Page 113 of Boots, Bucket Lists & Bad Ideas
Sweetheart, I’m sorry to disappoint you, but I know what the fuck I’m doing.
I find a piece of wood inside the storage area and place it under the jack. I start cranking. The handle squeaks in protest, but the weight of the bus begins to lift.
The savage sun pounds me with heat and sweat stings as it runs down my face. Every inhale is heavy and thick with dust from the dry earth.
Her reflection catches my eye again. She’s leaning forward, elbows on the windowsill, that smile of hers unrestrained. The kind that says she’s enjoying this just a little too much.
“Don’t you worry. Almost done,” I shout to her.
“We’ll see.”
Grabbing the wrench, I work on loosening the lug nuts. As I roll the flat tire behind me, it slips down the edge of the gravel.
Cursing under my breath, I reposition it and then head for the spare. I swap out the flat, tighten the lug nuts, and lower the bus back to the ground.
With a quick wipe of his hands, I let out a sigh of relief. The sound no sooner leaves my lips than my boot heel catches the blasted loose gravel. The next thing I know, I’m falling backward like a sack of potatoes. My arms thrash, and I try to catch my balance, but my feet slip out beneath me, and I crash into the ditch.
My back hits hard with a jolt that attacks me far worse than Jade’s little love tap.
“Shit,” I groan.
For a split second, everything goes silent, and the world tilts sideways as I’m sprawled out in the middle of the ditch. Sunglasses gone, I blink at the sky, a little disoriented, holding my breath against the pain.
I hear the passenger’s door slam shut. I hear her boots crunch against the dirt until she stands at the edge of the road, staring down at me.
She bends over to pick up my sunglasses. I can’t rip my eyes away from the angle of her ass in her denim cutoffs.
Turning to face me, she dangles my shades in one hand and lifts her sunglasses into her hair with her other. “How’s the weather down there?”
She’s so damn smug and damned if it doesn’t turn me on a bit.
“It’s a little dusty and a bit rough down here, but I promise, I know how to handle it.”
“If you knew how to use your tools correctly”—she takes a step closer—“maybe the women wouldn’t have to finish the jobs themselves.”
She picks the worst moment to burn my ego.
I prop myself on my elbows. “Trust me, I know how to use my tools.”
“If this visual is any sign, I’m not sure you even know what your tools are.”
I grit my teeth.
“You need help, or are you just going to keep grumbling to yourself down there?” She takes another step.
“Hey, don’t get too close—”
Too late.
In an instant, she’s falling. I watch her arms swing erratically, hear her sharp scream, and brace myself just as she crashes on top of me with a hard thump.
The impact jolts through both of us.
My hands instinctively land on her hips, trying to steady us. I feel every curve of her against me, and warmth spreads as her chest presses into me. Her hair brushes my face, a wild tangle ofstrands that tickle my cheek, and her breath is against my neck, uneven as she tries to catch her own.
Twisted up in each other doesn’t give either of us much space to move.
“That’s one way to get my attention,” I say low and rough.
