Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 80102 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 401(@200wpm)___ 320(@250wpm)___ 267(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80102 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 401(@200wpm)___ 320(@250wpm)___ 267(@300wpm)
He doesn’t even stir, and I’m jealous. I wish I could sleep like him … Wait, unless he’s pretending to be asleep. That would suck.
I examine his relaxed features, from his soft eyes to his five-o’clock shadow under slightly parted lips, and then shake my head. I have to stop thinking like that, or it will only drive me crazy.
The thirty-minute drive home is filled with telling myself that this is what it is. Maybe it will turn into something, or maybe Rainn will go down in history as my first heartache. Who knows.
Maybe I’ll lose interest. Not likely, but it might happen.
I’m not going to Whit-out on him—that’s a new verb I invented. It’s where I overanalyze and think too hard about something to the point reality warps.
I will not do that with Rainn. Okay, realistically, I’ll try not to do that to Rainn. I can’t pressure him or hound him about what happened, and while that’s good in theory, I know it will be hard.
Another thing I didn’t think of when agreeing to stay last night? That I’ll be walking to a farmhouse full of family and farmhands who have known me since birth.
Staying out on a worknight is new for me. In fact, I’ve never done it before.
Even freshman year when everyone was partying most days a week, I did mine on Saturday nights only.
And the second I step through those doors, the whistles and hollers start from the dining room.
Everyone’s there—Mom, Dad, our farmhands who are like uncles to me, my brother, and his best friend, Gordo, who’s been working for us since he was a kid, basically. They’re drinking their morning coffees before we get to work.
I pour myself a cup. “Calm down. I stayed at a friend’s place after practice.”
I’m definitely not going to go into the details with Mom and Dad here. Or the farmhands, for that matter.
“Oh, boo,” Gordo says. “Here we thought we could celebrate the little guy becoming a man.”
My brother punches him in the arm hard for me.
“Who are you calling little, Mr. I Need A Stepping Stool To Saddle A Horse?” I taunt.
Gordo gives me the finger.
“Nice.”
Campbell stands. “Ready to head out there?”
“Let me change my clothes first.” Considering I’m not wearing underwear because they were covered in dried cum.
“Just a friend, my ass,” Gordo calls out as I turn to go head upstairs to my room.
“Don’t want to hear about your ass, Gordo,” I call back to more snickers.
I run upstairs and change as fast as I can. In the mudroom, I shove my feet into my boots and sling on my jacket. When I charge through the back door, my brother gets in my way.
“We’re going for a ride.”
I frown. “A … ride?”
“Dad said we could. He and the others are doing morning chores. Unless … there’s a reason riding will be uncomfortable for you after last night?” Campbell doesn’t even try to hide his amusement.
I shove him. “No reason at all, dickhead.”
“Sure about that?”
We walk toward the stables.
“It’s disturbing that my brother is asking about my sex life. My butt virginity is still intact, thank you very much, but uh … other stuff might’ve happened.” My skin flushes, damn it.
“Aww, my baby bro is all grown up.”
“Shut up. Why are we getting out of morning chores?”
“Can’t a brother want to spend quality time with another brother?”
“No.”
Campbell laughs. “You’re right about that, but it’s a surprise. And we don’t get out of morning chores completely. We just get a time-out first.”
“Oh, so this is a punishment?”
“Nope. You’re going to love it.”
I drop it. Most people don’t like surprises, but I’m like a kid in a candy store. I get all giddy about what it could be.
We enter the stable, and my boy, Arlo, huffs and sticks his chestnut head through the small window of his pen.
“Hey.” I give him a gentle pat. “I know I haven’t come to see you for a while.”
This farm has been in our family for countless generations. These stables used to house working horses back when our fields were full of crops instead of dairy cows and hay fields. Now, they house our pets. Normal kids get toys at five years old, but farm boys get horses. At least in this family.
We saddle up, and I follow Campbell, who’s on his mare, Roxy.
Arlo becomes overeager when I steer him past his day meadow, and he suddenly thinks it’s okay to move into a trot before I tell him to. I pull back on the reins to get him to slow down, which he does immediately.
“Good boy,” I whisper. “I know you’re excited to be out.”
Campbell leads us to the neglected part of our farm—the part we have big plans for.
The unused land is overgrown with tall grass, but hopefully soon we’ll be putting in a long driveway leading from the road to a future farm stand and visitor center. We want to make an attraction for families to bring their kids while they also pick up fresh produce.