The unit he’s a part of is ultra-secretive, which means we never really know where he is or what he’s doing.
But we’re all tight.
And I suppose that’s why we’re here, riding out to our property line together. When Cade mentioned the Jansens parked their tractor and tilling machine on our property—again—Beau hatched a plan that only someone with his level of maturity could.
I suppose I’m just agitated enough to go along with it. In the days since our kiss, Summer has gone on being completely professional, if a little wary. Like she’s nervous about ticking me off now that I know a secret of hers.
When we go to the gym, she’s not as hard on me. She’d enjoyed coming up with the hardest core exercises she could imagine. Like, tossing me a ball while I stand one-legged on a Bosu ball. When I would stumble, she’d laugh. But now, she offers me words of encouragement. And it’s fucking weird. I hate it. I’ve grown to like her pestering. Her snarky little digs.
I crave those interactions with her.
So, here I am, falling into old habits. Doing something I know I shouldn’t because, well, I guess it burns off steam. What I refuse to acknowledge is that the risk of getting caught also brings the chance of attention.
Negative attention. From Summer, who is currently meeting with her dad in the city. And will freak out when she finds out I did this.
But even negative attention from Summer feels like a reward. If she wants to dress me down, I’ll let her. I like the way her cheeks pink, the way her bottom lip pouts out, the way her eyes roll.
I’d like to make them roll in other ways too, tip back as her lashes flutter down. The view from between her legs would be spectacular, I just know it.
We crest the hill, and I will my boner away. If my brothers catch sight of that, there will be hell to pay.
“See?” Cade’s jaw pops, and he shakes his head at where the blue tractor is parked. Does it matter? Probably not. But we’re here anyway. “You’d think after years of this shit, they’d stop. I just know they did it on purpose. Trash, the lot of them.”
The Jansens don’t have a great reputation in town, they never have. If there’s trouble, it’s one of the Jansen boys. In the back of a police car, selling drugs, stealing shit, you name it. I don’t think they’re actually that scary, more just . . . well, like Cade said—trash.
We stay on our property, and they stay on theirs. The only spot of contention is near the creek where Beau built his house. He likes to fish out there and has had to chase those fuckers off our land twice for fishing where they don’t belong.
Most of my pranks concerning the Jansens have been limited to opening their chicken coop or sneaking around and cutting the twine on their bales of hay. Did I put sugar in their gas tank once? I’ll never tell.
Basically, general shit-disturbing farm-boy behavior as a child.
“Bailey isn’t so bad,” Beau interjects.
“Yeah, I feel bad for Bailey,” I agree. Bailey is quiet. She works her shifts at the pub at night and keeps her head down. I don’t think being the baby sister of the criminal enterprise in a small town has been easy for her.
Cade grunts. I know he has a soft spot for Bailey. There’s something about a baby sister that gets all three of us right in the chest.
“Alright, fellas.” Beau grins and opens his saddle bag, pulling out a roll of toilet paper and holding it up. “Let’s get to work.”
Cade actually chuckles now, as he swings a leg up over his mount and jumps down onto the ground. “Let’s do this.”
I follow suit, pulling out my own rolls of toilet paper, trying to contain my grin and the childish glee bubbling up inside me. At my age, I should not be this giddy over toilet papering the neighbor’s tractor.
But here we are.
We do the tires. The hitch. Beau gets underneath and does the axels. Cade does the pistons attached to the front bucket. Between the three of us, it doesn’t take long to cover the whole goddamn thing.
We stand back to admire our handiwork, grinning from ear to ear. The three Eaton boys, united in their childish pranks. It feels good. It feels normal. There’s no crush of expectations. There’s no worry about sponsors, or fans, or scores.
Our horses’ snort behind us, and I feel hilariously . . . at peace.
“I’m going to get the inside before we go,” I announce.
“Yeah. Yeah. Get the pedals and shit,” Beau prompts while Cade stands there, shaking his head.
“It’s never enough for you, is it, Rhett? You’re always looking for more.” I dodge the truth of that statement by dropping my head and trudging back over the dry grass toward the tractor, toilet paper in hand, as the sun dips low in the sky.