Not Our Summer by Casie Bazay (android based ebook reader TXT) 📗

situation. Especially not to a near-stranger. As the other group members head up to their rooms, Johan pauses and turns to face me. Much to my surprise, a grin stretches across his face. “So… do you and your cousin have some issues?”

“Um…” I scratch behind my ear, avoiding his eyes. “I guess you could say that.”

“I had no idea you were even related.”

“It’s kind of a long story.”

His eyes glitter with curiosity. “Oh yah?”

“Let’s just say that we didn’t come on this trip by choice. It was something our grandpa asked us to do. In his will. We have a ton of drama in our family.”

“I see.” His smile reappears. “I guess I sort of understand, then.”

My shoulders relax a little. “I’m really not a bad person, I promise.”

“No worries, I didn’t think you were.”

I should probably still feel guilty, but as I return to my room, all I can think about is Johan and that smile of his. Never mind that chiseled face and those gorgeous legs.

I could be mistaken, but I think he might like me, too.

CHAPTER 13K. J.

AFTER A FIFTEEN-MINUTE SHUTTLE DRIVE, WE FIND ourselves at Norris Geyser Basin, which according to Johan is “Yellowstone’s hottest and most changeable thermal area.” I’m not really sure what he means by that, but I guess we’ll find out soon enough. Sporting a man bun again today, he hops out of the shuttle and does a few leg stretches. The dude’s all right, but he seems like the type who drinks green smoothies and visits the gym every day—when he’s not leading eight-mile hikes, that is. And apparently he’s totally Becka’s type. She’s been drooling over him ever since we got here.

I glare at the back of my cousin’s head as she steps out of the shuttle and pulls on her backpack. I’m still pissed she didn’t bother to wake me up for dinner last night. Total dick move. Everyone else shuffles out, and I’m immediately sidetracked by the putrid smell in the air. Like rotten eggs, only worse.

“That’s the sulfur coming from the thermal openings,” Johan explains with that corny smile of his.

I take in the brown and barren landscape. Random plumes of steam rise from the earth for nearly as far as I can see. It’s like some kind of futuristic wasteland in one of Carter’s video games, totally different from yesterday’s scenery, but just as intriguing. I just wish it didn’t smell so bad here.

Following Johan, we cross the parking lot and start along a sidewalk that leads to the dismal landscape. I’m at the back of the group, just behind Angie and Ben.

“This place is incredible,” Angie says.

Her husband nods in agreement. I don’t think I’ve heard him say more than two words on this whole trip. Johan makes up for it, though; the guy hardly ever shuts up.

“Isn’t it?” he pipes up now. “This is one of the coolest spots in Yellowstone. Well, not literally of course.” Another corny smile.

Ha ha, I think. I study his man bun as he continues yapping, realizing that it probably takes him way longer to do his hair than it takes me. He looks all studly and tough, but I’d bet anything he goes to a stylist and uses expensive hair gel he prefers to call “product.”

Everyone pokes along, checking out the red, cracked earth on either side of us. It looks like it hasn’t rained in a hundred years, though I know that’s not true. Johan’s already given us the scoop on yearly rain and snowfall totals. The cement walkway turns into a raised wooden boardwalk as pools of blue and gold water replace dry ground. The rotten egg smell gets worse. A grayish stream runs beneath us, hissing like an angry cat. Everyone’s starting to get into full picture mode, including me. I snap a photo of nearly everything I see. Chutes of steam, bubbling streams, giant holes in the ground—you name it.

Ahead, a crowd has gathered where the boardwalk widens into a large rectangle. I soon see why. A big pool of bright turquoise water gurgles off to the right, steam rising from its center.

“What the crap?” I whisper. I’ve never seen anything like it. I take several more photos, including a peace sign selfie with the pool in the background.

“The thermal pools reach temperatures of roughly four hundred and fifty-six degrees Fahrenheit,” Johan says. “The water is so acidic, it can melt the skin right off a person’s body.”

Everyone gasps, but I give an appreciative nod. Very interesting. If I were going to dispose of Becka, this would be the perfect place to do it.

We continue along the boardwalk, and like yesterday, she stays close behind Johan, hanging on his every word. I smile and sidle up next to her. She glances my way, eyes narrowing, but keeps walking. When Johan pauses again, this time in front of a small geyser, I stand so close to Becka, our arms touch. Her lips pinch together, but she doesn’t dare say anything while our guide is talking. His gaze falls on us, his brow knitting, but he continues his spiel. I swear, the guy is like a walking encyclopedia.

I stick close to Becka as we move on.

“What are you doing?” she hisses under her breath.

“Just trying to spend some quality time with my cousin. It’s what Gramps wanted, remember?”

Her jawline tightens, and she shakes her head.

“Hey, Johan,” I call.

“Yas?”

It’s so funny to hear him say that, I’m tempted to ask him another yes or no question just to hear it again, but I need to stay focused. “Becka was wondering how old you are. She wanted me to ask you.”

Becka’s face flushes pink, and Johan turns around, giving me an odd, squinty look before turning back to focus on the boardwalk ahead of him. No one wants to fall off this thing.

“Twenty-two,” he says.

“Oh. That might be a little too old.”

Becka elbows me in the side, and I wince.

“Too old for