Page 11 of Unrivaled Love (D.C. Renegades #2)

Bryson

This Means War

I pull out my phone and text Crosby and Duncan who helped me brainstorm pranks last night. I didn’t need Daddy Felix or Levelheaded Emmett putting a damper on my fun, and Aiden is still in Europe, so the three of us decided to devise a plan on our own in the newly renamed Massive Missiles Chat.

Yarn Maze was amazing. She was SO pissed.

CROSBY

I hate that you're on Mountain time. I've been dying for an update.

DUNCAN

Did she find the scissors yet?

No. And I hid the knives too.

DUNCAN

Brilliant

CROSBY

So what's next?

I have a few ideas depending on what she does. If she leaves the house or not.

The sunshine filtering through the trees is hot on my skin. The elevation intensifies everything. I reach into my pocket for another Gas-X because I still feel bloated and pop the last pill from the sleeve into my mouth.

Devising the pranks to play on Jo has given me a new sense of purpose. I sit back in the lounge chair and review my next steps.

If she leaves the house I'm going for her room. Particularly the shower. Jo lives for a long, hot shower. At least she used to. I'm betting that hasn't changed.

If she doesn't leave the house I'm going to prepare the hiking path for when she inevitably wants to get out and exercise. I don't know if she partakes in nature activities in Salt Lake City but I'm guessing her instincts from spending summers here as a kid will kick in.

My phone tells me over thirty minutes have passed since I first came out here. I'm going to guess she's staying inside.

I stand and head towards the garage for the tools I'll need.

** *

I feel like a fucking lumber jack. Maybe I need to add more flannel to my wardrobe.

I took my shirt off and tucked it in the back of my pants an hour ago when the heat was getting trapped against my body.

I wipe sweat from my brow and use my t-shirt to clean off the blade of the hatchet I've been using.

My calculations might be a little off but I've done enough ping-pong ball trick shots with Emmett's grandmother to know the basics of a chain effect. But, this needs to go off without a hitch to be most effective.

"Hey Bryson, what's going on man?" Emmett answers my FaceTime call and I can see in the background he's at home. Good.

"Hey E.T. I'm actually calling to see if Grandma Turner is around. I need her help with something."

He starts walking but still asks, "What do you need her help with?"

"I'm working on a tra-" I stop myself before saying trap. He was against pranks when I texted everyone last night, so I need to tread carefully. "I mean the path behind the house and I want to know if I line things up will one cause the other to fall over."

"What things?"

"Trees." I answer with a little shrug and Emmett just looks at me cautiously before handing the phone to his grandmother.

"Hello Bryson, dear," she starts. "What can I do you for?"

"If I have a log in a path and it gets stepped on with a, say 5 '9", 145 lb woman, would it be enough down-force to trigger another tree falling if it's been chipped at the trunk?"

"How far off the ground is the log and the chipped section?" She asks, getting straight to the point. I see Emmett in the background with an eyebrow raised. I just grin .

"The log is about six inches off at the low end and rises up to maybe eighteen. High enough that stepping over it would be tough and low enough that you can't go under it."

"Gotta go through it." She sing-songs. "And what about the tree that will be knocked down?"

"I cut the section out between four and six inches from the bottom. I went at least three quarters of the way through."

She hums as she scribbles something and Emmett chimes in. "Does this have anything to do with Jo?"

"Nope, just working on a path by the house."

The low battery notification pops up. Shoot. I forgot to charge my phone last night after my movie research.

"It might work but you could use another force to help your cause. If you can, weigh the top of the lever; that'll help create a stronger reaction."

"Thanks so much Granny! Okay, my phone is gonna die. I'll talk to you later!" I hang up before E.T. can ask more questions and make me reconsider this.

I roll my shoulders back and remind myself this is simply payback for years of Jo ghosting me. I might have felt differently if her first reaction to seeing me after seven years wasn’t to call me gross, and yell at me to leave. But alas, it wasn’t so now, it’s game time.

I pocket my phone and head to the garage for the chicken wire Dad always had on hand. The plan is to fill it with rocks and use that on the end of the log that is balanced against the tree.

When she steps on the log, the other tree will fall, startling her and hopefully making part of her trek back a little more difficult.

The fallen log is on a part of the path that heads out towards the road.

It's the long way home from the lake and on warm summer nights, like the one we'll have tonight, we'd go swimming in the lake in the afternoon, enjoy a picnic dinner on the shore and then savor the walk back while trying to catch fireflies.

I positioned the log against a tree which should cause the tree next to it to fall onto the hiking path by the house. It'll probably bring a bunch of brush down too and that'll make it more difficult to pass.

Focusing on the task at hand doesn’t distract me enough from my thoughts. I walk through the woods looking for rocks and each step brings questions.

Am I ready to return for training?

