Crazy (The Gibson Boys #4)(50)

“So I’m not the proverbial rebound girl?” I grin. “I’m not the time-killer?”

“Just … shut up.” She laughs. “What’s wrong in that head of yours?”

“A lot. And on that note, I gotta go. I have a bunch of errands to run today.”

“Like what?”

I think back through the list of things I need to do. “Well, I need to run to the post office and drop off some envelopes. I need to do some non-foods and non-clothing shopping.”

“What do you need?”

“Bathroom stuff. Notepads. Dish soap.”

She nods. “There’s a place on the other side of Merom. Follow this street to the right, and you’ll see it in a couple of miles.”

“Perfect.”

“I work tonight,” she says. “Come see me if you get bored.”

I climb in my car. “Thanks for coming by today.”

“I was no help, but you’re welcome.” She heads across the parking lot. “See ya.”

“Bye, Navie.”

She walks away like she has no care in the world, but that’s not true. She has more cares and problems in her life than I do.

No one knows that, though. She hides things so well. In some ways, we are so similar.

I came to Linton to support Navie, not just because of the Logan business, but because I knew she needed me. But now I think we simply needed each other.

Daily phone conversations, watching movies and then calling each other to rant or rave at the best parts, and planning trips together we’ll never take helped us stay close when she moved here. And while I’ll never be grateful Logan hurt her or that my family and Charlie about broke me, those things did get me here. Thankfully.

I close the door and turn on the engine. Instead of pulling out, I turn up the radio. An old country song that I remember my nonna playing, about a man loving a woman forever and ever, flows through the cab.

Relaxing back in my seat, I listen to the words.

Is that possible anymore? Or is it always the survival of the fittest?

My phone dings beside me. I pick it up and smile.



Peck: Dinner at seven. Be hungry. ;)

Me: I’ll bring dessert.



I laugh.

Almost typed I’ll be dessert.

I toss my phone in the cup holder and head across town.





Nineteen





Peck



“All right. Let’s not fuck this up,” I whisper.

The items I bought at the grocery this morning are spread on the table. Packets of steak, giant potatoes that I’ll smash with butter and bacon and cheese and chives, and the requisite salad fixings are all displayed in a neat little line for my dinner with Dylan.

I run my hands down the sides of my pants. Sweat from my palms skid down the denim.

“Ugh,” I groan. Heading to the sink, I wash my hands.

My stomach has been clenched since I came in from the barn and heard Dylan in the shower. I stood in the kitchen and listened to the water trickle through the pipes in the wall and imagined her standing under the spout.

Wet. And naked.

She’s been out for a while now—probably upward of an hour. I told her dinner wasn’t until seven, but the longer it takes her to come out, the harder it is to fight my nerves.

“There’s no reason to be nervous,” I lie to myself. “You’re just being polite.”

I’d like to politely stick my—

“Hey, Peck.”

I wheel around to see her standing in the doorway. A long, brick red dress hangs lazily off her frame, showcasing the delicate curve of her shoulders and dipping sweetly at her waist. Her hair is down, brushing against the middle of her back, and if she has a stitch of makeup on, I’d be shocked.

She’s never looked prettier.

“Hey,” I say, running my hands down my jeans. Again. “You, um, you look really pretty.”

Her cheeks flush. “Thanks. I went shopping with Navie today to grab a few things for my new job and had to have this. It’s just so comfortable.”

She enters the kitchen, the fabric flowing around her. The room fills with the scent of oranges from her perfume.

Standing next to me, she takes in the ingredients. “What are you making?”

“Steak. Potatoes. Salad.”

“I love steak,” she says. “And I’ve never met a carb I wasn’t friends with.”

I laugh. “Awesome.”

“What can I do to help?”

“You totally don’t have to help.”

She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear and grins. “I know. But I want to. I mean, if you don’t mind.”

“Yeah. Having you in the kitchen with me sounds like a terrible time,” I tease.

“Oh, does it?”

“Just awful.”

She grins. “Well, I’ll put some music on to help fill all the weird moments of silence that are sure to plague us, considering it’s going to be such an awful experience and all.”

“Does this mean you’re going to dance again?”

Her face turns the same shade as her dress. The flush steals my breath as I imagine what she would look like on her back, legs spread, coming all over my tongue. Or on her knees as I take her from behind— Fuck. Stop. You’re cooking dinner, Ward.