Page 41 of The F*ck-It List

What the fuck am I doing? I don’t ride horses, I don’t take my neighbours out on surprise outings to fulfil their dreams. I mean, that one’s quite specific, but I’m just now having this weird realisation that I am behaving so out of character and it’s all because of this woman. From the moment she stepped into my world, bringing attention to her gorgeous tits and even more stunning smile, I’ve been acting kind of crazy. Bea has me turned around, and I need to decide what I’m going to do about it. I either need to walk away and be the kind of neighbour who nods a greeting from across the road, or I need to work out what these feelings are. These feelings that dwarf all those that have come before.

“You look great.” Bea beams as Lady comes to a stand next to Joey. “You okay?” The concern is real; she’s checking in and making sure I’m comfortable.

“Yeah, sunshine.” I sigh, forcing my muscles to relax. “I’m good.”

“Okay, let’s set up the jumps,” Nat calls up to us.

“What?” I squeak in sheer panic only for Nat to cackle manically and scoop up both lead ropes.

An hour later, I’m walking back to my car like there’s a horse still between my legs. There isn’t. Muscles I’ve never felt before are aching like nothing I’ve ever experienced, and my butt hurts. Bea is practically skipping, the same grin she’s been wearing all day splitting her face in two. I might be in pain, but it was worth it because her smile is making this weird fluttery feeling happen in my chest that I both love and hate. Before she rounds my truck to the passenger side, she stops in front of me, her smile turning shy.

“May I hug you? Just a friendly hug?”

My jaw clenches because I already know my body doesn’t get the friendly memo in her proximity. Still, I nod and open my arms. She nestles into my chest, arms around my waist, squeezing me tight.

“Thank you so much, August,” she mumbles into the fabric of my t-shirt, and I hope she can’t smell the sweat the impromptu horse ride created. “This was amazing, and I can’t tell you how grateful I am.”

I can’t say anything because my throat has dried up, I’m sure she can feel the erratic rhythm of my heart where her cheek presses to the centre of my chest. But instead of wanting to cut the contact short, I wrap my arms further around her and hold tight.

“And thank you for arranging the croissant class with Nick,” she continues, pulling back only enough to look up at me. “I know that was you too.”

“It was nothing,” I say, but it comes out scratchy. Her eyes are bright and shining, her cheeks pink and healthy, her lips plush and begging for kisses.

Kisses I won’t be giving.

“You might think that,” she says softly. “But it means a whole lot more than nothing to me.”

Don’t kiss her. Don’t kiss her. Donotkiss her.

“You’re welcome,” I settle on, my voice gentle and sincere.

We get back on the road, taking the country lanes because they’re pretty and it’ll give me extra minutes with Bea. The windows are open and the strands of pink that have gotten free from her low ponytail whip around her face, one arm extends out of the window, feeling the warm summer air as we amble through winding roads.

“My mum wants me to invite you to the village quiz,” I say.

She turns to look at me, surprised and confused. “The village quiz?”

“Yeah, it’s a pub quiz, we do it every month for charity. Eli hosts and there’s food and drinks. It gets rather competitive, and Mum wants you on our team. She thinks you’ll know a lot because you read a lot.”

Bea laughs. “I don’t know about that.”

“Well, it’s still a good night. You want to come?” Why am I nervous?

“Sure,” she says easily. “Sounds fun.”

“And, uh,” I clear my throat. “I’m playing rugby on Saturday, and I thought you might like to come.”

I feel her surprise rather than see it as I focus on the road in front of me. “You want me to come watch you play rugby?”

“What? No,” I say quickly.

“But you just said—”

“I mean, it’s a charity event and a load of local shops usually have stalls there to help raise money, it’s a good way to drum up some business from outside the village.” The leather of the steering wheel creeks under my grip, and my heart is somewhere in my oesophagus.

“Oh, yeah. That sounds good.” She turns forward to look out the windshield. “Thanks, I’ll make something to take.”

“Brownies,” I say. “Ruth’s been going on about how good they were.”