Page 173 of Boots, Bucket Lists & Bad Ideas
“Take Jade.” The mayor’s stern voice ruins my plans. “Straight there. Straight back. We don’t have time for you two to shower. Understood?”
My eyes meet Jade. We understand loud and clear.
At the truck, Jade opens the door and pauses.
“What?” I pull the seat belt over my front and click it into place while looking at her.
“I feel bad getting in. I’m sticky and wet and gross.”
She’s never gross.
Opposite of gross.
The mess only enhances her beauty. Her soaked, slightly wild hair frames her face and accentuates her features. And even with her clothes damp and clinging to her, she still looks effortlessly beautiful.
I clear my throat. “It’s a ranch truck”
She shakes her head. “This isn’t a ranch truck. I know what a ranch truck looks like. This is your mama’s truck.”
“It’s seen worse. I recently had a dent taken out of the hood.”
She glares.
“I’ll clean it up like you were never here.”
“Promise?”
I nod.
It would’ve been a quick drive to the hardware store on the edge of the city, but a road closure forced us into a detour on arrow and winding country roads around trees and fields.
I know these roads. I used to drive them when I was a teenager. I’d sneak away during the rodeo with my brothers. We’d head this way to a hidden pond, one of those places only the locals knew about.
I haven’t been out here in years.
“If they have ice, you should grab a bag for your eye.” She fidgets with the hem of her shirt.
I catch a glimpse of my face in the rearview mirror. It ain’t pretty. Bruising real nice.
“I’m fine.” I tighten my fingers around the steering wheel.
“Of course, you are.”
Silence falls between us again, and for some reason, it feels like the right thing. It keeps our thoughts in check, preventing us from saying something that will hurt.
But it’s strange, sitting here with her, it just feels right.
It doesn’t take much, and I’m back all those years ago, and there’s that feeling in my gut when we were this close—that quiet peace of simply being with her. We didn’t always need words or something to fill the space. I can’t explain it, but it was always easy to be with her.
“I haven’t slept with Bronx, and I don’t plan to.” That comes right out of left field.
I’m not prepared.
Relieved, yes.
But prepared, no.
“I’m not telling you for you.”
