Page 96 of Boots, Bucket Lists & Bad Ideas
I’ve already had enough of him this year. Enough of his bragging about breaking up the feud. Enough of his overly happy attitude and always smiling. No one smiles that damn much.
“Don’t ride their ass.”
I slam the brakes. Tires scream, and the heavy frame shudders under the sudden stop.
I throw the RV into park, cut the engine, and swing my legs over the side of the chair, yanking off my seatbelt at the same time. “You wanna drive, big guy?”
“Whoa. Whoa. Whoa.” Bronx presses his hands on Levi’s chest, pushing him toward the back of the RV. “You stay back there. Hart’s driving. It’s all good, man.”
“I’m still hungry.” Dean climbs out of his seat, and Bronx plops down beside me.
Seriously?
“Bro, it’s fine. Chill,” he tells me, like I’m a bloody child. “You’re wound up tighter than a pastor at a poker night. They’re probably just lettin’ loose and having a little adventure.”
I consider my options: Levi pounding into me or sitting beside Bronx. It’s like choosing between a migraine and a pop concert.
“Adventure my ass.” I twist the key, and the engine growls awake.
The ground crunches under the tires as I put it into gear. I ease forward for a place to turn around. I eye the roadside, narrow ditches, scrub brush. There’s no room even to breathe, let alone get this thing turned around.
“This is how people end up in the middle of nowhere.” I spot a patch of gravel wide enough to pull the bus off the road.
“Lemme text ‘em real quick.” He pulls out his cell, and the screen glows to life.
The spot is tight. I stop, shift into reverse, and check the mirrors.
“Let’s see what flavor of antics they’ve got planned.” His phone clicks steadily while he punches out a message.
Slowly, I back the bus into the space, the back swinging wide, and scraping close to a low branch, but I keep steady.
“Who are you texting?” I exhale through my nose, irritated that I’m even asking, but trying not to show it.
Does he have Jade’s number? If so, did he get it last night? Or has he had it longer? How long? Is there more going on between them than I think?
“Celi.” His fingers tap out a flurry of words.
My mind unclenches. It makes sense. Celi is Daisy’s sister. Bronx is tight with Daisy and the rest of the Bunkhouse Boys.
How tight though?
Sex tight?
Is she the one he was buying the condoms for? It’s a wonder I got a wink of sleep last night.
Inch by inch, I guide the vehicle into the spot until I’m fully in. Then I shift gears and pull forward.
“It’s not going through,” he says. “Sketchy service.”
Back on the road, we’re pointed the right way—sort of. I sit still for a second, engine humming low, then hit the gas. Now I have to chase down the women.
Is this payback for yesterday’s horse chase?
I almost chuckle.
“Oh well. I’ll try again in a bit,” he says.
“It’s not ‘oh well’.”
