Page 45 of Boots, Bucket Lists & Bad Ideas
I immediately regret not taking a moment to think this through.
The cramped space carries the sharp tang of sweat and a sour note of beer left to spoil. The faint scent of bleach struggles to mask the lingering musk of countless forgotten nights.
I wince the moment I see him, shirt off, the harsh light catching every line and curve of his vast shoulders.
His tanned skin is rough from days in the sun, stretching over taut muscles that flex with every move as he inspects the dart wound on his shoulder.
There’s a slow, controlled tension in his jaw, like he’s holding back a storm. Even hurt, he carries himself solid, steady, and impossible to ignore.
The door clicks closed behind me. Now I’m committed, or at the least, busted.
My stomach twists.
He glares at me in the mirror’s reflection. His Stetson sits on the counter, so I get a real good look at his thick, wavy hair.
“Well, look at that. You’re still alive.” The first aid kit weighs a thousand pounds in my hands. “I came to make sure you weren’t bleeding to death.”
“How noble. You’re a real hero.” Each word is clipped, like he’s on the edge of losing it. “Pretty sure a little dart isn’t gonna do me in.”
“You shouldn’t have taken it out. You could’ve made it worse.”
He turns to study his shoulder. The sharp edge of the injury stands out against the smooth, hardened planes of his skin.
“Thanks, Doc. But I don’t need you playing nurse.” He raises a single eyebrow at me, once more in the reflection. “Just because you hit me doesn’t mean you get to patch me up.”
“Don’t flatter yourself.” I take a step forward, trying to keep my voice even. “I just don’t want to have to explain to everyone why there’s a bloodbath in the men’s bathroom.”
A wry, sort of pissed off smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth. “You’re just saving your ass ‘cause you tried to take out my eye.”
“Sure. Let’s go with that.”
“You’re lucky I don’t press charges for assault.” There’s a glint in his eye like he might actually do it.
And I don’t doubt it.
Who calls the sheriff more than the Foxes and Wildes? The answer is no one.
I scoff. “Please. Get over yourself.” I unscrew the cap.
“I already said I don’t need a nurse.” His voice growls deep from his chest.
He grabs the first aid kit out of my hand.
I jump but keep my calm. “You’re welcome.”
“This is your fucking fault!”
“Next time, I’ll make sure to throw a dart that actually does some damage.”
He watches me for a second, his eyes narrowing, and then he lets out a low, amused chuckle. “You’re something else, you know that?”
“I’m something else?” My hand presses against my chest, my nails digging into my flesh. “You’ve got a funny way of forgetting the solid year you invested in pretending and playing angles to get what you wanted from me.”
This is the closest I’ve ever come to confronting him. He ghosted me after that night—the night he took my virginity inour secret place, and said it’d be us against the feud, against the town—against our parents. That night he kissed me like we were meant to be together forever.
But every word had been a lie.
I wasn’t his future. I was a notch on his belt—just the Fox girl he ruined for sport.
