When you live in a place where “turbo speed” internet is a slight step above dial-up, men carry on nine-year beard-growing challenges out of stubborn pride, and your brothers do things like nail all your panties to the outside of your cabin just for funsies, you tend to be a little crazy. You can call it a "locational" hazard, if you will.
That’s Tomahawk for you.
We rank people based on just how crazy they are. And the four craziest families in town are called the Wild Ones.
I’m on the bottom tier of those, so technically I’m not as crazy as the other Wild Ones. In fact, if it wasn’t for my brothers and their endless antics, I wouldn’t be considered a Wild One at all. Ahem. Sure. We’ll go with that.
Anyway, I have a best friend who endures it all with me. Benson Nolans is my one, constant favorite person.
Without him, I’d probably go really crazy, and not the fun kind. It’d be ridiculous, after three years of a flawless friendship, to mess that all up by falling for him.
I mean, even if we did get a little too close one night, it’d be reckless endangerment. Even if we did suddenly feel the chemistry that’s always been there and stop toeing the line, it’d be a foolish risk to take.
It’d be stupid to start hoping a really fun, but completely irrational, night with zero inhibitions might accidentally happen.
*Completely, 100% crazy
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