Dirty Bucket List Novels & Stories

He turned fully toward me, his hands sliding to my waist, grounding me. “Your list,” he reminded. “You said we’re crossing things off.” “I… did say that.” “Pick the next one.” God. He wasn’t joking. He wasn’t teasing. He wasn’t doing it for distraction. He meant it. He meant all of it. My bucket list—the entire insane thing I’d written years ago when I thought adulthood would be a straight line instead of a hurricane—was suddenly real, and Luca was staring at me like he would bulldoze mountains to get me through every item.

I sat upright, changing my settings to switch to mails. It was from Dr. Xander with a black envelope as the subject followed by, "You need to see this!" I read out loud. I clicked on the new mail. Dear Becca, Dr. Baldowski managed to compile your memory into a disk and it is attached to this mail. But before you watch, hear me out first. You might have a deep-rooted belief concerning your personality but don't play a personality you are not. Yes, something or someone might have deluded you to that particular belief but believe me, that's not who you are.

"Just wait a second, I'm making you a fuck it list." "A what?" "A fuck it list." She says as if that's enough of an explanation. "A list of sexy stuff I want you to do, within the next year, to make up for eleven years, I repeat, eleven years of missing out." "Jacqueline Davies." I say in horror as I start reading the list. "I can't do that stuff. I definitely can't do number seventeen, what are you on?" "Yes you can, it's relatively tame stuff mate, it's not like I'm saying do BDSM or go to a swingers club. Although actually…"

“What do I dislike? I hate people who pretend to extend an olive branch but are just a green snake in green grass.” Why does that sound like something I do? I extend a helping hand, and when you grab it, I pull you right into your unforeseen doom. “Interesting.” Forking steaks into her mouth, she washed them down with wine. “What do you do with your free time?” “I chat or sketch up new designs.” “Sketch up new designs? That’s basically what you do every day.” She shrugged, not bothered that she doesn’t have anything she likes doing outside work. “What’s your greatest wish?” I’m willing to make it come to pass.

I pressed my lips together, finding it rather amusing. He simply winked at me and sat beside me, keeping the open paper in front of me. I glanced through the old and yet immaculate paper. Joanna's Bucket list: (If found do not read) ✔1) Scream from the terrace of a high building on why I love Disney movies. 2) Compliment every sad looking person on the road. ✔3) Play a prank on Mrs. Finn. ✔4) Paint a random wall in random colors and designs.

She sighed then her gaze shifted to my arm. "What happened to your arm?" Annah points at my left arm that's wrapped in a casket. "Don't worry about it." She eyes me for a second then lets it go knowing that I'll be fine. "Anyway, back to business." Annah is an arms dealer, her company is one of the best companies out there they call themselves 'The Caters' She does dirty work here and there but she knows how to cover up her tracks

'But it’s still there. --- It had rained recently and the buckets, all sixteen of them, were full to the brim. The water was somewhat cloudy and speckled with the debris gained on the way down, as well as the mildew that broke loose from the pails. They refilled on their own accord if rain held off too long and the supply became low. No one ever saw it though; the old watched kettle never boils. Consequently, the crew avoided the room when they were low, fearing infernal repercussion should they something at work.

Complaints, insults, excuses, frustration. “That asshole plays dirty.” “The ref was bought.” “We shouldn’t have lost like that.” I clench my jaw as I read, close the chat without thinking too much because I don’t want to stay there, don’t want to keep going over the same thing, don’t want to think about the game or him, so I set my phone aside and take a deep breath, trying to clear my head, even if it’s just for a while. Tonight I’m only going to do one thing, drink enough to not feel anything and leave early before it all becomes unbearable, no drama, no complications, not giving him more space than he already takes.

The rest of us took her lead and seated ourselves around the basement, Jonie and Mitch together on the couch with the rest of us finding chairs. “I’m not exactly sure. Whatever it was had to do with their personal dirt.” “Personal dirt?” “When the Dirt blows in, it brings with it everybody’s personal dirt.” “What do you mean?” “Those things in our lives that we’d like to stay buried, forgotten, in other words, our personal dirt. Here’s mine.” She went over to the computer and jiggled the mouse, dismissing the screensaver. Underneath the screensaver was the F******k page of a man in his late forties.