Page 145 of Boots, Bucket Lists & Bad Ideas
“You’re the opposite of fine.”
“Piss off.”
“You’re actin’ like a big ol’ grizzly bear watchin’ his cub get snatched up by a wolf.”
I don’t look at him. Leave it to Dean to try to get under my skin. He prides himself when dancing on other people’s nerves.
“Come on, man. You were lookin’ at Bronx like you wanted to throw your hatchet at him or chop off his head.”
I can’t be mad at him for that assumption, considering that’s exactly what I’d been thinking.
Maybe a little more gory.
“He’s a slimy bastard.”
Dean chuckles.
“She’s not his type,” I say.
“And how do you know that?”
“Everyone knows. You know it. You were an asshole like him before Harper, always searching for the next peak to conquer.”
He presses a hand to his chest. “I didn’t know you thought so highly of me.”
“Tell me she’s that type. Tell me she’s the type you and Bronx would pick up on those nights at the bar. She’d slide under the covers with you, just like that, no strings.” I pause, looking at him. “Come on. Tell me.”
He says nothing.
“Exactly.”
“I know whose type she is, but then, so do you.” He claps my shoulder before taking off to whip his woman into his arms and swing her in a circle.
They end up behind us, making out in the middle of the damn street.
I grit my teeth for the rest of the walk.
Their voices blur into the background, but every so often, a word cuts through. The women are excited about riding the mechanical bull. The guys are still competing over the best meat. Ogre is tossed into the conversation here and there and asshole is a steady favorite.
But the main attraction is the bucket list and I’m just damn grateful they left it at the campsite. I’ve had enough of everyone scrutinizing something I once believed was sacred.
The bar’s alive with energy. Country music thumps in the background, and it reeks of whiskey and sweat, thick enough tochoke you. The neon lights above the mechanical bull flicker. Just the kind of bar to have a good time.
“Drinks first?” Dean shouts over the pounding bass just right, like he’s done this a hundred times before.
We all know he has.
“We’ll find a table.” Harper kisses him.
But it doesn’t end in a kiss. He cups her ass cheeks and drags her against him for a mouthful none of us need to see.
Apparently, the guys agree.
“C’mon, stud.” Bronx grabs his shoulders and pulls him away. “You two already christened the bus. Let’s keep it PG here.”
He wouldn’t know PG if it punched him in the face.
“You’re just jealous.” Dean doesn’t let go of his gal’s hand until he can’t reach her anymore.
