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And now, it just makes me miss Jake’s cocky grins even more. I ponder the difference for a moment, realizing that Jake’s smirks make me feel like he wants to give me the world, while Doug’s make me feel like he thinks Iowehim something.

I haven’t heard anything from Jake. No texts. No messages about when he might come pick up his truck.

I cling to the fact that hewillhave to pick up the truck at some point, so I’ll definitely see him again at least once. I’ll be able to figure out whether my feelings for him are as true as I think they are. And if they’re reciprocated, or if the whole night was just a fling for him.

The float starts out smooth, easy water, guests laughing, the sun glinting off the ripples. We coast past pine trees and granite boulders, the retreat disappearing behind us.

Then Doug starts talking.

“Leanne mentioned you drove back in the pilot guy’s truck yesterday?” he asks casually, voice low so only I hear it. “You two got something going on?”

I grip my paddle a little tighter, groaning internally at how quickly gossip gets spread around among staff members. “That’s none of your business.”

“Come on, Ruby. Don’t be like that.” He leans toward me. “You know he’s just messing around, right? Guys like him, they don’t stick. Especially with girls like you.”

My jaw tightens. “Girls like me?”

“You’re young. Sweet. A little lost. He’s gonna eat you up.”

“Is there a reason you’re talking to me, or are you just trying to hear yourself speak?”

He chuckles. “I’m just saying…you don’t have to settle for some flyboy who’s gonna be gone before your sheets cool down.”

I narrow my eyes at him. “If you’re trying to flirt, you’re failing miserably.”

He smirks, then glances back at the churning water up ahead. “Tell you what. Say yes to dinner with me tonight, and I’ll steer us through the Blender nice and smooth.”

I blink at him. “Are you kidding me?”

He shrugs. “You’re in my boat. I’ve got the power.”

“You’re out of your damn mind,” I snap. “We’ve got guests on board, Doug. Don’t be an ass.”

Doug laughs, like it’s all some big joke, and for a moment I think he’s bluffing.

But then the river gets louder. We round a bend and there it is up ahead—the Blender. A frothy, narrow, chaotic stretch of Class IV rapids known for chewing up rafts and spitting out chaos.

“Doug, pull left,” I say quickly, seeing the angle. “We’re too far right.”

“I’ve got it,” he mutters, but his posture stiffens.

He doesn’t have it.

The current grabs us too fast, too hard, and suddenly we’re sideways, the raft jerking violently as the front dips into a surge of whitewater.

Screams erupt from the guests as a wall of water slams over the bow.

“Doug!” I shout. “Back paddle, now!”

But he’s lost it. He fumbles with his paddle, then makes a bad move trying to power through instead of adjusting. The raft tilts. We slam into a rock, spinning wildly as water pours in.

“Hold on!” I yell, clutching the rope at the side of the raft and grabbing for the nearest camper. “Keep your heads down and stay low!”

We’re in it now. The river doesn’t care about egos or stupid boys trying to impress girls. It’s a beast, and we just handed it control. And I swear to God, if we get out of this alive, I’m gonna kill Doug myself.

I thought things couldn’t actually get worse, but they do.

We’re the last raft in the group—four campers, all young adults, plus Doug and myself. That means there’s no one behind us to spot when we capsize.