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sy—with two b’s. Bobsy because I’m nasty with my bob and weave—like in boxing. You are familiar with boxing, right?” Bobsy said haughtily, as to say, Try me if you want . “Hop in.”
    No, she couldn’t blame her disdain for this Bobsy-with-two-b’s dude on her lack of sleep or being overmedicated. She flat-out didn’t like the boy’s attitude. “Well, two-b’s-Bobsy, to answer your question, I’m versed in all kinds of fighting—street and ring. In fact, I’m fluent,” Charly pointed out, then got into the dune-buggy-looking vehicle. She held her head high, remembering who was who. Bobsy was a trainer, but he must’ve been a gopher too because he’d been sent to retrieve her. “When we stop, I’d appreciate a bottle of water,” Charly said, letting Bobsy know his place.

5
    T hey were waiting for her, Charly discovered when the off-road vehicle, as Bobsy had called it, neared the bottom of the hill. They hung a right, veering onto a blacktop path that encircled Lex’s gated property, but, thankfully, wasn’t close enough for the guys to see her face. She guessed there had to be at least a half block’s worth of land between the front of the guest cottage and the trail. But the guys were definitely there. It wasn’t the small gathering in front of the house that gave them away, nor was it the expensive car that she guessed was a Maserati from the sleek body design and butterfly doors; it was Mkel’s raspy tenor riding a funky mid-tempo track, on one of the most incredible songs Charly had ever heard. As much as she hated to admit it, his voice was beautiful, and whatever the name of the song was, it was guaranteed to make crowds wild out. This Charly was certain of, because she was already hypnotized and ready to party, and she hadn’t even heard the full length yet.
    â€œThat’s hot,” Bobsy said, referring to the song.
    Charly ignored him, more interested in the warm breeze that blew her way, carrying a funky scent. She cringed. She was hot, sticky, and sweaty. She raised her arm and took a quick whiff, then shook her head. She was also musty, and that wouldn’t do. She leaned over. “Can you take me to the back door?” she asked Bobsy.
    Bobsy turned and eyed Charly with a half-sneer. “Nope.”
    Charly reared back her head, ready to spew venom, then caught herself. She needed Bobsy now, and knew that getting nasty with Bobsy wasn’t going to get her anywhere, so she opted instead for sweetness. She smiled, remembering some old adage about it being easier to catch a bee with sugar, not vinegar. And Bobsy’s definitely acting like a male bee , Charly thought. But not like the insect . “C’mon, Bobsy. I’m tired and I just want to shower. Please take me to the back door,” she sang.
    Bobsy threw her a look, still nodding to the music that could still be heard in the distance. “I said nope because I can’t. There’s no back door to take you to. There’s the front door, then there’s the side door, but you can see it from the front. Hard to explain, but you’ll see it when we get closer. Either way, there’s no getting around the crew, if that’s what you’re trying to do.”
    â€œThat’s exactly what I’m trying to do. How am I supposed to make a good impression—look like I’m capable of helping with the project, looking like this? This is for the girls,” she mumbled. “It’s not about me. Never was. This is for girls who need help and support,” she continued, talking to herself. If the girls the guys had come together to support were battling and surviving life-threatening illnesses, surely she could endure the guys seeing her sweaty and funky.
    The off-road vehicle jerked to a sudden stop. “What did you just say?” Bobsy asked, pressing the brake. “You know, about the