Page 48 of Boots, Bucket Lists & Bad Ideas
“You alright?” Bronx tilts his head to look at me, still not releasing me.
I feel Hart’s stare on us. “Yeah, I’m fine.”
“Did he hurt you?”
I shake my head, barely able to form words.
He lets go of me. “Give him a minute to clear his guys before you head out.”
He’s right.
My pulse still stutters. Adrenaline courses through my veins.
He turns to Hart. “Shitty timing. Where the fuck were you? If I hadn’t walked out here, that asshole would’ve had his way with Jade.”
Bronx isn’t angry. He’s just pointing out the obvious.
“Entitled prick.” Bronx stalks to the end of the short hallway, lingering and watching.
Hart looks at me. He’s all rage behind those dark eyes. I don’t know why. And I don’t know how long we just silently stare at each other. When Bronx says it’s clear, I high-tail it out with another thanks.
Vin and his guys have taken off.
This ain’t over.
Even if I’m ready to leave, we’re gonna have to wait until we know they’ve left Main Street. That could be five minutes or half an hour. Likely the longer we wait, the better.
I head back to my sisters’ table, except it’s no longer just my sisters.
Hart’s brothers are here, spread out, chairs pulled up, laughing, talking over each other, and passing around my bucket list book.
I know who to blame. Hope. Her husband sits next to her, arm draped over her shoulder, and nuzzling close. I’m sure his entourage followed him here.
“Is this real?” Dean squints at my very real,not meant for cowboyslist. “Number twelve. Is this skinny-dipping in a thunderstorm?”
I’m grateful my seventeen-year-old self didn’t just write a Plain Jane bucket list. I don’t want my sisters to know what’s on those pages, let alone the Wilde siblings—Hart’s brothers.
“Maybe it does. Maybe it doesn’t,” Josie says. “Jade’s a woman of mystery, okay? This whole list is basically a mood ring with page numbers.”
That wasn’t supposed to be shared.
“We just finished this one.” Josie takes the book and flips through to the one she assumed was about meeting a biker.
“Flirted with that biker.” She draws an invisible checkmark in the air. “Went to the back and got some.” Another checkmark.
“I didn’t get anything, and it wasn’t actually about a biker.”
Josie sighs. “It wasn’t?” She tips the book sideways for a new angle to view, then turns it the other way. “You sure?”
“You’re not going to guess any of them. I made them impossible on purpose.”
“If you don’t give us a hint, we’re not going to have it done before your birthday,” Josie pouts, like the book is all about her.
“I vote we help with number twelve.” Dean taps the thunderstorm. “When’s the next storm? We can meet at the creek that runs through our folks’ properties. Hell, I’ll bring the pie.”
Um. No.
Big no.
