The mountainside was a beast, all jagged rock and unrelenting incline, and Greg was its unwilling prey. At forty, he was a man of soft edges and softer resolve, his gut straining against the waistband of his ill-fitting hiking shorts. Sweat beaded on his forehead, dripping into his eyes as he trudged up the trail, his boots scuffing against loose gravel. His knees ached with every step, a dull throb that matched the rhythm of his self-loathing mutters.
“Stupid idea,” he grumbled under his breath, wiping his face with the back of a clammy hand. “Midlife crisis, my ass. Should’ve just bought a damn motorcycle. Or a gym membership. Anything but this torture.” He paused, hands on his hips, chest heaving as he sucked in thin mountain air. “Who even *likes* hiking? Masochists, that’s who.”
A sudden burst of laughter cut through the quiet, sharp and bright, echoing off the pines that flanked the trail. Greg froze, his head snapping toward the sound. It wasn’t the kind of laughter that came from a polite chuckle over a shared joke; it was wild, unrestrained, the kind that belonged to people who didn’t care who heard. His curiosity piqued, overriding the screaming protest of his calves. He squinted through the trees, catching a faint shimmer of water in the distance. A stream, maybe? And where there was water, there were people. People who might have water. Or a granola bar. Or a helicopter to airlift him off this godforsaken peak.
“Worth a shot,” he muttered, stepping off the trail. Twigs snapped underfoot as he pushed through the underbrush, his breath still ragged. The laughter grew louder, mingled now with the splash of water and the hum of carefree chatter. He emerged from the trees at the edge of a small clearing, a hidden campsite nestled beside a crystalline stream that glittered under the afternoon sun. And there, sprawled out on colorful towels and folding chairs, were four teenage girls in swimsuits, their energy as vibrant as the soda cans they clutched.
Greg’s first instinct was to retreat—fast. He was a sweaty, disheveled mess, and the last thing he needed was to be mistaken for some kind of creep. But before he could backpedal, one of the girls—a tall, athletic brunette with a piercing gaze and a smirk that could cut glass—spotted him. She sat up straight, her posture shifting from relaxed to predatory in an instant.
“Well, well, well,” she drawled, her voice carrying over the babble of the stream. “What do we have here? Lost your way, Grandpa?”
The other three turned in unison, their expressions a mix of amusement and suspicion. Greg felt his face flush hotter than the sun overhead as he raised his hands in a futile gesture of innocence.
“I—uh, no, I’m not—I was just—” He stumbled over his words, his tongue tripping as badly as his feet had on the trail. “I heard laughter. Thought someone might be in trouble. Or, uh, have water. I’m parched.”
The brunette—clearly the leader—stood up, crossing her arms over her chest as she sauntered closer. Her bikini was a bold red, and she wore confidence like a second skin. The other girls snickered behind her, exchanging glances that promised trouble.
“Parched, huh?” she said, tilting her head, her smirk widening. “You look like you’ve been crawling through the desert, not hiking a trail. What’s your deal, old man? You stalking us or just clueless?”
“I’m not old!” Greg protested, then winced as his voice cracked like a teenager’s. “I mean, I’m not stalking. I’m just… hiking. Solo. To clear my head. Bad life choices, you know? Not that you’d get it. You’re, what, twelve?”
The leader barked out a laugh, sharp and mocking. “Oh, honey, I’m eighteen, and I’ve got more sense than you’ve got breath right now. And these ‘bad life choices’ of yours? They include creeping through the woods to spy on girls half your age?”
“I wasn’t spying!” Greg’s voice rose an octave, his hands flailing. “I swear, I just veered off the trail for a second. I’ll go. Right now. Sorry to bother—”
“Hold up,” interrupted one of the other girls, a petite blonde with a mischievous glint in her eye. She leaned forward, resting her chin on her hand. “Don’t let him off that easy, Riley. He’s gotta earn his exit. Look at him, all red-faced and panting. Bet he couldn’t outrun a turtle, let alone us.”
“True,” chimed in a third, a girl with a cascade of dark curls and a piercing through her eyebrow. She sipped her soda, eyeing Greg like he was a mildly interesting specimen. “He’s kinda pathetic. Like a lost puppy. A really out-of-shape puppy.”
Greg groaned, rubbing the back of his neck. “I get it, I’m a disaster. Can I just apologize again and leave before this gets worse?”
Riley, the leader, stepped closer, her bare feet silent on the grass. She was close enough now that Greg could see the freckles dusting her nose, the way her hazel eyes glinted with something between amusement and menace. “Oh, it’s already worse, buddy. You don’t just stumble into our spot and walk away without a proper interrogation. What’s your name, Lost Puppy?”
“Greg,” he mumbled, shifting uncomfortably under her gaze. “And I’m really, really sorry. I didn’t mean to intrude.”
“Greg,” Riley repeated, rolling the name around like she was tasting it. “Sounds boring. Fits you. So, Greg, why should we believe you’re not some perv sneaking around? Convince me.”
“I’m not—look, I’m just a guy having a midlife crisis, okay?” He gestured at himself, at the sweat-soaked shirt clinging to his chest. “Does this look like the body of a master spy? I can barely climb a hill without collapsing. I’m harmless. Promise.”
The blonde giggled, nudging the curly-haired girl. “He’s got a point, Riley. He looks like he’d trip over his own feet before he could pull off anything sneaky.”
“Still,” Riley said, her tone teasing but firm, “we can’t just let him wander off. What if he’s got friends waiting in the bushes? Or worse, what if he’s got a camera? Nah, I think we need to keep an eye on you, Greggy-boy.”
Greg blinked, his stomach twisting with a mix of dread and something he couldn’t quite name. “Keep an eye on me? What does that mean?”
Riley’s smirk turned wicked, her eyes glinting with mischief. “Oh, you’ll see. Stick around, old man. We’ve got questions, and you’ve got answers. And if you’re lucky, we might even share a soda. If you’re not… well, let’s just say you don’t wanna test us.”
The other girls laughed, their voices a chorus of playful menace, and Greg realized with a sinking feeling that he wasn’t going anywhere. Not yet. Riley’s gaze pinned him in place, her authority undeniable, and he had the distinct sense that whatever happened next, these girls were in complete control.
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