Can I give hockey everything again?

How am I supposed to compete when the best player in the league is me?

I stumble over a rock the size of a grapefruit and pick it up. This will definitely help my cause against Jo.

As I continue my walk the questions are still circling in my head but they’re different.

Why is Jo down in Colorado?

Why is she wearing her practice kit?

Do I have a chance to be her friend again?

Is pranking her the best way to go about that?

“Probably not,” I chuckle to myself. But it’s clear she needs a shake up just like I do and focusing on driving her nuts will preoccupy my thoughts about next season.

Win, win.

Twenty minutes later, the chicken wire rock sacks are in place and I test the log a little. The tree creaks nicely as I push down with my foot.

It'll be annoying to go through the maze of yarn still up in the kitchen since I guarantee she hasn’t found the scissors, but it was a fucking delight to watch her get more and more frustrated as she tried to get in my face this morning.

Angry Jo is a scary sight. I’m glad I’m not a ref in her league .

I unlock the front door with the key and when I open the door, I do so slowly, expecting a 5 gallon bucket of chocolate sauce to be dropped on me. Jo has had a few hours inside and it's like stepping into enemy territory.

She’s had plenty of time to booby trap every corner of this place.

Booby.

I saw her boobs last night and goddamn, they were majestic.

Her entire body was electric. Tight and tempting.

Right now though, I can’t imagine her body and how much stronger she’s gotten since I last had the privilege of touching it.

I need my wits about me.

I carefully close the door behind me.

I check the floor for spilled vegetable oil.

All clear.

I hold out my hands to brace for the onslaught of honey followed by the spray of feathers.

But nothing happens. Huh.

I bob and weave through the yarn in the kitchen to the hallway that leads to my bedroom and look around as best I can before taking a slow, tentative step in.

Nothing.

Maybe she isn't going to retaliate. Maybe she's learned her lesson.

Her car was still in the driveway so I don’t think she left but there’s no sign of her inside.

I scan the room from the doorway and see nothing is out of order.

With a shrug I walk to the bathroom so I can shower off all this manual labor.

I pull my shirt out of my waistband and drop my shorts and briefs in one, kicking them to the side.

As the water warms I use my toes to remove my socks; struggling to get the material past my heel.

I could just bend over and pull them off but they’re soaked in sweat and I’ve almost got them.

Once free of my socks I check the shampoo bottle in case she replaced it with mustard or mayonnaise like I had planned to do to her. My usual cranberry cashmere scent, whatever the hell that means, greets me so I step in.

Maybe Jo has matured in our years apart. Maybe she isn't the girl I used to know. I should give her some credit. I'd want her to do the same for me, right?

The sweat from today is different from the sweat of games or practice.

Dirt, pollen, and saw dust cover my skin and I can feel the particles scraping as I wash my body.

I use the same shampoo as body wash so I'm sudsy from head to toe when I sense movement in the room.

I rinse my face and wipe the glass of the shower door, but there's nothing there.

I take a few more moments to enjoy the hydrotherapy before turning off the water.

When I open the shower door I see the towel I had sitting on the counter is gone. So are my clothes.

Oh no she didn't.

I cup my junk and storm out of the bathroom. I reach for a towel but the linen closet is empty. I cross over to the dresser and pull open the drawers and they're empty too.

"Mother fucker!" I yell and I hear a little giggle from down the hall.

I shuffle to the kitchen, still holding my dick in my hand, and see Jo stringing my clothes up from the rafter. Where did she find more yarn? I used her mom’s entire stash last night.

That's when I realize she's picking up a fishing rod and she's pushing it out the open window by the front door.

"Give me my clothes!" I yell and I start to navigate the yarn maze to get to her. She squeaks as she finishes getting the fishing rod through the window and then I pause to watch her open the front door, step out, close it, and pull the fishing rod behind her as she runs into the woods .

"Shit." I say between my teeth as I hurdle over the last string. The fiber snags on my dick so I freeze and proceed as slowly as possible. It's comical, I'm sure, to witness a grown ass man cupping his cock and balls, tip toeing over a line of thread.

I'd laugh if I wasn't so mad.

Instead of chasing after her I storm outside to the garage where I dig out the hatchet from the hiding place next to the scissors and kitchen knives.

I return to the window where the fishing line connects my clothes to Jo as she’s running through the woods.

I hear the whizzing of the reel unraveling.

I swing and let the blade cut through the invisible thread and then watch it curl back on itself when all the tension is gone.

I let myself back inside and see that my clothes and the towels have fallen to the floor.

I navigate the maze to the bag, slip on boxers, and take the rest in my arms as I duck and high step to my bedroom.

Stealing clothes is like the first trick in the book. I'm surprised she couldn't come up with something worse.

But, one thing is certain, this absolutely means war.