He nods at that, satisfied with my explanation.

“And, Opa, if you don’t want me to do this, I will back out. Or tell them the farm isn’t available. But I just know ten grand a day for thirty days will do a lot of good for this place.”

For the second time today, I swear you could hear a pin drop.

And then… “Ten grand a day!” my grandparents exclaim in unison.

Based on their reaction, I should have led with that part. “Yes, that’s the fee they’re offering you for the rental. My payment is on top of that. And it’s something I plan to put back into the farm as well. It could secure us for years to come.”

My grandparents stare back at me through misty eyes.

“You officially have my blessing,” Opa grumbles in his typical fashion.

Another firm squeeze on my hand, but this one lasts longer. Oma grips me, her touch saying more than her words ever could.

“Only if this is something you are truly comfortable with,” she says carefully. Though I can tell by the expression on their faces that this is more money than they can reasonably turn down.

“I’m comfortable with it,” I assure them, forcing my mind not to wander down the path of how fucking embarrassing this will be and how much flack I’ll get once the guys on tour find out. Never mind what Carl will have to say about it. I definitely don’t want him catching wind of this until it’s all over.

But for my family? None of that matters.

“I’ve got the WBRF finals coming up. I need to kick Theo Silva’s Goody Two-shoes ass, and then I’ll be back. Even with the show, I plan to work in the morning and film in the afternoons.” I straighten as I say it. I’m nothing if not competitive, and I’ve got my eye on the prize this year. I know my days of professional riding are numbered. And I have every intention of going out with a bang.

“I have total faith in you, Em. If I think about it, you’ll excel in this role,” Riley muses while plucking a piece of crispy bacon off the serving plate and popping it into her mouth. “You’re a hard worker and you bring a lot of experience to the table when it comes to eliminating women from your love life.”

Not even Parker can hold back her giggle at that jab. It’s not a secret among us that I’m a commitmentphobe who constantly opts for the most casual, least attached option I can find.

“True.” Evan points at her. “But what I can’t wait for is watching him have to make conversation with them, pretending he’s interested. Or wine and dine them. Ooh!” His finger shoots up in the air. “Or meet their parents.”

He and Riley roar with laughter, and I roll my eyes. Those two constantly play off each other, so their teasing is nothing new. But as sadistic as Evan is, he’s not wrong. Just the thought of meeting a girl’s family could give me hives.

You’re in it for the money, I remind myself.

I peek back up at Oma and Opa, their faces etched with fondness as my idiot siblings volley back and forth all the humiliations they’re looking forward to seeing play out on TV. I know my grandparents love our Sunday breakfasts. All of us seated around this table, stuck with one another through better and through worse. It’s one of the traditions we’ve all worked to carry into adulthood as best we can. We may leave, but we always come back.

Even with all the shit-talk that gets doled out.

And in that spirit, Oma pats my hand and breaks the silence by hitting me with a killer one-two punch. “You kids are underestimating him. You’ll be wonderful, Em. And if it doesn’t work out, I agree with Evan that you’d make an excellent sex worker.”

Laughter erupts, and I groan before dropping my head into my hands.

“What?” She holds her hands up to either side in an innocent shrug. “I’m not oblivious to what you kids get up to. And just because I love you, that doesn’t mean I think you’re perfect.”

This. This is the level of offside, targeted humor I expect from my family. We are all imperfect, a little rough around the edges, but the Brandts? We’re thick as thieves.

Which is why I knew they’d all come around to supporting me in this. Convincing them wasn’t even too hard.

It’s convincing audiences I’m actually looking for love that will be the real challenge.

OceanofPDF.com

OceanofPDF.com

CHAPTER 2

Julia

“JULES, I DID it!”

I grin out the window of the taxi as it weaves through the streets of Los Angeles. My brother, Theo, is pretty much always happy, but his joy after winning his second WBRF championship is infectious.

“I know you did, you fucking rock star. I watched online in my hotel room. Got a noise complaint from the people next door from cheering too loud,” I lie.

His deep chuckle filters through the phone. “You’d better not be making that up.”

“You’ll never know. I tried calling you, and you didn’t even bother answering, so I guess I know where your priorities lie. And they are clearly not with your little sister.”

He scoffs. “Says the girl who didn’t even make it there.”

I scoff back. I already explained to him I was starting my new job—one that requires me to spend a few weeks here in LA before heading back home to Emerald Lake.

Missing the start of this would be akin to shooting myself in the foot. Long, expensive years of schooling mean that being offered a dream job straight after graduating is a gift horse that I will not look in the mouth. Plus, I always make a point of showing up at as many of his events as my schedule allows. But there are a lot of them, and I leave it up to his wife, Winter, to follow him around on the road.

At any rate, he understood. Hell, he told me I’d better not skip out on this job opportunity just to watch him at finals—because that’s the kind of guy Theo is.

A good one.

But he’s still my big brother, which means he never gets a pass. Ever.

“I would have come. But I’ve already seen you win once before, and now it’s just kind of boring.”

What I don’t add is that watching him ride always stirs a bone-deep anxiety in me. Our dad died doing what Theo does, and while I wasn’t there to see it happen, I’m not oblivious to the risks. And my coping mechanism for that is avoidance.

Rodeos and me? We don’t mix.

Cowboys? I want nothing to do with them.

Theo barks out a laugh. “That’s funny. Almost as funny as Emmett Bush’s bitchy fucking face when I knocked him off his pedestal.”

I chuckle, but it’s half-hearted. Emmett’s reputation isn’t lost on me. The endless womanizing, the partying, the cocky, holier-than-thou attitude he portrays in the media. The petty, backhanded insults he fires at my brother and his friends while they’re on tour.

Where Theo is the living embodiment of a good guy, Emmett has the bad boy act down pat.

The problem is he’s not all bad.

He can’t be. He saved me. Or whatever. I hate the word saved when it comes to that whole situation. It’s more like… he was decent. He stepped in when he didn’t have to, and he was decent.

Not that I’ve run around singing his praises from the rooftops. In fact, I haven’t told a soul about that night, and I still think he’s generally an asshole.

But I find it hard to dislike him the way my brother does. I witnessed his act slip for a beat, and it’s left me wondering if he’s not as bad as Theo and his friends would have me believe. Square jaw, hawkish eyes, an arrogantly tipped chin… and a secret streak of morality?

“Keeping Emmett from winning may have been more satisfying than winning the entire thing,” Theo continues, a wistful tone taking over his voice.

Emmett has been a constant thorn in Theo’s side for years now. The guy who accrues just enough points to knock him out of contention but never enough to pull out the win for himself. Which I’m certain only worsens the chip on his shoulder.