Crazy (The Gibson Boys #4)(68)

“It looks like you can have popcorn, raisins, or barbecue potato chips that might be stale.” I look at her. “Actually, they are stale. I bought them for New Year’s Eve like two years ago.”

“Nice.”

I shrug.

She pretends to give this every ounce of consideration that choosing your last meal would require. Not so much just a snack for a movie night, but whatever.

I watch her little nose scrunch up as she sorts through her choices. There’s still a piece of mud stuck in her hairline. I almost tell her but don’t. I like thinking of the fun we had tonight every time I see it.

I’ve never seen Dylan this carefree. This happy. Granted, I haven’t really known her all that long, but even in the moments we’ve shared, I haven’t seen her like this.

It’s as if she’s at peace. Settled. Maybe even content. It’s my most favorite look on her—even better than the flush of an orgasm or the mischief of a smartass remark. Those are both memorable but not my favorite. This little grin plastered across her cheeks tonight is the best one.

“I’m going to say popcorn since we’re watching a comedy,” she says.

“A comedy? I thought we were watching that action flick.”

“You thought wrong. Besides, action flicks require ice cream, and we don’t have any. And I can’t get ice cream delivered here in less than four days, which is stupid. The brambleberry one is my favorite, but it’ll take two weeks to get it or something.” She frowns. “That’s what happens when you live in the middle of nowhere, I guess.”

“Breathe, Dylan,” I tease.

She smiles, and I forget all about the popcorn.

I mosey my way across the room. She’s wrapped up in a giant blue towel. Her hair hangs straight and is damp from our hour-long bath. My hands go on either side of her, locking her in place. She scoots to the end of the counter and presses her lips to my forehead before resting the top of her head against mine.

My stomach pulls. It starts somewhere deep inside me, somewhere that’s never been accessed before. All I know is that I’m in serious fucking trouble with this girl.

In a short time, she’s rearranged my entire life. And not just my kitchen cabinets, which she has plans to do tomorrow, apparently. The nights I’d spend alone at Crave, listening to Machlan or Navie jabber on about their lives, are now spent doing things like having a mud fight on Bluebird Hill or playing tic-tac-toe on the shower wall with bathroom chalk—something I’m not sure how or why I even own. But I do. Or she does. Either way, I love it.

“What are you thinking?” she asks.

“Just thinking that you’re a giant pain in my ass.”

She laughs, pulling away. She brushes a stray lock of hair off my face. “I don’t believe that’s true.”

“You don’t, huh?” I grin.

“Nope. I think—Ah!”

I grip her sides, right below the bend of her hip, and tickle her. She squirms in my hands, her hair flying everywhere as she bends and contorts in the sexiest of ways. I have to stop before I’m thinking with my cock and not my head. Again.

Stepping away, I watch her straighten her towel.

“I’ll get the popcorn,” I say. “You get the movie on. Deal?”

“Deal.”

She hops off the counter and swipes a hand against my ass. I turn to grab her again when the doorbell rings.

“Why don’t you get that?” I ask. “I’ll get the popcorn on.”

“Um, I’m in a towel.”

“My robe is on the chair. Slip that on,” I offer.

She grins and drops the towel right where she stands. Her body is round and full, and seeing her breasts hang—full and vuluptous—makes me hard.

“Dylan …”

She laughs, pulling my robe around her and tying the belt. “I’ll be back. Stay focused, Wes.”

I shake my head at the nickname as she disappears around the corner. Retrieving the box of popcorn, I take out a packet. The plastic is removed and in the trash when I hear her feet come pitter-pattering down the hallway.

Glancing over my shoulder, I expect to see her prepping a story about the kids from the house down the road pranking us. Instead, her jaw is set.

I stop in my tracks. “What’s going on?”

“You have a visitor.”

Her words are short. Crisp. Cold.

“Who is it?” I open the microwave and shove the bag of popcorn inside.

“Molly.”

Oh, fuck.

I hit two minutes on the microwave and then start. And then, with a lot of trepidation, I turn around to deal with the latest development in my life.

“What does she want?” I ask.

“I didn’t ask.”

“Okay.” I think as quickly as I can. “Do you want to go out there with me?”

That might be the worst idea I’ve ever had—or close to it, anyway—but I don’t know how else to manage this. If Molly is here, maybe something is wrong. She never shows up here just for the fuck of it. But under these circumstances, with Dylan living here and … being with me, it feels wrong. To me. I can’t imagine what Dylan is thinking.

I run a hand down my face because I haven’t thought this far ahead. I should’ve, though. I should’ve had a game plan.