Sawyer
“Are you sure you know where you’re going?” I take Wes’s hand so I don’t lose my balance as I step down from a large rock.
“No, but these are the directions the concierge gave me.”
Wes decided we needed an adventure of our own on our last day of spring break while our parents are on a tequila-tasting excursion, and he’s supposedly leading us to a secluded beach. Based on the terrain to get there, it's secluded for a reason.
“Directions are things like ‘turn left at the tree with the big knot in it.’ Every time I ask where we’re going you say ‘down.’”
“That’s what he told me.” Wes grins over his shoulder.
“You’re strong enough to carry me out of here if I sprain an ankle, right? Because that feels like a strong possibility,” I say as the rock underneath me wobbles.
“We live in
