Page 81 of Boots, Bucket Lists & Bad Ideas
Lord knows, I want to.
“Hart? Put me down!”
Aw, hell, the way she says my name.
My hand brushes over her back pockets, the denim tight and smooth. I can’t ignore the swell of her jeans hugging her curves.
“What the hell are you doing touching my ass, pervert?” she demands, squirming more.
“Lookin’ for your phone.”
Her voice hardens. “It’s in my saddlebag, genius.”
“Good, ‘cause I reckon I’m going to toss you in the pond.”
She gasps. “Don’t you dare.”
“You need to cool down, sweetheart.”
Her weight shifts against my shoulder with each step.
“Don’t call me sweetheart. I am not your sweetheart.”
She’s a feisty one, squirming like a fish out of water. Her hands pound on my back, forcing me to tighten my grip.
“You ain’t Bronx’s sweetheart either.” It’s out of my mouth before I can stop it.
“And you can’t just—”
“Watch me.”
We reach the waters’ edge. “And, sweetheart, we’re on neutral ground.”
“Hart, I swear to God—”
And with that, I toss her into the pond, and the echoing splash swallows her last attempt at a protest.
15: NOT YOUR GRANDMA’S SHOP
JADE
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I BREAK THE water’s surface. My hair plasters against my face, and my heart pounds like drums.
“You cocky, arrogant, son of a bitch!” I scream, water streaming off my lashes as I thrash my way toward the edge.
He’s already strutting off like he just threw out the trash.
No remorse.
No hesitation.
Just that damn smug tilt to his shoulders, so damn proud of himself.
“Coward. Can’t even look me in the eye.”
My clothes cling to every inch of me, soaked through, and still, he doesn’t even look back. Not once.
