Page 143 of Boots, Bucket Lists & Bad Ideas
The way he looks at her—like catching her caught him off guard, but now that it’s happened, he’s not sorry—he welcomes the moment.
It stings to watch, like a blade beneath my skin.
I clutch the axe in my hand so tight the rough grain carves into my skin, splinters biting in, but I don’t care.
“Tripped on the stupid step.” I hate the way she doesn’t even look around for me.
She never misses a chance to glare at me, often paired with a soft, barely audible snicker. This new quiet from her doesn’t sit right with me.
Actually, I fucking hate it.
“Lucky I was here.” He still holds her like she’s breakable.
His big hands are in places they shouldn’t be. Clasping her bare legs, gripping her so close to her breast, imma ‘bout ready to lose it.
Fuck his easy grin and that damn cowboy conceit dripping off him like he bathes in Marlboro commercials.
“Could’ve hit that pretty face.”
I almost throw the axe at him. Instead, I lift it and bring it down with a crack, splintering the wood clean.
It doesn’t make me feel better.
Shit.
It hadn’t been working before this little display either.
I push my sleeves higher up my arms, flannel damp with sweat.
“Thanks for catching me.” She’s a little breathless, and her hand stays on his chest too long.
I see it.
Bronx sees it.
Hell, the whole damn campground fucking sees it.
And he loves it. Soaks it in like a cactus hitting its first rain in six months, but we all know Bronx isn’t dry. Bronx never dries up. He drinks in women as if they’re the only thing that can quench him.
I bring the axe down again, harder this time. A chunk of wood flies hitting the dirt by Bronx’s feet.
He doesn’t look up.
Doesn’t say anything.
“Always happy to catch a lady.” He winks.
I heft the axe again—another log splits. I toss the pieces roughly into the pile at the end of our trailer.
Josie skips down the stairs. “Hands off her, Ogre. She’s not some prize to be manhandled.”
I agree.
A grin spreads across Bronx’s face. “Jealous, I’m stealing your big sister’s attention?”
Josie’s face scrunches in disgust like she’s just tasted something rancid.
Bronx is all kinds of rancid.
