Page 160 of Boots, Bucket Lists & Bad Ideas
The bull spins, and he whips his free arm around to balance, never missing a beat.
The bar goes wild.
Our group goes wild.
Jade cheers for him the same way she used to cheer for me at my football games. Of course, she did it silently on the sidelines because back then, a Fox couldn’t cheer for a Wilde.
I knock back more beer, trying to drown all the thoughts racing through my mind. The stark reality is, I can’t stop whatever happens between them. His assurance that he doesn’t plan on sleeping with her doesn’t rank high on my list of believable events today.
Hell, I have zero control over who she chooses to date or marry, or spend the rest of her life with. And the idea of her doing either with another man chases another beer down the hatchet.
And another.
Everyone else takes their turns trying to tame the bull, while I gulp down drink after drink. I’ve become the unofficial bartender, making sure the pitchers keep flowing so we don’t run out.
It’s selfish of me.
What else is new?
My coming on this trip was selfish, and I see now it was a mistake. But the more I drink, the less I’ll feel, right?
Wrong.
I hear my slurring. Feel the stumble in my walk. And every emotion is jacked up louder than usual.
Especially jealousy.
Especially when it comes in the form of the tall, smug bastard with his tattooed arm wrapped around Jade, but his other one is around Harper, so maybe the touch is innocent.
Doubt it.
Bronx is back on that damn bull.
Jade’s on next.
I swear it’s just a competition between the two of them now. Or is it in my head? Is Natalie riding as many times? And my brothers?
I can’t tell anymore.
I finish off the next glass, realizing it’s easier to drink away my emotions when I’m not sitting near the woman who triggers them.
Then someone shouts, “You two should ride it together!”
Laughter.
Whistles.
Bronx grins like someone just handed him a toy from the toy shop. “I’m game if you are, darlin’.”
Darlin’? Is he using “darlin’” on Jade?
Her cheeks bloom a soft pink. Whether from the suggestion or the warmth of riding, leaves me guessing.
“I mean, it’d be hilarious—”
“No way,” I mutter under my breath.
“Big Mike never lets two people on,” someone behind us chimes in.
