Page 169 of Boots, Bucket Lists & Bad Ideas
“Hey, asshole.”
Bronx turns to Hart, and that’s when the severity of the situation hits him.
“Oh shit.” Now Bronx is smirking.
Mistake. I’m sure I roll my eyes. Idiot.
“Man, I’m sorry.” Who’s Bronx trying to convince with that growing smirk, all teeth and no shame?
Hart shoves his chest, and Bronx stumbles back a couple of steps.
We’re lucky it’s the end of the day, and the crowds don’t notice the commotion. But the Wilde siblings notice.
“Whoa, calm down, man. It was an accid—”
“I warned you about these damn pranks.” Every muscle in Hart’s body moves like it’s fighting to stay contained.
Bronx holds up his hands, walking backward. “This wasn’t me.”
Hart’s boots hit the ground, slow and calculated. “You fucking started it. You started all of it when you zip-tied theirchairs.” His arm swings in our direction and nearly hits his brother.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” Levi gets between them.
Dean yanks down the back and side tent panels, shielding them from the passing crowds like he already knows this won’t end well.
Hart shoves Bronx again. This time, harder, knocking the bottle out of his hand. It spins, spewing the remaining liquid until it hits the ground.
“Bro, relax. It’s nothing a quick shower can’t clean.”
Hart stops walking. His posture wavers, like he’s caught between letting go and lashing out.
Then Bronx goes and grins that cocky, arrogant smirk all these macho men seem to be so good at.
“Fire ants down there,” Bronx drawls. “Now, slushy mix here. This is the most action you’ve had in ages, I’d wager.”
Idiot.
Hart grabs him by the shirt. The first punch comes swiftly. Hart’s fist connects against Bronx’s jaw with a sharp crack.
Bronx stumbles back, more from surprise than pain. “I didn’t know you had it in you, ol’ boy.” He touches his jaw.
“Old? We’re the same age asshole. Plus, I ain’t the one Josie’s been callin’ Daddy.” Hart leans in, eyes sharp. “And it has nothing to do with playing king in bed and everything to do with your sagging balls.”
With a roar, Bronx charges, his body slamming into Hart’s.
They go down in a mess of fists flying, grunts of pain and exertion filling the air.
“Wow.” My reaction is subdued.
I’d been expecting some ego-fueled brawl at some point but thought maybe they’d make it through the weekend without throwing punches.
Even Hope doesn’t gasp, deciding to eat the chips without her pickle juice. At least her tears are gone.
Josie’s more reactive. “Ouch.” She hides her face in my shoulder, but she secretly tilts her head to catch a glimpse. “I did that.”
“You did.”
Wyatt and Levi jump in to separate them, but a punch knocks Wyatt flat on his back.
