Crazy (The Gibson Boys #4)(17)

“Why, thank you.”

I give the spaghetti sauce a final stir and then switch off the heat.

My grandma’s recipe called for homemade red sauce, but I used jarred. She’s probably rolling over in her grave right about now, but there’s not a lot I can do about it. Inviting Peck over for dinner just shot out of my mouth without any forward thought, and I wasn’t prepared to spend six hours watching a pot simmer.

That’s insane. But it makes the best sauce for people who care about those things. People like my nonna. Not people like me.

“It was really nice of you to offer to cook dinner for Peck,” Navie says.

I’ve been her friend too long to miss the hint of humor in her voice. It’s not just humor. That would be one thing. It’s a tease, a prod of some sort that has me rolling my eyes.

“Well, I felt like a dick.” I pick up the spoon I used to stir the sauce and give it a good lick. “Besides, he’s your friend. Since I’m going to be living here too, it makes sense for me to make friends.”

“Uh-huh.”

I turn away and lick the spoon again.

She’s crazy. The invitation I extended to Peck was merely to make up for my miscalculations about his identity. And I do need friends here. It can’t hurt to be acquaintances with a guy who can change tires, anyway, can it? Seems super logical to me.

“I’d go with friends with benefits, if I were you,” she says.

The spoon hits the spoon rest with a thud. “Navie.”

“What?” she asks, pressing a hand to her chest like she’s taken aback by my rather forceful use of her name. “What are you Navie-ing me for?”

“Stop it.”

“Stop what?”

“Stop insinuating I’m trying to get laid or something.” My cheeks turn the same shade as the sauce. I pop open the oven and bend to retrieve the meatballs. If she comments on my red face, I’ll claim it was from the heat. “I’m righting wrongs over here, not … lining up dongs.”

Navie snorts so loud I look to make sure she’s not choking.

“Besides,” I continue, “dealing with some guy, no matter how hot he is, is the absolute last thing I need to be doing right now.”

Thoughts of Charlie threaten to blitzkrieg their way into my brain. I jumped into that too fast. There were probably signs he wasn’t ready for a relationship, and I ignored them. I wanted his attention. I craved his love. The problem was that he wasn’t in a space to give me either because he was still in love with Vanessa.

I force those thoughts out of my mind with every bit of mental energy I can gather.

I sit the meatballs on the counter before flipping the sauce back on. One by one, I lay them into the pool of tomato-y deliciousness.

Navie takes a slice of mozzarella off the plate beside me and nibbles on the end. “Can I give you one tip?”

“No.”

“Wrong answer.” She bites off the end of the cheese. “There’s this girl named Molly McCarter. Peck says he’s in love with her, but he’s not,” she says. “He just thinks he is. He couldn’t possibly be in love with that rat, and she’s definitely not in love with him—or so says the chain of men who have escorted her out of Crave every night last week.”

I cover the meatballs with a lid and try to reason a woman would blow a guy like Peck off if she knew he was into her. I’d bet double or nothing on my HAS budget that his body is rock hard under all those car company T-shirts. And he’s so damn funny and sweet and kind—so far, anyway. I suppose he could, theoretically, not be her type, but I don’t know a woman who wouldn’t die over him.

Except me. Because I’m not into the idea of competing for another man’s affection.

Nope.

“I don’t care who he loves,” I say. “Or who loves him. I’m just your cutest best friend making dinner for you and your ex-cutest best friend.”

Navie laughs, plucking another chunk of mozzarella off the plate. “I’m going to go change my shirt before dinner. This one smells like fingernail polish remover.”

She traipses across the room, mouth full of cheese, her head bobbing side to side. As soon as she’s gone, I slink against the cabinets.

I hope this was a good idea. It felt like it at the time, and it’s not like it feels like it’s a bad idea now, exactly. Navie’s leap to Peck’s love life is just a little jarring.

Sure, he’s adorable with a heavy dose of subtle sexiness that’s pretty incredible. But he also seems like really good friendship material. He can take a joke. His patience runs deep. Quite frankly, he’s the kind of guy I should make friends with.

If he’s in love with someone else, won’t that make it easier? He’ll friend-zone me right from the start.

I press off the cabinet as the doorbell rings.

“Grab that, Dyl. Please,” Navie calls out from her bedroom.

I suck in a deep breath and make my way to the door. I tug it open.

“Heya, Dylan.”

Peck smiles brightly on the other side of the doorway. Clean jeans stretch down his long legs, and he’s traded a diesel company’s shirt in for an eighties rock band. A blue baseball hat with white stitched L.A. sits on his head.

“Hey, Peck.” I step to the side so he can walk in. “How are ya?”