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‘Should I use the bridge or swing across?’ I ask him.

He swigs from the bottle in his hand. ‘Swing.’

I untie the rope and slip my foot in the loop, landing gracefully on the other side.

‘Improvement,’ he says, fetching a beer from the cardboard box beside him. He pulls his keys from his pocket and opens the bottle with one before handing it to me. When I sit, he taps the neck of his beer to mine. ‘Cheers, Wilson.’

‘Cheers.’ I smell it before tasting it. It’s slightly repulsive, but in a good way—like Vegemite. I take my first sip. It’s more bitter than I was expecting, but it’s also cold, fizzy, and refreshing.

‘What do you think?’ Hunter asks.

‘I suspect it’s an acquired taste, so I’ll drink more of it before passing judgement.’ I watch him take a sip. ‘I wasn’t sure if you drank.’

He’s looking ahead at the creek. ‘I just don’t drink at parties.’

‘Why not?’

‘Because I don’t trust drunk people—especially a crowd of them.’

I’m certain his dad is the reason for that. ‘Well, I’m well behaved, so you can relax with me.’

‘Good to know.’ He drinks again. ‘So what’s next on your list of things to try?’

‘Skinny-dipping.’

He coughs mid-drink.

‘It’s all right. You don’t have to hold my hand for that one.’

He regards me. ‘Then you better do it somewhere sensible where you won’t drown.’

I drink, then look over my shoulder at the motorbike parked behind us. ‘You know, I’ve never ridden a bike before.’

He follows my line of sight. ‘That can’t be a religious thing. Fairly sure I’ve seen J-dubs on bikes before.’

‘So long as it’s for practical reasons and not thrills.’

He shakes his head. ‘They just suck the fun out of everything, don’t they? The Davises have a nice, safe four-wheeler they’d probably be happy to put you on.’

I laugh. ‘A four-wheeler? Why not a dirt bike like yours?’

‘It’s not safe.’

‘It would be with you.’

He regards me for a moment, then stands up with a sigh. ‘All right. Fine. Put your beer down and get up.’

‘Really?’

‘Hurry up. Before I change my mind.’

I prop my bottle against the beer box and leap to my feet. He empties his, then drops it on the ground before walking off in the direction of the bike. I hurry after him.

He climbs on and looks at me, waiting until he has my full attention. ‘First some basics. Anything related to braking is on the right side. Basically anything related to the control of the bike is on the left.’ He points to something. ‘This is your front brake up top.’ He points down. ‘This is your rear brake. If you’re going down a hill, or just going too fast, and you grab the front brake, you’re going over the handlebars. If you use only your rear brake, you may slide a little. Use both.’ He points again. ‘This is your kick-starter. It’s how we turn the bike on.’ He pauses to check if I’m keeping up. ‘This is your clutch. You’ll need that to change gears.’ Pointing down, he adds, ‘Shift lever.’

Climbing off, he gestures for me to get on. I’m excited, but that excitement turns to something else when he climbs on behind me. He reaches down and guides my feet to the footrests. ‘First thing you’re going to do is turn the fuel on.’ He points to a switch, and I bend down to turn it on. ‘Good. Now we’re going to make sure the bike’s in neutral.’

He takes hold of my foot again, and I’m acutely aware of the hand wrapping my ankle as he explains how to tell what gear it’s in.

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