Crazy (The Gibson Boys #4)(4)

He rolls his eyes as he starts to respond, but he’s interrupted by a loud crash from the storeroom. It’s followed by a loud string of profanities before Navie comes marching into the room.

Her hair, streaked with bright pink strands, is a haphazard mess on top of her head. She comes to a halt in front of Machlan.

“If you want me to serve tequila tonight, you’re gonna have to get it off the top shelf yourself because I’m not screwing with it. I almost just died.” She gives Machlan a don’t-mess-with-me look before flipping her gaze to me. Her irritation eases a bit. “Hey, Peck.”

“Navie,” I say with a tentative nod.

She flips me a forced smile before refocusing on my cousin.

“Why does he get a smile,” Machlan says, pointing at me, “and I get yelled at?”

“Because Peck didn’t set a death trap for me in the storeroom,” she replies. “And he’s cuter than you. And nicer. And—”

“And I sign your check,” Machlan counters.

“And I’m cuter.” I grin as they both look at me. “What? She said it. Not me.”

Machlan sighs, handing Navie a white bar rag. “I beg to differ on that, Peck.”

“It’s true,” Navie says. “I’d be all over him if he didn’t feel like my brother on some level. That and he has that thing for Molly McCarter. That makes me a little concerned about his well-being.”

She rolls her eyes so hard that it has to hurt.

“Never understood the Molly thing either,” Machlan says.

“Let’s keep my girl out of this,” I say. “She’s never done anything to either of you.”

“Because I keep my pants zipped up when she’s around. Otherwise, there’s no doubt she’d have done things to me that she’s done to every other guy who lives in this half of Illinois,” Machlan says. “When are you going to let that whole thing go?”

I take a drink of my beer and set it down with a thud. “Never.”

The two of them go into an already-heard, overly tired tirade about Molly. They share a venom with the rest of the town against the woman I’ve always defended.

Molly was my first crush. Since the first night she crawled in my bedroom window when we were six, I’ve had a soft spot for her. It’s crazy, I know, and the sentiment hasn’t exactly been reciprocated, but I can’t help it. I like her. Period.

Machlan looks at his watch. “I’ll go get your tequila, but then I gotta head home. Add twenty to Peck’s tab for gas.” He shoots me a look before heading toward the storeroom. “Behave.”

I take another drink as Navie pulls out a white takeout box from Carlson’s Bakery from behind the counter. She sets it on the bar.

“I know it’s bad manners to bring food from one establishment into another, but this sandwich is my breakfast, lunch, and probably dinner,” she says, “so I don’t care.”

I lean against the counter and study her. Besides her annoyance, there’s no sign she’s been through something like Dylan described.

Dylan.

I grin.

“What are you smiling about?” she asks, picking the onion off her sandwich.

“Oh, nothing. Why didn’t you just cook?”

“Busy.”

Unhelpful.

“Do you usually cook?” I ask, prodding a little harder.

She quirks a brow as she shoves a bite of turkey and cheese into her mouth. “Sometimes.”

“What’s your favorite thing to make?”

“What is this? The Spanish Inquisition?” She rips a napkin out of a container in front of me. “Why do you care what I like to cook?”

“Gee, take it easy,” I say, leaning back. “Just making conversation.”

And probing you for information, but I’ll keep that to myself.

Her face falls. She tosses the wadded-up napkin on the counter. “I’m sorry. Bad day.”

“Wanna talk about it?”

“Nope.” She takes another bite, a bigger bite, to keep from talking. “I’m fine. I’m always fine.”

Frustration is written across her face. I look at the television hanging above the coolers and try to hide mine. Why won’t she just tell me what I want to know? It’s not like I can just blurt out that her friend Dylan accosted me today and told me all her secrets.

Thinking of Dylan with her hands on her hips makes me grin again.

“Machlan said your brother was coming to town,” Navie says, dabbing a napkin against her mouth.

“Yup. Vincent and Sawyer are coming in for a couple of days.”

She raises a brow. “Sawyer? Do you have another brother I didn’t know about?”

“Sawyer is Vincent’s son,” I clarify. “He’s a cute little shit.”

“So is this brother of yours a lot like you?”

I swirl what’s left of the beer in the bottom of the bottle and consider her question. “Vincent is a couple of years older than me. I think he might’ve hit thirty this year.” I make a face. “Anyway, he’s more of a troublemaker than I am.”

“Oh, really?” Navie grins. “Is that possible?”

“Yes, really,” I say with a shake of my head. “While I’ve always pulled questionable behavior, like Tad’s stupid gas cans, Vincent pulled questionable-er behavior. He was always in trouble from doing stupid shit … until he had Sawyer.”