Page 108 of Boots, Bucket Lists & Bad Ideas
Need I say more?
He’s always got that fucking smug smirk.
His eyes trace over me, taking in my panting breaths, damp skin, and flushed cheeks.
“You need a ride?”
My chest burns at the mere sight of him, then hearing that condescending tone, I’m tempted to turn around and face nowhere land on my own.
“You think that was funny?” I’m still trying to catch my breath.
He leans back in the driver’s seat, pretending to look innocent, like he didn’t just lead me on a full-on sprint down the road.
“I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about.” He’s thumbing through a book. It takes me a moment to recognize my bucket list.
I narrow my eyes at him. “Bullshit. You knew I was running after you.”
“Sounded like you had a plan back there, so I figured your sisters were headin’ back for you or somethin’.”
“Or somethin’?”
He shrugs, flipping a page. How did he even get his lying hands on my book?
“Besides, if I’d stopped driving sooner, you would’ve reversed my offer and blamed me for stoppin’. So, you know...”
He did see me.
“You dick.”
“Hey now, I’m a nice guy. Just wanted to give you the freedom of making your own choices.” He leans out of the window, my book in one hand, a mock-serious glint in his eyes. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone run that fast in cowboy boots.”
My choice is to punch him in the throat, but he’s up way too high.
I wince. I clutch my side in excruciating pain and take an unsteady step away from him.
“Oh my god, it hurts:”
His face drops. “What hurts?”
“Ohhh, it’s bad, Hart. It’s bad.” A sound of absolute pain thunders from deep in my chest.
I turn away from him.
“Shit—” His voice is full of concern now.
He’s already out of the truck, unprepared, unready.
“Hold on, hold on. What’s wrong—”
His hand circles my wrist, twisting me to face him. That’s when I slam my fist right into his solar plexus.
He gasps as I knock the wind out of him.
“That’s for leaving me to run like a damn idiot.”
He doubles over, the air rushing out of him.
It’s enjoyable.
