Page 131 of Boots, Bucket Lists & Bad Ideas
I turn and watch her as she walks to the table where her sisters are cutting veggies for a salad. They pull her into their laughter so easily, I almost don’t recognize her.
The dipping sunlight catches in her hair, her smile—her genuine smile.
I’m further confused when she doesn’t try to steal a glance at me or flip me the middle finger. It’s like she’s completely forgotten I’m even here.
Is this what happens to a woman when you make her feel like nothing more than a fleeting moment?
I don’t like it.
Dean tosses me a container of spice. “You need to help me cook my steak. Bronx had a head start ‘cause he’s been here allfucking day. And he’s being a dick about making the best T-bone. We all know I’m the master of the grill.”
I’m not interested in my brother’s cutthroat competition for grilling supremacy, but I’m also not opposed to competing with Bronx.
“I’m in.”
“Yeah, you are.” Without missing a beat, he bumps his hip into mine, grinning like he just scored the winning point. “You’re going down, Bronx.” He whistles. “Where’s my woman?”
I hit the bottle of spice against his chest. “I can’t believe you just whistled to her like she’s your pet.”
“We save that for behind closed doors.” The spice bottle flies back at me.
And they’re all calling me the kinky pervert.
The hissing and popping of fat from the steaks hitting the flames is a good distraction. I’ll admit, my brother’s competitive side brings out the competitive side in me. And kicking Bronx’s ass is enjoyable. I even smile a few times and throw in a couple of dry jokes.
But it’s not long, and everyone is gathered at a couple of weather-beaten picnic tables pushed together with paper plates, and laughter echoing off the nearby pines.
Josie cranks up a Bluetooth speaker, and the twang of country music drifts through the fading light.
By the time Dean slides the last platter of meat onto the table, everyone has their fixings ready. Condiments, pickles, salad, veggies, and bags of chips litter the surface in a potluck offering.
Jade sits on the far end, involved in the argument between Bronx and Dean, who bicker about the quality of the steak and whose was better.
I barely taste the flavor.
The minute I’m in these close quarters, I wait for Jade’s familiar reaction.
A glare.
A snarl.
She’s too busy debating meat, and not my meat. Not that that’s even up for debate. Or conversation.
Fuck.
After dinner, we stay put. Plates pushed aside, drinks in hand, and the kind of slow, restful peace after everyone’s full.
Fireflies blink in the tall grass, and Levi catches one in a jar for Hope. Hopeless romantics. Josie passes around a bag of marshmallows, even though no one’s in the mood to roast them.
She drops a handful of marshmallows into her drink. “Alright. Who has the bucket list?”
What does she mean, who has the bucket list? Jade should have the bucket list.
“I got it.” Bronx’s arm shoots up in the air, and I see red.
Bright. Fucking. Red.
What the hell is he doing with our bucket list?
