Page 95 of Boots, Bucket Lists & Bad Ideas
“Back to Lapsnorkeling.” He says it too casually.
“Do we have to?” I drum my fingers on the leather steering wheel.
“It’s when she goes down on you in a moving vehicle.”
Bronx snorts. “We’ve all had plenty of lapsnorkeling or more recognized as roadhead.”
He can speak for his damn self.
“Nah, bro.” Dean shifts his torso to glance at Bronx. “Twist it up. Do it in the bed of a moving pickup truck while your brother is driving you home from a wicked St. Patrick’s Day bash.”
My fingers tighten around the wheel. “You better not be referring to last week when I picked you two up from Bucky’s.”
“Don’t ask questions you don’t want the answer to.”
My poor truck.
“Tractor cab. Utility vehicle. Feed hauler. Be creative,” Dean continues.
“All those things are on the ranch,” I say, and then I hold up my hand. “Forget it. I don’t want to know.”
“You’re going to land in jail.” Bronx claps my brother’s shoulder in approval.
“Only if we get caught.” He’s grinning like a horny teenager.
Bronx laughs deep and loud. “When we hit a gas station or pull off for lunch, you should tick off Roadside Roastbeef from your bucket list.”
“Yeah, I should.” They fist bump.
Dipshits.
They should both be in jail.
Dean looks ahead at the RV rolling smoothly over the asphalt with a pout on his face. “And there goes my opportunity to tick sex in a moving vehicle off my bucket list.”
“That’s the third wrong turn they’ve taken today,” Wyatt says from the back.
My cousin has travelled this road many times since leaving Rocky Ridge six years ago. Wyatt Ashwood, I can handle. Not only is he blood, but he’s a good guy. His morals aren’t anything like Bronx’s.
My eyes concentrate on the back of the RV. A subtle exhaust puff escapes. Dust kicks up behind the rear tires. A pair of trailer hitch chains clang with every bump.
She’s really testing me or punishing me with the “Let’s make Hart lose his shit” route.
Just then, their RV takes a too-sharp left.
“Fucking hell!” I grip the wheel, press the brake, swerve, and slide straight past the road they tumble down—almost clipping the rear corner of their RV in the process.
“Shit,” Dean curses, straightening in his seat and sliding his feet off the dash. “Are you trying to kill us?”
I look in the rearview mirror, watching them drive away in a different direction.
“My pregnant wife is in that RV!” Levi’s boots stomp toward the front. “You gotta pay more fucking attention, Hart. You almost rear-ended them.”
I clench my jaw. “I was fucking watching. They turned without a blinker.”
The last thing I came on this trip for was to have Levi ride my ass.
No fucking thank you.
