Crazy (The Gibson Boys #4)(62)

I sit back, absorbing the impact of his stare. He leans forward as if it will help him dig deeper into my thoughts. All I can see is how he cared for Nana. How he’d do anything for her, and I’m guessing that would extend to all his family.

All those he loves.

“You’ll be a great dad,” I tell him.

“What about you?”

“What about me?” I ask.

“Do you want to be a mother?”

My breathing quickens. I fiddle with the edge of a pillow.

“I don’t know,” I admit. “Sometimes I do, and sometimes I don’t.”

“Can I ask why?”

I stand and walk over to the little fireplace beneath the television. There are pictures on the mantle. I gaze at them, taking in Peck’s smiling face as a little boy and pictures of him and his cousins.

“Things like this,” I say, pointing at the images. “This makes me think that having a family would be amazing. But then I remember my own familial experience, which was nothing like this at all, and I’m not sure.” I furrow my brow. “Does that make me a bad person?”

He shakes his head. “Not at all.”

“I’ve never known a love like you should have for your kids,” I admit. “I’ve never felt anything like that coming from me, and I’ve never felt anyone else love me like that. So what if I can’t … do it? What if it doesn’t come naturally to me?”

“I think that’s probably something a lot of people worry about.”

I shrug. “I don’t want to mess someone up because a gene is omitted in my genome that gives me a mother’s unconditional love. Besides,” I say, “I’d have to find someone who wants to build that kind of life together. And I’d have to trust them explicitly to get to that point. And, well, I’m not even sure if that’s practical. Or realistic.”

“I have the same worries sometimes.”

“Really?”

He stands too. “Yeah. I mean, I want a family someday. I want the life my nana and pops had. But my luck, I’ll fall in love with someone who doesn’t want those things too.”

My heart hurts for him. He deserves every good thing in the world, and the idea of him not getting it seems … tragic.

But does that mean he’s not in love with Molly?

He walks my way, reaching for me.

My heart leaps in my chest as I place my palm in his. He rubs his thumb over the top of my hand and grins.

“You are blissfully unaware, aren’t you?” he asks.

“Of what?”

He laughs. “So let’s get the elephant in the room out in the open.”

I gulp. The elephant isn’t just too big to be ignored, but it’s sweaty and stinky and right in front of our faces.

I don’t know how this is going to go. My first instinct is to protect my heart, to build a wall as tall as I can so it doesn’t hurt when he tells me he wants to cool things off. But as I look into his eyes and feel his smile settling over me, I’m not afraid.

“I know you’re wondering what’s happening between us the same as I am. And if you aren’t, well, I guess I look like a pussy now.”

I grin. “I guess if that’s the case, you’ll just have to prove your manhood.”

He shakes his head, trying to hide his smile.

“But, yes, I have wondered a time or sixteen thousand today,” I admit. “Last night was kind of amazing …”

He pulls me close, our hands locked together between us.

“Tell you what,” he says. “Let’s take things a day at a time. If we want to hate each other one day, then fine. If we wanna fuck each other’s brains out another day, awesome.”

“No, that’s better than awesome.”

He chuckles. “And if we want space and room to sort of do our own thing, then that’s perfectly fine. But I like having you around, Hawkeye.”

My heart flutters in my chest at his simple, sweet words. I like having you around. That might be the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me. Period. Because it’s not a comparison or challenge of some sort. It’s a statement. One that warms me from the inside out.

“And I kind of like having you around, Wes.”

His brows shoot to the ceiling. “So it’s Wes now, huh?”

“Wesley is a mouthful.”

“Is that one of your innuendos?” he teases.

“Well,” I say, batting my lashes. “I don’t actually know that to be true or not. But we could remedy that.”

“Name the place and time, sweetheart.”

I unwind my hand from his and take a step back. His eyes grow wide as I grin lasciviously.

“How about right here, right now?” I ask.

“I like it.”

“You will. I promise,” I say, working at his belt. “You will.”

His hands capture mine. He brings them to the small of my back as he tugs me close to him again. He kisses the tip of my nose.

“I’m going to hold you to that little promise,” he whispers. “But can I just kiss you first?”

I stand on my tiptoes and bring my lips to his. God, I love kissing this man. And I’m in awe that he didn’t want me on my knees first, pleasuring him, but wanted to kiss me before. First. Like it was more important.