Raf was just mad he couldn’t reach one of the canoes for yesterday’s water safety demonstration. Holmes and I had been the ones to set up the canoe racks in the boathouse, and…oops. We’re, like, already a foot taller than those two and hadn’t considered the logistics.
Sucks to be short.
“The Wildlings could’ve handled it,” I protest. “Why teach us how to work hard if you’re not gonna let us work hard? Besides, this was our idea.”
“They were never gonna let teenagers run the camp, Mav.”
“Whatever.” I sneak another look at the man of my dreams, and I swear Earth’s gravity is starting to fail. “You mark my words. He’s gonna be my husband.”
“Sure, Jan,” Rami says, quoting one of the old movies we watched in yesterday’s marathon.
I elbow him. Hard. “Do you at least know his name, or are you completely useless?”
Rami’s shit-eating grin takes up half of his stupid face.
“Tell me.”
“What’ll you give me for it?”
I slap my elbow. “Unbruised ribs. Tell me his fucking name, Rahm.”
Rami rolls his eyes. “His name is Boone.”
Boone.
Such a romantic name.
Sure, I won’t be sixteen for another month, but it’s good to know I’ve nailed down a husband. One less thing to worry about.
Rami is saying something else, but I’m on a mission. I walk in a straight line to the sexiest man I’ve ever met in my entire life and stick out my hand.
“Hey, I’m Rune Bash. But people call me Maverick.”
He takes my hand, his grip sure and warm and perfect.
“Boone Hitchens.” He smiles, and it’s like I’ve never seen a smile before. I feel it in my chest. “Rune is a really beautiful name,” he says, and his soft country accent is music to my ears.
Rune Maverick Hitchens. Well, that has a ring to it.
“So is Boone.” I get a little lost in his eyes, but then I remember some dating advice I once heard somewhere. “Where are you from, Boone?”
Rami snickers as he comes up behind me, and I discreetly angle my foot so he trips as he passes us.Heh.
Boone catches him before he eats dirt. “You okay, man?”
Rami flirts with a grin. “Better now.”
I burn holes through Rami’s forehead, and he angles off toward our cousins, whistling to himself.
Asshole.
I turn back to Boone, expectant. He watches Rami for a second, as if to ensure he’s okay, before turning his attention back to me.
Where it belongs.
“Uh, I’m from a little place called Canyon, up in the Panhandle.”
What?
