Page 115 of Boots, Bucket Lists & Bad Ideas
I laugh.
She laughs.
“I don’t think I’ll ever be able to look at a ditch the same way again.” My stomach twists at the raised bumps on her skin.
Her gaze sweeps over my torso. “Yeah, well, I don’t think I’ll ever be able to look at you the same way again either.”
I look down at my torso. It’s a patchwork of red and swollen welts far worse than hers.
I smirk, ignoring the sting of the bites that still burn beneath my skin. “Fair enough.”
“We need to rinse off,” she says. “Wash the bites with soap and water to remove any dirt, bacteria, or ant venom.”
I nod, shifting my waist as an uncomfortable sensation pinches.
“Did you store any water in here?” She taps the side of the bus.
“Yeah. We have a fresh tank. Should be enough.”
“Good. Let’s get in and rinse off before it gets worse.”
Then I feel it. Not just tickling, but pinching, at my fucking waistline, and scurrying down my waistband.
“Goddammit!” My fingers fly to my zipper.
“What’s going on?”
“They’re in my pants.”
I stumble backward, my hands fumbling with the belt buckle, desperate to free myself. The zipper isn’t much better. I tear the jeans frantically down my legs, but I already feel the ants working their way under my briefs. They’re next to hit the ground, but not in time.
“They’re on my balls.”
Fuck.
And they rip into me, striking where it hurts most.
The pain blinds me.
A howl tears up my throat, and in a blur of panic, my hand slaps down with such force that the pain sends me reeling. My back hits the bus—my vision blurs.
I almost double over from it.
I see her move toward me.
“No! Back up.” I try to suck in a breath, but it feels like the air’s been sucked out of me entirely.
Every movement I make only sends another sharp bite through my body, and each bite feels like a hundred needles jabbing into me.
“Calm down and hold still.” She bends down, and I lose all my dignity.
My eyes fall closed in this bloody hell I’m thrown into. I want to scream from the pain, but I keep it together.
Barely.
It takes every last ounce of me not to fall to my knees and curl into the fetal position.
My body trembles under her touch, but I can’t move. My body is in fight-or-flight mode. I stay put, eyes still closed, jaw tight, body on fire.
