Crazy (The Gibson Boys #4)(48)

“Can you stop it?” I ask her. “You’re going to get us thrown out of here, and I’m not done shopping yet.”

She tosses it in a trash can. “Are we just looking at clothes for the bank, or we looking for … other things.” She stops in the middle of the walkway and grins.

“Just work,” I say carefully. “I don’t like that look on your face.”

“Ha.” She spins around and grabs a light pink negligee. It hangs from her finger like it’s made of spun gold.

The garment is beautiful. The fabric begs you to touch it while the lace lining the top and bottom teases you to touch what would be underneath.

My eyes flick to hers. “Navie …” I warn.

“What? You’d look awesome in this.”

“Don’t what me. I know what you’re implying.”

And that implication has my body humming. Dim lights, candles flickering, Peck’s eyes filled with unbridled passion …. I shiver.

“Um, I’m not the one who started this,” she says. “You were implying a whole hell of a lot when you were dry humping him on the bar.”

“I was not.” My face burns. “We were dancing.”

“It’s a choice of words.”

“The correct choice,” I say. I take the item away from her and put it back. “Don’t start this.”

When I turn around, Navie is watching me with a hand on her hip.

“Don’t regret that,” she says.

I walk away from her toward the perfume counter because it’s the farthest thing from her at the moment. My mind ponders her request.

Don’t regret that.

Do I?

The back of my brain says I do. It says things are going to get weird between Peck and me. And being that the more I see of him, the more I like him means that I’ll probably be packing myself up and out of there. Maybe even with a broken heart.

But my heart has things to say of its own. It doesn’t take being shattered into consideration. It’s contemplating lazy Sunday afternoons watching football and arguments over who is making dinner—things that I’ve never really wanted before, and things I have no business wanting now. Not with him, anyway.

The push and pull ripped at me all night after Peck left my room. It was present through my shower this morning, all during breakfast, and accompanied me here.

I’m a mess.

“Does that frown mean nothing happened when you got home last night?” Navie asks. “If you say yes, I’m going to be so disappointed.”

I frown deeper.

Her face falls in a dramatic fashion. “No, Dylan.”

“We … talked,” I say. “It was fine.”

I turn my attention to the sample perfume bottles. Suddenly, I’m very interested in the smell of sunflowers.

Navie leans her back against the glass counter. “You talked. After that?”

“Yes. Because we’re adults, and adults talk. I don’t get why you’re making such a big deal out of it.”

“I’m not. I just expected …” She wiggles her brows. “You know. A little more of what I saw at the bar with a lot fewer clothes.” She waits for me to respond. When I don’t, she sighs. “Talk to me.”

“I thought talking disappointed you.”

I walk over to a settee next to an ad for handbags and take a seat. Navie wastes no time plopping down next to me.

Setting my potential purchases next to me, I ignore my friend for a moment. This conversation is not going where she thinks it is, and a part of me is a little embarrassed by that. She thinks I’m going to tell her that Peck and I talked about dancing together or … anything to do with us.

“We talked about Molly,” I say without looking at her.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“Nope.” I twist my lips together and peer at her. “It’s just as well. I mean, she’s the elephant in the room with him, right?”

Navie rolls her eyes. “So what did he say? And if you tell me he said he loves her and all that shit, I’ll go kill him right now.”

“Not exactly.”

“Not good enough.” She starts to stand. “He’s dead.”

“Navie, stop,” I say, laughing.

“Why would he talk about Molly McCarter when he’s got you with him? Alone. In his house?” She shakes her head. “I don’t get it.”

“It’s my fault. I brought her up.”

Navie blinks. “Why?”

“She came up to us before I left the bar, and … it was a painful interaction. She’s … a lot.”

“She’s a whore.”

I focus on the lines in the tile on the floor.

She might be right. I don’t know Molly well enough to know if that’s true. But when I open my mouth to say something negative about her, I hear Peck’s voice telling me Molly’s history in the soft sensitivity he used last night. And I can’t do it.

Maybe I can’t do it because it feels like a betrayal to Peck and his opening up to me. And maybe I can’t because I kind of feel bad for her. Either way, I can’t.

“I don’t know what she is,” I say. “But Peck likes her, and that’s that.”