Page 263 of Boots, Bucket Lists & Bad Ideas
Independent doesn’t mean invincible.
Maybe it’s okay to let someone hold me up for once.
We step over roots and duck branches. The path forks, and another arrow points us left. The further we go, the wilder it gets. Ferns brush my arms. His hand squeezes mine every time I stumble, and I can feel him watching me, amused.
“We are disgusting.” I peel off a leaf stuck to the honey on my arm. “I call dibs on the shower.”
It would be presumptuous of me to assume he’d shower with me, right? He didn’t exactly jump at the idea of pinning me against the tree, and both options are thrilling. The rough bark against my bare back or water raining down on us in the throes of passion.
My core thrums, acting like I didn’t just have the most explosive orgasm of my life.
He smirks down at him—that adorable smirk.
“Dibs? Pretty sure I earned the first shower. I let you slather me in honey like buttered cornbread at a Sunday cookout.”
I laugh, dodging a low branch. “You loved every second of it.”
I’m in his arms again, scooped up, and pressed against his front. “I loved every second with you.”
I tilt my head, expecting another dynamite kiss, but he looks past me.
“We’re here.”
It’s tiny—like storybook tiny—with a peaked roof, a single square window, and a porch just big enough for two chairs. The wood appears weathered yet cozy, half-hidden under a layer of ivy.
“It’s cute.”
“You’re cute.” He kisses the tip of my nose. “And there’s that shower you called dibs on.”
He points just past the, and I follow his gaze. Beside the cabin, tucked behind a fence of tall bamboo, stands an outdoor shower, the metal showerhead peeking out the top.
He lifts his arm. “Ladies first.”
Yeah, ladies first.
I smile against my disappointment, walking ahead of him.
The door creaks when I pull the handle. I pause in the doorway and feel Hart press up against my back. It’s an intimatespace with enough room for two. Close, but not cramped. The floor is smooth, weathered slats. The walls are lined with bamboo poles. And there’s a wooden bench in one corner. The space is secluded.
“Well.” His voice is warm. “Looks like there’s everything here.”
Unease tugs at my chest. “Shampoo, soap... even towels.”
I nod toward a neat stack of fluffy towels, folded and waiting on the wooden bench. It’s all perfect for a shared shower.
Should I suggest?
Invite?
Why is this so hard after what we’ve just done?
“So—” I turn to face him, and he’s leaning against the propped door. “I called dibs.”
I regret it the minute it comes out of my mouth.
He raises an eyebrow, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, light, teasing.
“You did.”
