Page 179 of Boots, Bucket Lists & Bad Ideas
“We have been doing it forever,” I say.
“Maybe we don’t keep doing it.”
I nod. “We’re not kids anymore. Maybe it’s about time we outgrow this.”
There’s a hint of light in his eyes. “It almost sounds too simple.”
Nothing will ever be simple between us.
“I don’t hate you.” The words slip out before I can stop them, heavy and dangerous in the quiet with only the water lapping between us.
Hasn’t that always been my problem? Not hating him?
He edges closer, water slick on his shoulders, eyes dark and searching. “I don’t hate you, either.”
I don’t move away.
I should.
Lord knows, I should.
The air between us tightens, heavy as the water around my legs. I swear if he moves an inch nearer, I’ll combust right here in the pond.
His mouth curves, not in a smirk, not in a taunt—something else. Something softer.
“Then maybe we stop pretending we do.”
The fight in me fizzles, leaving me stripped down to nerves and heartbeats. “I can try that.”
“Don’t sound so horrified. I’m not saying we braid friendship bracelets.” He shrugs. “Although I am good at braiding friendship bracelets. My niece makes sure all her uncles are well versed in the craft.”
A laugh cracks out of me, startled, but real. The sound makes his expression ease, like he wasn’t sure he could make me laugh again.
“Maybe we just don’t try to slaughter each other every time we’re in the same space.”
We drift in silence, and for once, it doesn’t feel like we’re circling a battlefield, more like treading the same current.
Not enemies, but not yet anything else.
“I am sorry I made you think you weren’t more than a fleeting moment. It wasn’t my best moment. To make up for it—”
“You think you can make up for it?” Joking with him is better than the anger.
“I did get us lost on purpose.”
He thinks that’s a good thing?
“That was thoughtful of you. Thank you?” The water pulls me closer to him.
He shifts, and the water swells up against his chest before settling again. “Lost on a road trip. Number six.”
My heart flutters against my orders not to.
He exhales. “Add in the fire ants, and one of us was naked, just not the kink we’d planned.”
It’s almost as if he has the entire book memorized. I’m about to ask him when I hear a rustling in the grass.
We both turn toward the bank to our pile of clothes. But it’s moving and shuddering like something’s alive in it.
