane, followed by my friends. Wes makes a sharp left turn once we get back into the treeline, following the trail until we circle back to the right to head deeper into the forest.

The wind picks up, the sound drowning out every thought in my head as I cling to him. When he slows down to drive over a small fallen log, my grip tightens.

“It’ll be more fun when we are out in the field!” Wes shouts.

My fingers clutch at the fabric of his sweatshirt as I yell over the rumble. “It’s fun now!” I say, hearing Ellis laugh somewhere behind us.

“Oh yeah?” Wes says as if in challenge.

A laugh rips out of me, my body buzzing with the thrill. “Yeah!”

With that, Wes presses the gas, jolting us forward until we are speeding through the trees. Mud decorates my jeans and shirt—possibly my hair—as we race the others.

When Noah and Lennon cut us off, another laugh bubbles out of me.

“There’s no way I’m getting beat by anEnglish Professor!” Wes shouts, cutting to the right down a different trail.

“There, there,” I yell, patting him on the chest. “Your ego may be ruined, but you’ll live, Boss Man Miller.”

“I said no nicknames!” Wes turns to the left, and I’m starting to second-guess whether we are on the trail at all.

“You love my nicknames!” I defend, screeching in delight when the ride becomes bumpier.

We make it out onto a different trail, the rev of an engine fast approaching. “You’re right,” Wes says, and I can feel the vibration of his voice in my limbs as I hold on. “I do.”

With that, he takes off, breaking in front of Gus and Meghan, and quickly finding his way through the trees. Lennon and Noah race down the side of the field, and Wes is quick to catch up, saluting as we pass them.

The whole hour is spent racing and laughing—trying our best to go over obstacles on the trail, and cheat the system. When Wes told them the basic makeup of the trails, he didn’t mention the many shortcuts we took to win.

I’m pretty sure we have been cheating, but I can’t bring myself to care.

When we finally stop, all parked in a circle somewhere in a field behind the forested trails, Wes unhooks the cooler from the back of our four-wheeler as I take off my helmet and run my fingers through my hair. Mud cakes the ends, so I quickly give up.

“Drinks anyone?” Wes asks, pulling out an assortment of soda and beer.

I swing my leg over the seat of the four-wheeler and sit sideways, looking out at the round bales of hay dotting the field we rode around.

“Is this your property, still?” I ask, turning to grab a lemon-lime soda from the cooler.

“Yeah,” Wes answers. “Walton usually gets his grandkids to turn this into hay for me. They live about a mile down the road. I pay them, of course, but it tends to save me some money. Theydon’t charge much since I let them take half of whatever they can harvest.”

“Sounds like a good deal,” Gus adds from his spot in the grass next to Megan.

“When I was younger,” Megan says, “My grandparents owned a farm, and we used to climb the round bales for fun.”

Noah hops off the four-wheeler, gauging the distance to the nearest bale. “I bet I could make it to the top with a running start.”