Catch Twenty-Two (Westover Prep 2)

“Have a good time!” Nan calls after me as I open the door to leave the house. “Take your time. There’s no rush to get back.”

I roll my lips between my teeth and bite as I close the door behind me. Zeke is her favorite topic of discussion, and she hasn’t been shy about speaking to me about him.

What do you think Ezekiel would like for supper?

Ezekiel looks thirsty. Take him this lemonade.

I think Ezekiel got a haircut. Doesn’t he look handsome?

Are you excited for your date with Ezekiel?

All day. Every day.

If she senses my dislike for the subject of Zeke, she hasn’t taken a hint about it.

My eyes scan the front of the barn, expecting to see Zeke out here with the machines of death, but the yard is empty. With a sighing huff, I walk toward the barn, finding him at the far end where I saw him loading hay shortly after I first arrived weeks ago. Of course he would be down here and out of sight of Nan’s prying eyes. It’s easier to abuse me and say hateful things this way.

Despite the way light glints off of his sun-kissed hair and the tanned skin exposed from the t-shirt he’s cut the sleeves off of, I keep an irritated look on my face. I’ve learned my lesson about smiling at this boy, even though I pretend I can stand the sight of him just as well as he does each night at the supper table.

“Wake up on the wrong side of the bed, City Girl?” he snaps the second my presence is known.

I don’t bother answering him. I’ve discovered that he likes silence most of the time, and if I keep my mouth shut, it decreases the chances of him spitting insults my direction.

“There are two of them,” I sputter as my eyes scan the huge machines. “I thought we’d be riding together.”

“Eager to get your arms wrapped around me?” To an outside person, his words would come across as flirting, but I know better.

Zeke doesn’t flirt. He uses words to establish dominance and control. I serve no purpose for him other than an annoyance and an outlet for his verbal abuse.

“I don’t want to do this at all,” I mutter.

“Afraid you’ll end up a little dirty?”

I didn’t even consider the possibility of that, but I should’ve, considering we had a rainstorm yesterday that thankfully served as a diversion for Nan’s insistence to talk about Zeke. Apparently, rain is a big deal in Utah.

“More like afraid to die,” I whisper in an unguarded confession.

He doesn’t say anything, and when I look from the four-wheeler up at him, I discover a new look on his face. I can’t tell if it’s shock or concern, but I’ve never seen him look like he cared about anything that’s come out of my mouth.

“Come here,” he says softly but there’s no mistaking his command.

My feet move of their own volition until I’m standing beside him.

“By the time you’re done today, you’ll be an expert rider,” he assures me.

My eyes narrow again, my head not allowing me to consider for a second that he’s being nice to me for any other reason than to manipulate me into a false sense of security. After all, cutting someone down when they least expect it is more rewarding than giving them exactly what they expect.

I feel tiny as I climb on the machine when he instructs me to do so. I listen, as if my life depends on it, which to me it does, as he explains all the buttons and how to operate the four-wheeler.

I’m doing my best to absorb everything he’s telling me, but controlling this thing with my hands instead of using my feet like my car back home is a foreign concept to me.

Strangely, he doesn’t seem upset when I ask him the same question three times. He explains again and again and again.

My hands are shaking, trembling under my palms when he deems me ready to ride, but I can’t seem to make myself commit.

“Here,” he says as he swings a leg over the four-wheeler, effectively planting his body against my back. His size swallows up most of the space on the seat, but it doesn’t stop me from trying to move a few inches forward. “We’ll take it slow until you get the hang of it.”

His masculine scent engulfs me, and even though he’s still talking, my ears don’t register any sound but the thumping of my heart as it struggles to pump blood to the areas of my body he isn’t touching.

“Like this,” he says as his hand closes over mine on the handlebar. His other hand casually reaches around my waist, but there isn’t anything casual about my response to him. My breath hitches as my eyes widen. Despite the warm sun blazing down on us, chills spread across my body.