Page 60 of Boots, Bucket Lists & Bad Ideas
He looks at me with that cocky smirk and overconfident smile I hate.
His wrists are handcuffed and his feet shackled. He’s wearing a prisoner jumpsuit, but his situation doesn’t stop his tawny brown eyes from piercing deep inside me like he’s seeing the parts of me I’d never reveal.
And I’d never reveal them to him—to Hart-fucking-Wilde.
“Let go, baby. Let me feel you come apart in my hands.”
I jolt awake and scream.
My body is drenched in sweat, and the sheets stick to my skin.
The dryness on my tongue is unbearable. I move my mouth, hoping for moisture, but only find the sour, bitter, and metallic aftertaste of last night’s cocktails.
A flash of the evening hits me: shots, birthday laughter, my sisters, the dart, Bronx saving me from a flirting disaster that went south in a hurry, and Hart.
Damn Hart, exposing my bucket list word for bloody word.
A groan presses past my dry lips, and I push away all the memories of last night.
My head’s not pounding, but there’s a dull fuzziness. My body feels heavy, but not sick.
I throw off the sheets and stand up too fast. I feel it. Not drunk. Not dizzy. I’m just off-balance.
I make my way down the hallway, keeping in mind that my brain’s a second behind my body.
I strip out of the damp T-shirt I used as a nightie and don’t wait for the shower to warm up. The cold water hits me, and I welcome the shock. I embrace it, and scrub away any remnants of my dream—nightmare.
But that look wasn’t just a bad dream. Hart’s eyes held that same haunting fire just before Sheriff Nash’s hand forced him into the back seat of the cruiser. That dark, raw, broken, but guarded and unreachable look. It burned to my core, so deep, so hard—so damn confusing, and not my business whatsoever.
“Not my business. Just forget it all,” I mutter out loud, patting my body with a towel, before throwing on jeans and a T-shirt. I skip slipping into my Aztec sweater because it stinks like booze.
I can’t have his stare creeping into my sleep and between my legs on a loop.
“Forget him. Forget the biker. Forget the bucket list. Forget the rodeo—”
I gasp.
“Nooooo.” It’s a howl that tears from my soul.
I agreed to attend the rodeo with my sisters. And not only that, but to complete my bucket list with them and the Wilde brothers.
The weight behind my eyes is shifting into a headache, and it takes me longer to grab hold of my thoughts and initiate a plan.
I’ll nurse my hungover sisters back to health and then break the news that I won’t be going to the rodeo tomorrow.
That’s a solid plan.
It’s still dark outside, and I make it to the lodge in time for the staff morning meeting. I could’ve sat it out, and the second, my mama leads us in the traditional lodge song, I sure wish I had. As everyone scatters to their tasks, my mama matches my pace, walking alongside me through the lodge corridors on my way to my office.
“I didn’t expect to see you here so early.” Wispy bangs peek out beneath her bold red Stetson, and her shoulder-length hair frames her face.
She’s got that friendly, approachable vibe about her, which is the opposite of me.
“Why wouldn’t I be here early?”
“Y’all rolled in pretty late.” My mama smiles at a staff member who greets her by name. “But you sure came in with big smiles on your face. Even you. Did you enjoy yourself?”
Big smiles because Hart went and got himself arrested. It was the perfect ending to a decent night. It would’ve been better if Vin had joined him in the next cell, but the bikers took off when the sheriff arrived.
