Crazy (The Gibson Boys #4)(12)

“Peck …”

I shrug. “I didn’t want to have to go there, but you’re shooting down everything I fire your way.” Leaning against the bar, the edge digging into my ribs, I level my eyes with his. “If you want to do it and take all the credit, I’m fine with that. I know you like everyone to think you’re the genius.”

“Who’s a genius?” Navie comes out of nowhere. Her purse flies under the bar with a thud. She looks at me, then at Machlan, and then back to me. “Cleary, it’s neither of you two.”

“Hey,” I say, leaning back and clutching at my heart. “That wounds me.”

Machlan rolls his eyes at my antics. “I mentioned how I’d like to shake things up on the weekends, and Boy Genius here came up with some ideas that would do one of three things: get my insurance cancelled, have Hadley leave me, or turn the place into a porn club.”

Navie twists her lips. “Tell me more about the last one.”

“See?” I yelp as I sit up. “Belly shots are the answer, Mach. Fuck it. I’m taking the credit for this.”

Navie laughs as she swipes a piece of hair off her forehead. “You know, I could’ve guessed where that idea came from without anyone telling me.”

“Because it’s genius, and you equate me with genius things, right?” I ask.

“Something like that.” She and Machlan exchange a grin. “So let’s keep thinking of ideas—in case there’s a gelatin shortage or something,” she adds, looking my way, “and see what happens. In the meantime, does anyone know how to treat a burn?”

She grabs her wrist and winces. There’s a red welt across her skin that looks like it hurts like hell.

“What did you do?” Machlan asks.

“Burned it frying a hamburger. I mean, I don’t cook for a couple of weeks and then try to fry a hamburger, which I do here all the time, and apparently forget how.”

A glimmer of happiness shines in her eyes, and it hits me right in the chest. There’s a weight off her shoulders. I doubt it’s the pots and pans specifically, but probably more like she thinks things are put to bed with Logan. That makes me happy—even if I had to pretend to be him and get guilted into buying him out of trouble.

How did that even happen?

“You’re welcome,” I say before tipping the rest of my beer back.

“For what?” Navie asks.

“For being me, I guess.”

Ignoring the confused looks of my friends, I send the bottle careening down the bar. It flies into the trashcan at the end.

“Butter,” I say.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Machlan asks.

“Butter on burns.” I shrug. “I read that once. Or heard it. Or something. You put butter on burns to make them better.”

Machlan chuckles. “That’s not true.”

“It is.”

“It isn’t. What’s the science behind that?” He crosses his arms over his chest, enjoying a situation where he thinks he has the answer. “Butter is a fat. Fat would keep the heat inside the burn. It’s counter-intuitive.”

He has a point. Damn it.

“While you take that up with the interwebs,” I say, “I’m going to figure out how to make you money.”

I have no clue what I’m going to do, but what I’m not going to do is sit here and have Machlan prove me wrong. It’s not that I was guaranteeing butter would work. I was just suggesting it, and I’m not giving him the opportunity to flaunt his minor victory over my head.

I look around Crave. There are a few people in the back. Pool balls are being racked up as they chat over the table.

“Hey,” I call back there. “Question—what would you guys like to see in here on weekends?”

“What are you doing?” Machlan asks.

I look over my shoulder. “I’m taking a survey of your five patrons—myself not included.”

“People don’t know what they want. You just have to give it to them,” Machlan says.

I smirk. “Pretty sure that’s illegal in all fifty states.”

Navie laughs, jabbing Machlan in the ribs, as I turn back to the pool players.

“So?” I ask.

“Cheaper drinks,” one of them suggests.

Machlan snorts behind me.

“What else?” I ask.

The blonde puts a pool stick between her boobs and grins. “How about you strip teasing on top of the bar?”

“That I can do,” I say.

I turn to face Machlan. His eyes are narrowed.

“Don’t,” he says.

“The people want it. A good businessman delivers what the people want.” I glance over my shoulder. Again. “You want it, right?”

“Do I ever,” Blondie says.

I shrug. “See?”

“I think we give him a shot,” Navie offers. “I mean, it could really—”

“Peck,” Machlan shouts as I leap onto the bar.

Staying a few feet away from him so he can’t reach out and swipe my legs out from under me—been there, done that—I plant my boot-clad feet shoulder width apart. I’m not expecting the country song that pulses out of the speakers.