Free Skygods (Hydraulic #2) by Sarah Latchaw

pegged as the victim of a love triangle, so she’s considering it.”
    Molly leaned in conspiratorially. “Who’s the new guy? Someone famous?”
    Again Samuel paused, considering how much he should say. “A coworker from the Water Sirens movie.”
    “Is that why the two of you broke up? Because she was seeing someone on the movie set?” Molly pried. Cassady rolled his eyes. I just shrugged, because I secretly wanted to hear Samuel’s answer, too.
    “Um…” He shifted uncomfortably. “Actually, that was just the final nail in the coffin. Indigo hadn’t been happy for a while with our intimacy. Or lack thereof,” he mumbled, red creeping up his neck.
    If Danita had been privy to this conversation, she would have mercilessly said something along the lines of “No way! The Indigo Kingsley dumped you because you wouldn’t put out? That’s so girly of you, Samuel!” But Danita wasn’t there, and in her place were four rather polite people who just cleared their throats and played with their coffee cups after Samuel’s admission.
    Conversation shifted, but the truth about Samuel’s dysfunctional sex life with Indigo niggled in my mind. More than niggled—it brewed, stewed, and bubbled with curiosity and, more darkly, jealousy. Who were these women Samuel had chosen above the masses to pursue? What did he find attractive in them?
    Justifications for prying into Samuel’s missing years neatly aligned themselves. I knew he had not lived as a monk. Given his past drug use and erraticism, the practical thing would be to find out with whom he’d been, right? And with all the flirting, the innuendos, and the small yet intimate brushes and touches flying between Samuel and me, one of us would be hurt if we put off that discussion much longer. Today I would exorcise these long-legged, unfreckled ghosts and, with any luck, my jealousy.

    Groovy Adventures Kevin was a stocky California transplant with blond “hang-ten” hair and the surfer-dude speak to match. He’d already pitched tents on a bed of pine needles by the time we found him amid skyscraper ponderosas of the primitive Cloud Lake campground. He tossed each of us a hardhat with a mounted headlamp, spare batteries, an extra flashlight, leather gloves, coveralls, knee pads, and a small first aid kit for our thin backpacks. I turned the hardhat in my hands, grateful Tricia had suggested I start a regimen of Advil and pack extra gauze for my stitches.
    Samuel looked dubious.
    “Are they sending us into the mines?” he whispered facetiously. “Do we get pick axes, too?”
    I snorted. “Trust me, after several hours scooting around on your hands and knees in near freezing temperatures, you’ll be kissing Kevin for the extra equipment.”
    Kevin broke us in with an easy foot tour through the largest, more traversed lower part of the cave. A path led to the cave entrance, flanked on both sides by a prehistoric world of rock layers, and I could see Samuel’s mind churning in his love for science and discovery.
    The cave itself was a system of colorful, sparkling walls and dripping stalactites and stalagmites found in limestone grottos, tapering off into pitch black caverns. An odd fungus also coated the caves. At first I thought it was shimmering silver, but Samuel pointed out that the shining effect was caused by condensation collecting on the tips and, under our lights, it shimmered.
    After we finished the main tube, Kevin suggested we pair up and hunt down some of the other, more hidden caves in the area. We decided to meet back at camp by six o’clock.
    “Here’s the thing about serious grotto clubs,” Groovy Kevin explained. “We don’t like to share cave locations with anyone else, because it means stupid people come in and totally contaminate that delicate ecosystem, get it? It’s kind of like Fight Club —the first rule is no one mentions cave locations. The second rule is…ha, gotcha. No touching those cute little stalagmites. Respect the