Page 101 of Boots, Bucket Lists & Bad Ideas
Isn’t that what I’ve been saying?
“You know, like a miserable, rushed drive to a corporate meetin’?”
I ain’t no corporate meetin’ kind of guy. I’m a rancher. My boots are made for dirt, not boardrooms. The only numbers I care about are the ones on the cattle, not some fancy spreadsheet.
That’s not true. I do love me a good spreadsheet.
But I’d rather be out in the fields, knee-deep in mud, than stuck in some sterile room, listening to people talk about profits and projections.
Aw shit, another lie. I’m good at profits and projections. Actually, I’m fucking amazing.
I clench my jaw and follow her.
My footsteps are heavier than hers as I stomp to catch up. When I reach her, I don’t slow down, just push open the door to the gas station with more force than I probably should. The thing nearly rattles off its hinges.
“It’s not a vacation.” I stand in the doorway, my hand propping the door open. “If you haven’t noticed, this isn’t some leisurely drive through the Grand Canyon. We’ve got people depending on us to get there and set up for this event.”
She doesn’t look at me, or at least I can’t tell through the lens of her shades. She squeezes between me and the doorframe.
“Relax. The whole world’s not a stopwatch.”
She slips inside like she has no intention of rushing through anything. If I weren’t in such a sour mood, I might appreciate this chill side to her. I remember this girl, the one who was never in a rush.
Her boots click against the peeling linoleum floor. Every movement exudes the kind of calm we don’t have time for.
I follow her inside, on her heels now, trying not to let my temper get the best of me.
She makes it impossible.
“Wasting time isn’t charming, it’s reckless.”
She reaches the cooler and grabs a bottle of water. “Someone’s a little cranky. Maybe you should’ve stayed in the office if you can’t handle a little detour.”
I swallow hard.
“I handle detours just fine. Just not when they’re getting in the way of what actually needs to get done.” I clear my throat. “Wouldn’t the clipboard Queen of Schedule Deadlines agree?”
She grabs a bag of licorice on her way to the front. “You know, you didn’t have to come, but now that you’re here, I guess you’re just gonna have to deal with a few bumps in the road.”
She still has that smug grin on her face.
I grab a bag of chips, primarily out of frustration.
“You’ve had your fun, but it’s over. I’m taking over from here. No more random stops or scenic routes. We’re sticking to the original route.”
“How cute. You think you’re the one calling the shots now?”
Cute?
My insides cringe.
I step closer, closing the space between us.
She’s so close now, I can feel the heat radiating off her skin, and when she breathes, her breasts brush against me.
My pulse kicks up a notch.
“I am, darlin’, and if you don’t like it, tough shit.”
